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Hidden Truth
Danica Winters


Neither knows the other is undercover. Rancher Trevor Martin has as many dangerous secrets as his housekeeper, Sabrina Parker. She's undercover FBI, investigating whether Trevor is a gunrunning terrorist. She doesn't know he's CIA. Trust is uncertain, but attraction is undeniable…







Wary of each other’s secrets

Neither knows the other is undercover.

Rancher Trevor Martin has as many dangerous secrets as his housekeeper, Sabrina Parker. She’s undercover FBI, investigating whether Trevor is a gunrunning terrorist. She doesn’t know he’s CIA. But living under the same roof and in close proximity becomes a liability. Trust is uncertain, but attraction is undeniable. When they become embroiled in a series of grisly murders, will their secrets cost them their lives in the end?


DANICA WINTERS is a multiple award-winning, bestselling author who writes books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana, testing her patience while she tries to hone her skills at various crafts—quilting, pottery and painting are not her areas of expertise. She believes the cup is neither half-full nor half-empty, but it better be filled with wine. Visit her website at danicawinters.net (http://danicawinters.net)


Also by Danica Winters (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)

Ms Calculation

Mr Serious

Mr Taken

Smoke and Ashes

Dust Up with the Detective

Wild Montana

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Hidden Truth

Danica Winters






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-09463-4

HIDDEN TRUTH

© 2019 Danica Winters

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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




Note to Readers (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


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To Mac, thank you for teaching me the meaning

of true love.


Acknowledgements

This series wouldn’t have been possible without a great

team of people, including my #1k1hr friends, Jill

Marsal and the editors at Mills & Boon—thank you for

all your hard work.

Also, thank you to my readers. You keep me writing.


Contents

Cover (#ua816ecb8-4c92-5441-8a5c-efe202cd4c45)

Back Cover Text (#ud8da7b0c-1f4f-5ee6-8896-eea3c4dd3d89)

About the Author (#uef43fdf9-4567-5deb-8056-c59972229d4c)

Booklist (#u2d96720f-57b3-529f-8257-c1515fcf6455)

Title Page (#u1ed0e3a6-ecd6-58b2-ab50-bbcaa9babf38)

Copyright (#u61b451b6-ab6e-5f33-b5b2-6ed88d94e604)

Note to Readers

Acknowledgements (#ue429517c-b4b1-5c77-bc98-c507de5e3f3b)

Dedication (#u6a8cf1b5-a4a9-5fb5-8340-a45e55859397)

Prologue (#u7f789378-c736-589b-a1b3-7c0bf7c360f7)

Chapter One (#ue1b3dfee-6fd7-5695-86d4-f22fe0bc599f)

Chapter Two (#u00b4c138-516e-58d5-a74c-372071ae15f4)

Chapter Three (#u638895d0-5a43-5ea8-ac1b-116b93c68196)

Chapter Four (#ube1d2c50-a75a-53a3-9483-584ffdbec049)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


She clicked open the tabs of the gun case, exposing the M24 sniper rifle. It was a thing of beauty. Even without firing a single round from this particular gun, Trish Martin could recall the precise feel of pulling the trigger, smelling the spent powder and watching as her enemies fell to their knees.

There was no greater feeling in the world than a justified kill. