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Tall, Dark and Lethal
Dana Marton


A dangerous past forced him to lie low…until a beautiful target landed in his armsWith only seconds to spare, Cade had rescued feisty neighbour Bailey from the grenade that demolished her home. The rugged ex-soldier had no doubt the explosion was payback for his own dangerous past, but before long Cade realised Bailey was the true target.Now, to protect her from assassins, Cade must take Bailey on the run. As a trained-to-kill soldier Cade’s number one priority is to keep Bailey out of harm’s way – and the best way he knows to do that is to keep her wrapped up in his arms!







“Put me down!”

She fought him the best she could, a hundred and twenty pounds of wriggling fury. “Don’t do this. Whatever you think you are doing, I know you are going to regret it.”

He did already.

“Are you crazy?”

He could get them out of there, away from the grenade blast site, in a hurry. He fitted his free hand to her shapely behind to hold her place. Smooth skin, lean limbs, dangerous curves. He tried not to touch more than was absolutely necessary. Yeah, she could probably make him do a couple of crazy things without half trying.

And if they made it out alive he’d be tempted to find out what those were.


Available in October 2009from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

Baby’s Watch by Justine Davis &A Hero of Her Own by Carla Cassidy

Christmas Spirit by Rebecca York &Beast of Desire

by Lisa Renee Jones

Beneath the Badge by Rita Herron &Match Play by Merline Lovelace

The Heiress’s 2-Week Affair by Marie Ferrarella

Veiled Truth by Vivi Anna

Tall, Dark and Lethal by Dana Marton


Dana Marton is the author of over a dozen fast-paced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antique shops and enjoys working in her sizable flower garden where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She would love to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at the following address: DanaMarton@DanaMarton.com.





TALL, DARK AND LETHAL


BY




DANA MARTON















MILLS & BOON




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


With many thanks to Allison Lyons, Louise Rozett and

Priya Ravishankar for all their help, and to my family

for their never-ending support.




Chapter One


He would kill a man before the day was out. And—God help him—Cade Palmer hoped this would be the last time.

He’d done the job before and didn’t like the strange heaviness that settled on him. Not guilt or second thoughts—he’d been a soldier too long for that. But still, something grim and somber that made little sense, especially today. He’d been waiting for this moment for months. Today he would put an old nightmare to rest and fulfill a promise.

In an hour, Abhi would hand him information on David Smith’s whereabouts, and there was no place on earth he couldn’t reach by the end of the day. He’d hire a private jet if he had to. Whatever it took. Before the sun comes up tomorrow, David Smith will be gone.

He headed up the stairs to his cell phone as it rang on his nightstand. Wiping the last of the gun oil on his worn jeans, he crossed into his bedroom. He was about to reach for the phone when he caught sight of the unmarked van parked across the road from his house.

The van hadn’t been there thirty minutes ago. Nor had he seen it before. He made it his business to pay attention to things like that. At six in the morning on Saturday, his new suburban Pennsylvania neighborhood was still asleep, the small, uniform yards deserted. Nothing was out of place—except the van, which made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

The only handgun he kept inside the house—a SIG P228—was downstairs on the kitchen table in pieces, half-cleaned. He swore. Trouble had found him once again—par for the course in his line of work. Just because he was willing to let go of his old enemies—except David Smith—didn’t mean they were willing to let go of him.

“Happy blasted retirement,” he said under his breath as he turned to get the rifle he kept in the hallway closet. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. The rear door of the van inched open, and with a sick sense of dread, he knew what he was going to see a split second before the man in the back was revealed, lifting a grenade launcher to his shoulder.

Instinct and experience. Cade had plenty of both and put them to good use, shoving the still-ringing phone into his back pocket as he lunged for the hallway.

Had he been alone in the house, his plan would have been simple: get out and make those bastards rue the day they were born. But he wasn’t alone, which meant he had to alter his battle plan to include grabbing the most obnoxious woman in the universe—aka his neighbor, who lived in the other half of his duplex—and dragging her from the kill zone.

He darted through his bare guest bedroom and busted open the door that led to the small balcony in the back, crashing out into the muggy August morning. Heat, humidity and birdsong.

At least the birds in the jungle knew when danger was afoot. These twittered on, clueless. Proximity to civilization dulled their instincts. And his. He should have known that trouble was coming before it got here. Should have removed himself to some cabin in the woods, someplace with a warning system set up and an arsenal at his fingertips, a battleground where civilians wouldn’t have been endangered. But he was where he was, so he turned his thoughts to escape and evasion as he moved forward.

Bailey Preston’s half of the house was the mirror image of his, except that she used the back room for her bedroom. Cade vaulted over her balcony, kicked her new French door open and zeroed in on the tufts of cinnamon hair sticking out from under a pink, flowered sheet on a bed that took up most of her hotpink bedroom. Beneath the mess of hair, a pair of blue-violet eyes were struggling to come into focus. She blinked at him like a hungover turtle. Her mouth fell open but no sound came out. Definitely a first.

He strode forward without pause.

“What are you doing here? Get away from me!” She’d woken up in that split second it took him to reach her bed and was fairly shrieking. She was good at that—she’d been a thorn in his side since he’d moved in. She was pulling the sheet to her chin, scampering away from him, flailing in the tangled covers. “Don’t you touch me. You, you—”

He unwrapped her with one smooth move and picked her up, ignoring the pale-purple silk shorts and tank top. So Miss Clang-and-Bang had a soft side. Who knew?

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m just getting you out.”

She weighed next to nothing but still managed to be an armful. Smelled like sleep and sawdust, with a faint hint of varnish thrown in. Her odd scent appealed to him more than any coy, flowery perfume could have. Not that he was in any position to enjoy it. He tried in vain to duck the small fists pounding his shoulders and head, and gave thanks to God that her nephew, who’d been vacationing with her for the first part of summer, had gone back to wherever he’d come from. Dealing with her was all he could handle.

“Are you completely crazy?” She was actually trying to poke his eyes out. “I’m calling the police. I’m calling the police right now!”

She was possibly more than he could handle, although that macho sense of vanity that lived deep down in every man made it hard for him to admit that, even as her fingers jabbed dangerously close to his irises in some freakish self-defense move she must have seen on TV.

“You might want to hang on.” He was already out of the room. Less than ten seconds had passed since he’d seen the guy in the van. “And try to be quiet.” He stepped up to the creaking balcony railing and jumped before it could give way under their combined weight.

She screamed all the way down and then some, giving no consideration to his eardrums whatsoever. Once upon a time, he’d worked with explosives on a regular basis. He knew loud. She was it.

He swore at the pain that shot up his legs as they crashed to the ground, but he was already pushing away with her over his shoulder and running for cover in the maze of Willow Glen duplexes in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania.

Unarmed. In the middle of freaking combat.

He didn’t feel fear—just unease. He was better than this. He’d always had a sixth sense that let him know when his enemies were closing in. It wasn’t like him to get lulled into complacency.

“Are you trying to kill us? Are you on drugs? Listen. To. Me. Try to focus.” She grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. “I am your neighbor.”

He kept the house between him and the tangos in the van, checking for any indication of danger waiting for them ahead. No movement on the rooftops. If there was a sniper, he was lying low. Cade scanned the grass for wire trips first, then for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon. He came up with nada.

“Put me down!” She fought him as best she could, a hundred and twenty pounds of wriggling fury. “Don’t do this! Whatever you think you are doing, I know you are going to regret it.”

He did already.

“Are you crazy?”

He could get there in a hurry. He put his free hand on her shapely behind to hold her in place. Smooth skin, lean limbs, dangerous curves. He tried not to grope more than was absolutely necessary. Yeah, she could probably make him do a couple of crazy things without half trying. But they had to get out of the kill zone first.

“Let me go! Listen, let me—”

They were only a dozen or so feet from the nearest duplex when his home—and hers—finally blew.

That shut her up.

He dove forward, into the cover of the neighbor’s garden shed. They went down hard, and he rolled on top of her, protecting her from the blast, careful to keep most of his weight off. The second explosion came right on the heels of the first. It shook the whole neighborhood.

That would be the C4 he kept in the safe in his garage.

Damn.

“What—was—that?” Her blue-violet eyes stared up at him, her voice trembling, her face the color of lemon sherbet.

There were days when she looked like a garden fairy in her flyaway, flower-patterned clothes with a mess of cinnamon hair, petite but well-rounded body, big violet eyes and the cutest pixie nose he’d ever seen on a woman. She had no business being wrapped in silk in his arms, looking like a frightened sex kitten as he lay on top of her.

Her fear quickly turned to rage, unfortunately.

“What did you do?” Her tone was a good reminder that even when she did look like a fairy, she wasn’t the “flit from flower to flower” kind found in children’s books. She was more like the angry fairies in Irish folktales, the kind that throw thunderbolts from their eyes and put wicked curses on men.

Just like her to blame him for the slightest thing that went wrong around the house. She had blamed him for the molehills the week before. Supposedly, he’d used the kind of lawn fertilizer that attracted the little bastards.

“You blew up the house?” Her full mouth really did lose all attractiveness when it went tight with anger. A shame.

Okay, so he did have a small collection of explosives left over from previous missions. Not that he was going to mention the C4 to her just now. Or ever. She was about the least understanding person he knew, with a tendency to harp on people’s mistakes. His, anyway.

And he hadn’t made any mistakes here, dammit. The C4 had been secured. He was retired at a secret location—or so he thought. The last thing he’d expected was a grenade blasting through his house.

“I didn’t blow up anything. We need to get out of here.” Before everyone in the whole development rushed outside, and the cops arrived.

“I have to ask the neighbors to call the police.” She was scampering away in a tempting display of bare limbs.

Her skin was smooth and soft but barely tanned, even at the end of summer. When she wasn’t at work at the garden center, she was hammering around in her garage. Not the type to lie out on her balcony in a skimpy bikini like their neighbor across the street, and Cade gave thanks for that. There was only so much temptation a man could take.

“I’m sure that’s taken care of already.” He grabbed her slim arm, registering the velvet feel of her skin as he pulled her up. A wave of smoke and dust reached them. “Keep your mouth and your nose covered.”

The top of her head came only to his chin. Not that anyone would think of her as a fragile little thing. Her feistiness had always lent her stature. But that feistiness was nowhere to be seen now as she stared, coughing, toward what had been her home. Wood beams leaned on each other like some macabre game of pickup sticks, furniture strewn and burning all over the lawn. She looked lost, blinking more rapidly with each passing second.

Bailey Preston lost. That’d be the day. The smoke and dust must be distorting his vision.

“Keep low. Keep in cover.” He moved out, pulling her behind him, covering ground at a good clip. He needed to get her as far away as possible before the shock wore off and she started fighting him tooth and nail again.

He headed straight for the grove of trees that separated their development from the next, taking advantage of the burning house that captured the full attention of the people who were coming outside in robes and pajamas, looking stunned. Bailey blended right in with her silk pajamas. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t attention worthy. He was still trying hard not to look.

“We have to go back.” She did her best to stop him.

He kept going, pulling her completely into the trees. In thirty seconds, they were in a more upscale neighborhood, with mansions on a full acre each, lush green lawns and professionally done flower beds, a few of which showed off Bailey’s handmade garden-art pieces. He went around an oversize pool and up a few steps to a driveway, heading for the nearest car—a Cadillac Escalade.

Nobody stirred in the house. The power couple was probably golfing at the crack of dawn in their vintage Corvette that he had admired from afar. He had thoroughly checked out his new neighborhood and its surroundings before he had moved in, planning escape routes. Except he hadn’t planned on taking someone with him when and if he had to run. That changed things a little. Instead of going for his secret stash of weapons and circling back to see who had found him, he decided to keep Bailey Preston safe and book the hell out of here before anyone came after them.

The Escalade was unlocked. After two months of living out here, he still couldn’t believe people did that.

“What are you doing?” She was beginning to fight in earnest again, but he easily kept his hold on her slim wrist. “The police will want to talk to us.”

Just the thing they needed to avoid. “Get in.” He pushed her into the car and slid across the hood, bursting inside and catching her, pulling her back just as she was about to light out. He clicked on the childproof locks. “Hang on for a second.”

No keys above the visor. Even trusting suburbanites had their limits. A damn shame. Not that hotwiring the thing took all that long. They were pulling out of the driveway in less than a minute.

“Get down.”

“Where are we going?” Her voice still held tinges of shock and confusion, but her blue-violet eyes cleared as her gaze pinned him. “Why are you stealing a car?”

He kind of liked her dazed and confused—definitely easier to handle. Not that easy played a big part in his life. “Look, we need to go someplace safe.”

“I need to get back to my house.” Her voice now rang with resolution as she reached for the door again, grunting in frustration when it wouldn’t open. “What are you doing? You have to let me go.”

Clearly, she didn’t have a very good grasp on the situation. “The people who blew up the house are still out there.” He spelled it out for her. To be fair, this was likely the first time she had been shot at with a grenade launcher. He should cut her some slack.

“Gas explosion,” she said, with full conviction.

He wished. Wouldn’t that make his life so much simpler? “I don’t think so.” He scanned the street as he drove, looking for the van or any other vehicles or activity. He couldn’t be sure how many men were out there after him. Anyone he’d tangled with in the past would know him enough to come prepared.

“Nobody is trying to kill us, for crying out loud. What are you? An army veteran? What do they call it?” She furrowed her delicate brows. “Combat fatigue? Is that why you’re so paranoid?”

Combat fatigue? She was going to put him on the disabled roster? He didn’t think so.

“Maybe I think someone blew up the damn house on purpose because I saw the bastard aiming his grenade launcher. How is that?” Impatience showed in his words, but he didn’t care. He was supposed to be heading off to an important meeting with Abhi, dammit. A meeting he had put off for too long.

Or not long enough.

Had getting in touch with some of his old connections in the field triggered this attack? The timing was a little too close for comfort.

She was staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. Stayed that way for another full second. Had to be a record. “You—What? Who?”

“Damned if I know.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “But we are not going back there until I figure out what’s going on.”

A few seconds of silence passed while she mulled that over. He expected her to issue another passionate argument for returning. But when she finally spoke, all she said was, “I don’t have clothes on.” And she crossed her arms in front of her.

Soft, silky skin and barely concealed curves. Just keep looking at the road.

“I noticed that.” Yes, sir. Certainly had. He cleared his throat before he chanced another glance at her.

Pink washed over her cheeks.

Wasn’t she just a surprise and a half? Looked like having her house blown up brought her defenses down.

His house, too. The full implications fully registered. His hideout. The one place he’d felt sure he would be safe. Where he’d planned on starting over.

Apparently not. A four-letter word slipped from his mouth with some vehemence.

She glared at him, but sirens sounding in the distance claimed her attention. “Who wants you dead?” she asked after a minute.

He considered the endless list in his head as he pulled out of the maze of developments and onto Route 1. The last batch of terrorists he’d tangled with had certainly promised to hunt him down and kill him like a dog. But they were only the latest addition to a large group. His occupation was what you’d call “conflict heavy.”

“Then again, the who doesn’t list is probably shorter,” she said, without waiting for his answer.

He bit back a grin. Her griping got on his nerves more often than not, but there was a sassy side to her that he found entertaining. Half the time he wanted her to win a trip to the moon. What he wanted the other half of the time was what kept him up at night.

Her bedroom was now fixed in his brain. Pink silk sheets. He could have lived without knowing that. Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to ponder it.

He considered the events of the morning. How much of what he knew and who he was should he share with her? As little as possible. He didn’t think she’d feel better if he told her that the tangos didn’t want him dead—yet. Otherwise they would have hit his bedroom and not the garage.

Two single garages sat side by side in the front of the duplex, right in the middle. From the speed with which the second explosion followed the first, it was clear to Cade that the hit went straight to the garage and then ignited the C4. Losing that hurt more than losing the house. Not that he thought the tangos knew he had an explosive stash. They just wanted to hit something other than the bedroom and give Cade time to rush outside so they could pick him up in the confusion.

But he’d seen them in time and made it out. And then, before they could come after him, they had been rocked by the second explosion. Their van was close to the house—just across the road. If Bailey weren’t with him, he could have gone back to check it out. Could be it had sustained damage and was still stuck there.

Could be they had a backup plan and he would be walking straight into it.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked his missed call. The Colonel, head of the Special Designation Defense Unit. Just the man he needed to talk to. He hit the dial button.

“Sir, I have a small problem. I need to come in,” he said as soon as the Colonel picked up. “I’m not alone.” He could have dropped Miss Scream-and-Holler off at her nearest friend’s house, but she needed to be read the riot act about the confidentiality of what had gone down this morning. As far as her neighbors would be concerned, the explosion had been a damn gas leak.

Someone would take care of Bailey to ensure that she was fully aware of the gravity of the situation as well as run a background check on her before they released her. Not that they would find much of interest. He had run a check himself before he had moved into their duplex.

He would go underground for a while. The SDDU, from which he had recently retired, had safe rooms available on various army bases around the country, as well as safe houses in the civilian world. He’d be directed to one where he could recoup and rearm so he could start figuring out what was going on.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” the Colonel said, his tone grimmer than hell in a heat wave. And he hadn’t even heard all the bad news for the morning yet.

“Somebody just blew up my house.” Straight to the point always worked best with the Colonel. “Any chance of getting a list of everyone I’ve done business with who has entered the country in the past six months?”

He could hear the man draw a slow breath. “You bet. Not that I can think of any off the top of my head.”

That didn’t bode well. The Colonel kept a close eye on the comings and goings of anyone on their tagged list.

“Could be they came through the southern border without us knowing, or through one of the ports,” Cade said, thinking out loud.

“It’s a possibility,” he acknowledged. A moment of silence passed. “A month out of the action and you’re looking for trouble already? I thought you said you were going for the quiet life.”

Cade shifted in his seat. “I was, sir. But it looks like the past isn’t finished with me yet.” The Colonel didn’t need to know that he’d been staging his very last—private—op for weeks. He didn’t want to drag anyone into that with him.

“How could anyone find you? I don’t even know where you are.”

An exaggeration. The Colonel knew everything. Or could find out in a hurry. “No idea yet, sir, but I’ll figure it out.”

When his cover had been blown in Southeast Asia a little over four months ago, and his life further complicated by shrapnel in his lungs, he’d been retired from undercover commando work at the age of forty. A retirement his enemies seemed unwilling to honor. He couldn’t blame them. He’d done some damage in his day.

But he hadn’t thought he would be found, not this fast. He had counted on having enough time to take care of his unfinished business with that bastard Smith before he would have to disappear again.

He hadn’t even known about the uncle who had left him half of a duplex in Pennsylvania. His grandmother had had an older son out of wedlock that she had never told her husband and daughter about. A son who, apparently, had died not long ago with no children of his own, so Cade ended up with the house. And he’d received his payoff from the SDDU in cash. He hadn’t been to a bank since he’d been shipped back stateside from the military hospital in Germany. Hadn’t used credit cards, hadn’t returned to his old home or any of his properties to retrieve as much as a coffee cup, hadn’t gotten his car out of storage. He might as well have died on that last mission and never returned to the U.S. No one knew where he was.

Except the tangos who had just blown up his house.

“Where can I go, sir? What’s open?” The sooner he got off the road, the sooner he could start investigating, the sooner he could take care of the men in the van and get back to the op he’d been planning. Which would now be delayed, dammit. Didn’t look like he would be catching up with Smith today after all.

Bailey pulled her legs up to hug her knees. She needed to put some decent clothes on. He tried not to look at her toned legs. She was barefoot, her toenails done in pink.

He wasn’t sure he could take any more pink this morning. Fortunately, she quickly released her knees and set her feet down.

“Do not come in.” The Colonel enunciated each word.

That snapped him back to business. “Sir?”

“The FBI is looking for you. There was an Agent Rubliczky here at the crack of dawn. He’s not happy. That’s why I called earlier.”

“What do they want now?” He had left the FBI for the SDDU under less than amicable circumstances that included an inside, undercover job to find a leak. His work had ruffled a lot of feathers at the Bureau. He knew Rubliczky by reputation. The man worked domestic terrorism. His blood ran cold at the implications. Son of a bitch.

“I’m being set up?” It seemed impossible for someone there to carry a grudge this long. He’d left the Bureau nearly a decade ago.

“They think you’re involved in something. It’s pretty bad, Cade. They are out for blood. They are also talking about a Bailey Preston. Who is she to you?”

A distraction the magnitude of which could barely be expressed. “We shared the same duplex. She has nothing to do with this.” He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye and couldn’t help noticing her nipples nearly pushing through the thin silk top. He liked to think he was a pretty disciplined guy, but still, he was only a man.

“You’re sure? She could be into…whatever. Could even be a foreign asset.”

Against his better judgment, he looked at Bailey full on. He’d been in this business long enough to be a fair judge of character. “Not possible.”

“She is on their list, too. Could be dangerous.”

He watched as she twisted an arm around, looking straight ahead and trying to keep him from noticing that she was working on pulling up the door lock, yanking it hard enough to nearly break it off. Her jerky movements were giving her full breasts a soft bounce. And he knew exactly what they would feel like moving against his palms.

“It would be better if you stayed put for a while until I figure out what’s going on,” the Colonel was saying.

Stay put where? All he had was the Escalade, which could be reported stolen any minute. He couldn’t go back to the duplex—or to any of his other properties. He couldn’t go to the law, and he couldn’t stay on the road. There were some badass terrorists looking for him, along with the FBI. And if that wasn’t crazy enough, he had his ill-tempered neighbor in the silk pajamas to worry about.

He’d run for his life many times before, but never with a half-naked woman in tow. Most guys he knew would say the addition of a half-naked woman would improve just about any situation a man could get into.

She flashed him a look sharp enough to peel skin, her blue-violet eyes throwing thunderbolts once again. Her normally generous lips tightened to a thin line as she forced her words through them. “I’m going to sue you for this.”

Those guys had never met Bailey Preston, that’s for sure.




Chapter Two


“Take me home or take me to the nearest police station. Your pick,” Bailey said for the umpteenth time, raising her voice a smidgen, which made no difference whatsoever. Talking to Cade Palmer was like talking to her garden statuettes, or to her sixteen-year-old nephew, Zak, who was going through yet another difficult phase. Poor kid.

She was willing to cut Zak some slack. But not Cade. Cade was a grown man who should be held responsible for his actions.

“Who are you, anyway?” Even sitting down, she had to look up at him. He was a head taller, built but lean, and irritating as anything.

She was starting to suspect that he wasn’t the computer programmer he’d claimed to be. People didn’t come after computer programmers with grenade launchers. Then there was all that “yes, sir; no, sir” business on the phone, and him wanting to “come in.”

He was looking in the rearview mirror and ignoring her. Straight nose, strong jawline and shortcropped dark brown hair. He had a singular focus and an easy grace to his lean body.

“Are you in the witness protection program?”

He took forever to respond. “Kind of.”

Oh, God. Anger flooded her circuits. He had no right to drag her into his dirty business. “Could you be any vaguer?”

“You bet.” He looked at her with his caramel brown eyes, which were fringed with thick, dark lashes. “There’s a confidentiality issue.”

What on earth had she ever done to deserve this from the universe?

She had to be honest—she didn’t much care for the man. He was insufferable for the most part, the kind of neighbor people prayed wouldn’t move in next door. She did her best not to let him get a rise out of her with every outrageous act or comment—and failed often. And she had trained herself not to ogle or respond to his magnificent body, not even if he purposely taunted her by mowing the lawn in nothing but a pair of tattered blue jeans. But his eyes got to her every time. And there was no avoiding them, because if she dropped her gaze, she was confronted with his mile-wide chest.

“It’s for your own protection,” he added.

“I don’t want your kind of protection.” She was lucky he hadn’t killed her when they’d jumped from the balcony. Her heart raced all over again just thinking about it. Or maybe she just hadn’t had a chance to calm down fully yet.

He had stepped up on her railing—which she should have replaced when she’d installed the French doors, but had run out of money—and then he had stepped out into nothing. Air. His arms had been like steel brackets around her. For a surreal moment, he had morphed into some kind of action hero. Or villain. She hadn’t quite decided yet which one.

“I don’t want to go with you.”

“Too bad,” he said, without looking at her.

That was so like the man. Stubborn and rude. Insufferable. From the moment he had moved in, they had fought over everything, from the noise she made working in her garage to the oil his car leaked all over the driveway. He’d claimed her music was too loud. He’d knocked over her favorite flagpole and flat out refused to fix it. He might have a great body and gorgeous eyes, but manners he had none.

He’d had the gall to yell at Zak for tapping into his wireless. Why? It didn’t cost him any extra if Zak used it. She had dial-up, but Zak had wanted something faster. The troubled teen—who, by the way, was a computer genius, but would Cade notice that and take him under his wing a little? Oh, noooo—did deserve some distraction when his life as he knew it was falling apart. Cade Palmer was selfish and mean to kids.

And a kidnapper.

“You can’t take me God knows where against my will. Explain to me why we can’t go to the police.”

“This is beyond the police. As soon as I can be sure that it’s safe to let you go, I will. Put on your seat belt.”

So she couldn’t easily jump from the car when he stopped for a light? Not a chance. “What do you mean, beyond the police?”

He ignored her, which made her want to beat him over the head with something. Just her luck that he’d stolen a car without as much as a baseball bat on the backseat. “Where are we going?”

He took a sharp turn, and she slid hard into the door. She shot him a glare before reaching for her seat belt.

“Stay low.” He picked up speed, then took two turns in quick succession, watching the rearview mirror more closely than the road ahead of them.

Oh. Her mouth went dry as she gripped her seat. All she could think of was the way he had said “grenade launcher” with that dark look on his face just a short while ago. Her heart skipped a beat. “Are they following us?”

Long moments passed before he responded, slowing the car at last. “We’re fine. For a second I thought—”

“You gave me a heart attack for nothing?” She went for the door lock again. When he reached over and grabbed her hand, she shoved hard against him. Not that he took any notice. “Want to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“We need a new car and some weapons.” He pulled up to the post office and parked.

How did they get here? Clearly, he knew more back roads than she did. Maybe he wasn’t as new to the neighborhood as he’d claimed. Although she’d never seen him before he’d shown up three months ago just to annoy her to death.

“Come on. We’re going in.”

“In pajamas? Barefoot?” Her mind suddenly caught up with what he’d said. “Weapons?” Her voice was a touch weaker on that last word.

“It’s not even seven in the morning. Nobody is going to be in there. You’re fine.”

Obviously he wasn’t the kind of man who worried much about propriety. But he was right; the building was empty. The post office wasn’t open yet, but the room with the P.O. boxes was. He went straight to the stainless-steel sorting table that housed forms of all sizes and colors, reached under it, searched for a second and then came up with a small key. He opened one of the larger, business-size P.O. boxes on the opposite wall and retrieved a box that held a black gym bag.

Once they returned to the car, he tossed the bag in the back and indicated that she should get in. “You should be able to find something in there to wear. You can change here.”

Huh?

Getting naked with Cade Palmer nearby wasn’t on her it-might-happen-in-this-lifetime list. Although there had been that dream…. Okay, maybe more than one. But she was not going to think about them—not now, not ever. She opened the bag and saw a soft, extra-large T-shirt on top. She would be less conspicuous in that than in her slinky pajama top.

“Fine. Don’t look.” She turned her back to him.

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”

She could tell from his voice that he was grinning.

Insufferable.

She grabbed the bottom of her top. Stalled. Looked back at him. He lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror.

“Don’t look!”

“You turned around. I thought you wanted something from me.” He turned his attention back to the road. She was right—he was grinning.

She yanked her silk top off. No big deal. He had probably seen a naked woman or two before, anyway. It would have been easier to leave the top on under the T-shirt, but it was the middle of a heat wave, the temperature nearing ninety already—not a day for layers.

She glanced down at her body. With his long T-shirt on top, the silk shorts almost passed for street wear. She dug into the bag, hoping for something for her feet. Her soles were scratched and bruised from him dragging her—barefoot—through all that landscaping.

Flip-flops would have been great. Instead, she found a Ziploc bag full of IDs and bank cards, and a wad of cash held together by a rubber band.

And a gun.

Her fingertips went cold, the air suddenly froze in her lungs, and clothing became the least of her problems. His mentioning weapons was one thing; sitting next to a nasty-looking firearm was another. It brought the severity of her situation into sharp focus.

“I’ll take that.” He held his hand out and, when after a moment of hesitation, she gingerly gave him the gun, he said, “See if you can find some bullets in the front pocket.”

She did. A whole box of them. She handed them over, and he started to load the handgun without slowing down or taking his eyes off the road, driving with one elbow. Like he was one of those guys in spy movies who practice taking apart and putting together their weapons while blindfolded. If she weren’t so scared, she would have been impressed.

She considered staying in the backseat, as far from him as possible. But she had questions, and she wanted to look at his face while he answered them to see if he was lying to her.

She climbed to the front, nearly knocking him out with her left knee when she slipped—which she didn’t feel too bad about, to be honest—then fastened herself in. First things first. “Why is the Mafia after you?” She braced herself for some grizzly story. It had to be something pretty serious.

He gave her a blank look.

“Witness protection?” she prompted.

The tanned skin around his caramel eyes crinkled. “I never said anything about the Mafia.”

She thought back. True. She’d assumed.

“You did witness a crime, right? That’s how people get into witness protection.” What did she know about that, anyway? Whatever she’d seen on TV. And real cops always said how those shows were wildly inaccurate.

Still, if he was in the program, there had to be a good reason for it. She hoped he wasn’t a criminal who’d rolled over on his buddies. She pulled as far away from him as possible without being too obvious about it, and put on the best poker face she could, preparing for his answer.

“I’m not in witness protection.”

She glared. “You said—”

“I said kind of.”

She really should have asked more questions before she handed him the gun. Oh, God. She’d just armed the man who had kidnapped her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was so far out of her element, she couldn’t keep up, couldn’t think fast enough. She had to start using her head to gain some information and make some decisions. “Any ideas on who is after you?” Would he tell her?

“Take your pick. Could be a drug lord, weapons smugglers, terrorists…”

Okay, so that was probably the truth. Nobody would make up a list like that. The options were enough to give anyone heart palpitations, yet he was oddly nonchalant. Like a professional. He did know how to handle that gun. He was either a bad guy who’d ticked off some other bad guys, or a good guy with a lot of enemies. She decided to be optimistic. She desperately needed some hope to cling to, even if for only a few more moments. “You were in law enforcement?”

Say yes. Please say yes.

“Kind of.”

Her nerves were as frayed as the cuffs of his jeans. “If you say kind of one more time, I’m going to scream.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said, humor glinting in his eyes.

He thought this was funny? The man lived to drive her crazy. Swear to God, if she had a grenade launcher…

She caught herself. She believed in a universe that could be influenced by positive and negative thoughts. In the situation she was in, there was no sense thinking violent thoughts. She closed her eyes for a moment and briefly envisioned getting away from the man.

He pulled into the parking lot of a diner, which, unlike the post office lot, looked fairly full.

DeDe’s was a plain, square clapboard building that never made it into visitors’ guides. Tourists who came to Chadds Ford to discover the country’s colonial past wouldn’t have looked at it twice, anyway. But the food was divine, which made it a favorite meeting place for locals. She used to have breakfast here with her grandmother every Sunday, before she’d passed.

She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. “What are we doing here?”

“Getting breakfast.” He was checking out the lot carefully.

“How can you eat at a time like this?”

He shrugged. “If you don’t eat, you won’t have the strength to face whatever comes next.”

He had a very pragmatic view of eating. Judging from his lean body, he’d never spent a day of his life overeating, or dieting, or wrought with emotion that made ice cream a necessity, for that matter. “I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“You can always give it a try. A sandwich and orange juice?”

“Okay. And coffee.” Although if there were ever a morning when she was wide-awake without caffeine, this would be it. Still, old habits died harder than Duracell batteries. And caffeine wasn’t just about waking up. It was her comfort food of choice. Among others. Suddenly she could have killed for a bag of Cheetos.

Not that there was a chance of getting Cheetos out of Cade. She’d seen his grocery bags before—he was a health nut. He shopped at Trader Joe’s.

“You stay here.” He scanned the parking lot one more time before starting out. “I’ll get it to go.”

She watched him walk to the front door and hold it open for a group of old ladies. He trusted her to stay put. He really had seemed competent until now. So competent that she was beginning to feel dejected about her chances of getting away from him. Well, everybody makes mistakes.

She was out of the SUV the second the door closed behind him. And she nearly got run over by the cop car pulling into the lot.

HE THOUGHT HE’D LOST Palmer, but spotted him in that SUV by accident and thanked his lucky stars for it. Luck had always been on his side. And why not? Luck favored the prepared mind. Wasn’t that what they said? And he always was prepared.

So was Cade Palmer, it seemed. He’d escaped that explosion. That had been a surprise in the middle of his morning surveillance. He’d been checking out the house, making his own plans. He wouldn’t have minded if someone else took care of Palmer. He wasn’t vain that way, didn’t take his business personally like some others he knew—no sense in that. Whatever way the man was rubbed out was fine with him.

As he had stalked closer, he’d watched the woman Palmer left in the car. He wanted Palmer, but he could settle for her now. Palmer would come after her—he could never resist saving everyone in sight and then some. He would have grabbed her were it not for the damn cop who came at the worst moment, when he was a few feet from the Escalade and she was looking in the opposite direction, not having a clue.

He did have time to notice her nice legs. He wasn’t averse to bonuses. That Palmer had likely had her already didn’t detract from her charms—maybe it even added to them. He’d enjoy taking something that was Palmer’s.

But he couldn’t risk her making any noise now, couldn’t afford even a momentary struggle. He pulled back into the cover of his own vehicle. He could wait. He had waited for months already, never knowing where the bastard was, never knowing if he was going to wake to Palmer’s gun pressed to his forehead.

He had the man’s scent now, was on his trail. He would get him in the end. He always got his man. That was how he had stayed alive in parts of the world where violence was an everyday occurrence and respected businessmen and politicians went to dinner with assassins and murderers.

He couldn’t say he liked the life, but he understood it and was good at it, had achieved a measure of success fishing in those murky waters. He wasn’t about to let Cade Palmer take that away from him. And one thing was clear. With the past they shared, it would always come down to kill or be killed between the two of them.

Palmer was good at killing.

But he was better.

CADE STUDIED THE POSTED menu, turning his cell phone over in his hand. He was supposed to meet Abhi in half an hour. Had the man betrayed him? He’d been the SDDU’s trusted man in Jodhpur. But people switched sides all the time. No one knew that better than he did. The name David Smith tasted bitter on his tongue. Cade gripped his phone, irritated that the man at the front of the line was taking forever to order.

Abhi might know that he was alive. He had to consider that possibility. He had contacted the man under an assumed name, but Abhi had connections. He would dig deep before agreeing to a meet. Cade hadn’t thought he could dig deep enough to get to him, but what if he had?

But even if Abhi had discovered his identity, he still wouldn’t know where he lived. Cade couldn’t see any possible way how the man could have found that out. Still, at one point Abhi had worked for BAKIN—Indonesian intelligence—which had since been restructured into BIN, the Badan Intelijen Negara. The man was scary good. A great guy to know as long as he was on your side. And therein lay the gamble.

He couldn’t go to Abhi with Bailey in tow, and he couldn’t leave Bailey behind. The question was whether to call Abhi and set another time for their meeting. If he didn’t show, would Abhi pack up and go back to his Jodhpur hideout, taking his information with him? Probably not, not for a few days, not with the amount of money Cade had put on the table for information on David Smith.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had to get Bailey out of the cross fire and hand her over to the authorities for safekeeping. But first he had to figure out why the FBI wanted them in the first place, and convince the Bureau that she didn’t have anything to do with anything. He needed time, and he needed to find out which of his enemies had orchestrated this morning’s attack—and how they had found him.

PERFECT. NICE TO HAVE some luck for a change. Bailey relaxed for the first time that morning. She smoothed her T-shirt down, tugged her hair into place and straightened her spine.

The black-and-white rolled into a parking space a few feet to her right. She walked toward it, wincing as the gravel scratched her bare feet. With a little more luck, she’d be given a ride home.

Not that she had shoes at home.

Not that she had a home. The thought took the air out of her lungs. She paused to catch her breath. Cade’s craziness had distracted her from the fact that her house was gone. Why was it so hard to breathe? Her eyes burned.

She couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Not yet. She had to ask for help.

The nice officer was going to take her someplace safe where she could call her brother. They would let her wait at the police station until he came to pick her up. They would wrap her in a blanket and give her hot coffee. She watched TV—she knew how it went.

She would be told that it had been a gas explosion after all. Grenade launcher. Right. Could be that Cade was a crazy maniac who had blown up the house himself and concocted the whole story so she would willingly go with him.

What did she know about him, anyway? He’d lived in the house for only three months. He claimed to be Frank Garey’s nephew, but she’d known Frank for nearly seven years and the retired truck driver had never mentioned any relatives to her.

She glanced toward the diner’s entrance. A young couple came out, hugging and kissing for all they were worth, acting like they were madly in love. Bailey wasn’t sold on the idea of love. Both sets of grandparents had divorced before she’d been born. Her parents’ divorce was a mess she just as soon not think about. And now her brother’s marriage had fallen under the ax.

The lovebirds outside the diner moved on without letting each other go for a second.

She couldn’t see Cade. So far so good.

He would be mad as hell when he found her gone. And she didn’t want to see Cade Palmer mad. She’d seen him annoyed, and that was scary enough. In a few minutes, she would be under the protection of the law, safe from him and whatever was really going on.

Maybe they would never see each other again. That would be good. Bailey was pretty convinced that he was running from the law—otherwise he would have called the police after his house blew up. If fortune smiled on her, he would just keep running and never look back.

She stepped gingerly on the hot, sharp blacktop, running on nerves as she approached the cop car. The officer inside was shutting off the engine and fiddling with the laptop on the dashboard. Computer technology had entered every aspect of life these days. Even she had experimented with some digital garden-art designs, and thanks to her nephew’s tips, had actually gotten better at it.

Deep breath. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts so she could explain her situation coherently and the policeman wouldn’t think her a raving lunatic. She finger-combed her tangled hair one more time. Hi. My house exploded this morning. She bit her lip. How about Hi. I was kidnapped? Would that be putting it too strongly? Cade had said he only wanted to protect her. He’d done nothing to harm her so far—but he did have a gun. She filled her lungs with air again.

She could see the screen and the scrolling images on the officer’s laptop. As she tried to figure out what she would say to him once he stepped out of the car, Cade’s picture flashed on, with a single line of text on top. She moved closer to read it, but the picture changed too quickly.

She stared, rooted to the spot, as her own image scrolled onto the screen.

Where did they get that?

Her attention was quickly drawn from last year’s much-regretted experimental perm to the bolded message above her photo.

WANTED BY THE FBI. And below that, another line: CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS.




Chapter Three


Damn. She was going for the cop. Couldn’t be left alone for a minute. Cade had looked back through the windows just in the nick of time.

“Excuse me.” He pushed through the people in line behind him, stepped outside and walked toward her as fast as he could without drawing attention. She seemed to be hesitating.

“How many bagels did you say you wanted, babe?”

She startled and whipped around, with a stunned look on her face, and hesitated for another beat as she glanced back at the black-and-white—hesitated too long.

“You better look at their choices.” He grabbed her by the elbow in what looked like an intimate gesture but would have been impossible to shake off had she tried, and steered her toward the diner, growling only two short words under his breath. “Get inside.”

A waitress hurried by just as they stepped in. “Good morning. Would you like a table?” Her smile didn’t reach her tired eyes, her mind clearly someplace else. She was in her fifties but her shoulders sloped like someone decades older. She did not, thank God, notice Bailey’s bare feet and point to the No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service sign on the door.

“Just picking up. Thanks.” Cade headed to the take-out station once again, where a high-school kid was manning the counter. The line had disappeared while he’d gone to stop Bailey from making his life even more complicated than it already was.

“Hi. One cup of coffee with all the fixings.” He’d seen the syrupy stuff Bailey carried around all day long in her “Gardens are Art” oversize mug.

The kid grabbed a purple DeDe’s plastic coffee cup. “Anything else?”

Cade let go of Bailey’s elbow and draped an arm casually around her slim waist, ignoring the kaleidoscope of donuts with their colored frosting in the antique display case in front of him. “Two breakfast sandwiches on whole-wheat bagels. Two bottles of orange juice.” His body was a weapon—he didn’t put junk into it any more than he would have shoved sand down his rifle barrel.

“Fifteen sixty-five.”

He put a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir.” The kid’s smile widened, and he put some spring in his step as he went to get their food.

He was handing Cade the bag when the cop came in. Cade watched the man for a moment from the corner of his eye. The officer sat at a corner table and buried his head in the breakfast menu.

“Thanks.” Cade grabbed their food while Bailey reached for her coffee.

“Thank you for stopping in. Have a great day. Good morning. What can I get you today, sir?” The kid was already serving the next customer.

Cade didn’t have a free hand to hang on to Bailey, so he did his best to herd her in front of him before she got another brilliant idea. Especially since the cop was done making his selection and was scanning the place for the nearest waitress.

Cade watched Bailey for signs that she was ready to bolt, but she’d been uncharacteristically quiet since he’d brought her into the diner. He moved between her and the cop to block his view, turning his back.

Once they were at the door, he checked out the parking lot before stepping out, scanning the cars and the man who had just pulled in before walking to the Escalade.

“Don’t do that again.” He didn’t raise his voice but made sure his tone conveyed his message sufficiently.

She bit her lip and tightened her grip on her coffee.

Was he scaring her yet? He sure as hell hoped so. He hoped he could scare her enough to stop her from doing something colossally stupid. She looked subdued, if not scared. That was something.

“Help yourself.” He put the food between them once they got into the car, but he didn’t touch his. He wanted to be a little farther down the road—and in a different car—first.

He glanced into the rearview mirror before backing out of his spot and saw the cop at the diner’s door, looking at the cars in the parking lot. Time to haul ass.

He pulled out onto Route 1 but veered off almost immediately onto a side street. He snaked through a labyrinth of housing developments. Maybe the cop was looking for the Escalade. Whoever owned it could easily have called it in by now.

Bailey sipped her coffee, set it in the cup holder and looked at him, anxiety in her eyes. “I understand that you think you are saving me, but I’m asking you to let me go. Please.”

She still didn’t get it. “No.”

Her jaw muscles tightened and her fists clenched. “I’m not going to quit trying to get away from you. You can’t watch me every second. You are going to have to sleep at some point.”

That was what she thought. He could go without rest for days when on a mission. But it would help both of them if she stopped struggling every step of the way.

“This is for your own good.” That sounded lame—she wasn’t going to go for that.

And she didn’t.

“I can decide what’s for my own good!” she shouted, clearly at the end of her rope. “Why does the FBI want us?”

The what? He lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t told her about the FBI—there was no sense in getting her all worked up. He figured the shock of her house blowing up was enough for one day, considering she was a civilian.

She drew a deep breath, which pushed her breasts against the T-shirt of his that she’d borrowed. “Our picture was on that officer’s computer in his car.”

So that was why she’d stopped in her tracks when she’d reached the black-and-white. Could be the cop had recognized them in the diner.

He hesitated only a moment before reaching his decision. It would be easier to tell her the truth and gain her cooperation than watch her every second of every day until he figured out what was going on. “We’ve been implicated in domestic terrorism. Both of us,” he added for emphasis.

She went white and stared at him. “Why?” Her mouth closed and then opened again, but nothing else came out.

“You tell me.”

She was slack jawed for another minute before speaking again. “But they’re wrong. We can explain that it’s a mistake, can’t we? We just have to tell them that it’s crazy. They can’t have any proof. We have to go back and talk to someone.”

She seemed determined to rush into disaster. A real babe in the woods.

Her eyes pleaded with him. “Listen to me. We can’t run. This is probably the worst thing we could be doing.”

The fact that she still didn’t trust him after he’d spent his entire morning saving her curvaceous behind frustrated him beyond words. “How keen are you on a surfing holiday?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think water and a board.”

Her eyes widened. She swallowed. “They wouldn’t do that to us. We are U.S. citizens. They can’t interrogate us like that.” But she sounded less than certain.

“You’d be surprised what gets done behind closed doors these days. At the very least, we’ll be taken in for serious interrogation. We’re talking days, at the minimum. They are not going to let us go until they figure out what’s going on. I’d prefer to figure things out on my own, then go in once we’re cleared.”

“But we didn’t do anything.”

“And eventually they would figure that out. My worry is what would happen in the meantime.”

“They can’t have any evidence.”

“They might now. Our house blew up.”

“You said those were terrorists.”

“There’s a chance there won’t be any witnesses to testify to that. But the Feds will be finding pieces of guns and traces of C4 all over the ruins.”

Again, no words came out of her mouth, which was still opening and closing as if she were a fish out of water. Which she was.

He shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. They were left over from my old job.”

“You had guns and explosives in the house?” she squeaked.

He glanced at her to make sure she was okay. “For self-protection.”

She buried her face in her hands, leaning forward as far as the seat belt would allow. A full minute passed before she looked at him again, and it was clear from the set of her jaw how much effort it took for her to keep herself under control. “I could go back and tell them all that stuff was yours. You could hide until you clear yourself. I have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Probably true. But do you think they’ll take your word for it?”

That gave her something to think about for another minute or two. “Okay. But if we have to hide out while whatever this is gets resolved, I’d prefer to hide out on my own. That’s my bottom line.” She drew herself straight and tried to look very tough and businesslike. All five feet five inches of her. In silk pajama shorts, with no shoes, pink toenails wiggling furiously under the dashboard.

He bit back a grin. Gotta give the girl points for trying. “Where?”

“With my brother. Or a trusted friend.”

He didn’t miss the emphasis on trusted. “They’ll have that covered.”

The toe wiggling stopped. Her face went pale again. “You think they’ll investigate my family?”

“Family, friends, coworkers. Consider it already done.”

“But this is insane. This is so unfair.”

Was it? He’d invaded people’s privacy without a second thought if he’d determined that the information he could gain would move his mission forward. He hadn’t given much thought to what it felt like from the other end. Didn’t care much, truthfully. The kind of people who’d made it on to his radar screen were the kind of people who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a grenade through his house. “Welcome to the real world.”

“Surreal world.” She looked out the window at the peaceful community he was driving through, carefully obeying the speed limit. “What are we doing here?”

“Looking for another ride.”

“You can’t keep stealing. That is a crime. I don’t want to get involved in things like this.” There was a new edge of desperation in her voice.

He said nothing as he drove by house after house.

“Are you looking for something specific?” she snapped, shoving her cinnamon hair out of her face, giving him that furious fairy look.

He’d been developing a fascination with furious fairies in the past three months.

“A way out of here. This is a residential area. As soon as someone looks out their window, they’ll notice if their car is gone. I need a business where people won’t go out into the parking lot again at least until their lunch break.” He turned onto a bigger road at the end of the street and saw some office buildings not far off. He headed that way.

“Do you do this a lot?”

He thought back to other cars he’d borrowed on various undercover missions. And that one plane, an older model Cessna, in Colombia. “When necessary.”

She groaned.

“Drink your coffee.” Those full lips needed an occupation other than nagging. He could have suggested a number of activities for them that would have made him happy. Damn, if he looked at her long enough, he could almost feel her lips on him. But based on the killer look she was shooting him at the moment, it probably wasn’t the right time to suggest anything…personal.

“I’m fully awake. Thanks,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and blocking his view of her nipples as they pushed against the fabric of his T-shirt. He sure did love air-conditioning.

He navigated over to the corporate park and stopped. “Okay, let’s go.”

“This is a bus stop.”

“They’ll find the car and get it back to the owner faster if we leave it here.” He waited until she got out and then swung his bag over his shoulder, picked up her pajama top from the back and wiped the interior and the door handles to remove fingerprints. “Hey, that’s mine,” she protested, grabbing at the top.

“It can be washed. You just said you didn’t want to be linked to things like grand theft auto.” He gave her a pointed look. “Let’s not leave a calling card.”

“You’re so good at this, it’s scary.” She watched him through narrowed eyes. “I suppose if you weren’t, you’d be in jail,” she added.

If he weren’t, he’d be dead.

A quick scan of the parking lot turned up exactly what he wanted: a Land Rover with four-wheel drive. The doors were locked, but he had his bag of tricks with him. He reached in and pulled out a small tool kit.

In minutes, they were on the road, heading south. He didn’t stop until they crossed the Maryland border, and then only long enough to run into Wal-Mart for a few changes of clothes, plus shoes for her, food and another canvas bag to stash everything in.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re heading?” she asked when they were back on the road again, her fine legs covered by new, tan capri pants.

“A friend of mine has a fishing camp at one of the smaller lakes around here.”

“We can’t live at a fishing camp for the rest of our lives. We have to talk to someone. I really think you’re making a mistake here.”

Oddly, staying at the camp with her for a prolonged time didn’t seem all that unappealing, despite her endless questioning of his judgment. He would just have to find another occupation for that smart mouth of hers.

“We’re staying until we can figure out who is after me. Or you,” he added, voicing a thought that had been idling in his mind since the Colonel had told him she was on the FBI’s list, too. “Any enemies?”

She gave him her signature glare—annoyance fused with impatience and suffering—and turned her pixie nose way up in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He didn’t think it likely that the tangos had anything to do with her, but until he had proof positive who the bastards were and what they wanted, he couldn’t dismiss any possibility. And he couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go, anyway, as long as the FBI was looking for her. If they had a bone to pick with him, he didn’t want them to find her and drag her into his mess.

He recognized the turnoff and took it. Ten miles later, he found himself in a maze of small, unpaved roads, gravel crunching under the tires. He’d only been to Joey’s camp once, ten years ago. The area had changed since—it was built up, with hardly any open land left. New drives and lanes had been put in.

“Lost?” she asked when he rolled down the same street the second time around.

“Canvassing the neighborhood before approaching the target.”

The look on her face told him he wasn’t fooling her. “Too bad we don’t have GPS.”

“I wouldn’t have taken the car if it did. We could have been tracked through that.”

“Do you always think of everything?” She sounded more annoyed than impressed.

And why in hell would that bother him? He wasn’t trying to impress her. He just wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened to her, especially not because of his questionable past.

“I try.” He flashed her a grin as he caught a familiar sight through the window.

Joey’s place hadn’t changed, except for a new tin roof. It was still just a shack for a weekend of beer drinking and fishing. Heaven.

“This is it?” she asked when he slowed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Home sweet home.”

“I’ll sleep in the car, if it’s all the same to you. You go in, figure out what’s going on, come out when you have it, and then we go home.”

“We have to get rid of the car.”

Pause. “Can’t we just take off the license plate? Or cover it with something?”

“There’s a chance that it might have LoJack.” Technology worked both ways—sometimes it made life easier; sometimes it made life harder.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay.”

Not that he needed her approval or permission. The decisions would be made by him on this mission. Maybe she didn’t fully grasp that yet. She would.

He drove the car to a small train station just as the train to Baltimore pulled in. Inspired by a sudden idea, he bought two tickets for the next train to New York from a ticket agent, and then called a tow truck from the public phone. He told the guy to tow the car to the Baltimore harbor parking lot and drop it off there.

If it had LoJack, the cops would follow it there. If any witnesses remembered the towing service’s name and the cops asked the guy where the pickup had been, they’d go to the train station and talk to the ticket agent, who would say he’d bought two tickets to NewYork. The cops would think he and Bailey had sent the car to Baltimore as a decoy and then gotten on the train to New York. That would make sense—her brother was there. He was sure the cops and Agent Rubliczky would make that assumption. If they connected Cade and Bailey to the stolen car at all. He felt reasonably safe to spend a few days at Joey’s camp.

“And how are we going to get around?” she asked as the tow truck disappeared in the distance with a good chunk of his cash.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Next to the station was a garish gift-shop tent with “Final Sale” and “Everything $5” written all over it. He could see the lake glistening in the distance, could smell the water from here. The beach was a short walk away. People lay out on the sand and on boats. The path to the beach was clear; everyone who’d gotten off the train had already made their way down.

“We’ll have ourselves a lovely stroll.” He scanned the main road, which was just a few hundred feet from the station. “Or not,” he said as a police cruiser appeared and took the damn turnoff. If the Land Rover was discovered missing shortly after he’d taken it, if it did have LoJack…. He glanced toward the lake, which was blue and brilliant and inviting. “How about a swim?”

Her eyes went wide as she took a step back from him. “I can’t swim.”

“At all?” Everybody knew how to swim. Who didn’t know how to swim? A woman whose middle name was Trouble, that was who.

Annoyance filled her blue-violet eyes. “I work at a garden center. I don’t need to know how to swim. The biggest body of water I ever see is the indoor lily pond.”

“Take it easy,” he said under his breath, taking stock of their situation.

His bag was slung over his shoulder, covering the gun tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. Bailey carried the canvas bag with the clothes and food. With a little help, they could look like tourists.

Thank God for the obligatory souvenir tent. He grabbed a My Fish Is Bigger Than Yours baseball hat with fake blond hair attached for her and a pair of dorky-looking sunglasses for himself along with two cheap fishing poles. He paid for them, and they headed straight for the path that led to the lake.

They would blend in with the people sunning and fishing on the shore unless the cops came in for a closer look, in which case they’d just have to keep moving.

Another cop car suddenly pulled in. To continue toward the lake would mean passing right by the police officer. But they had already started out on the path. To turn abruptly around would look suspicious.

He stopped, sneaked his arms around Bailey’s slim waist and turned her to him.

She was scared enough not to protest. Blue-violet eyes searched his face. Her mouth was set in a tight line of fear. “They are going to catch us, aren’t they? I don’t know if I should hope for that or keep running from it. I don’t know you—”

“I used to work for the Department of Homeland Security.”

Her eyes widened. “Kind of?”

He bit back a grin. Yeah, kind of. His group, the SDDU, was a top secret commando team used for black ops. The unit’s existence was known only to a select few, even at the highest reaches of government. Their leader, Colonel Wilson, reported directly to the secretary of Homeland Security.

“You’re safe with me. Relax.” He dipped his head as the cop got out of his car. The man was heading toward the train station, toward them. There was only one way he could think of to cover their faces.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he warned.

She looked too petrified to protest. Certainly too petrified to enjoy it. Too bad, because he planned on doing just that. He had stared at her full lips many times since he’d moved in, and had contemplated some serious lip-locking with his shrew of a neighbor. He could be annoyed with her and lust after her at the same time. The male mind was a marvel of biology, no mistake about it.

He brushed his lips over hers—full, sweet, soft—and swallowed a moan that began to bubble up inside his chest. No sense getting too worked up with a cop heading their way.

“It might help if you look like you’re into this,” he whispered against her mouth.

She relaxed marginally in his arms.

The cop was only a few feet from them and still coming.

Cade opened his mouth over hers. He was going to make this kiss look real—that was his last coherent thought.

Their lips were doing all the touching, but it was his groin that got all the heat. Funny how that worked. He had expected pleasure—she was a finelooking woman with a body that would have made any healthy man sit up and take notice. But he hadn’t expected his breath to get caught in the middle of his chest. That didn’t usually happen.




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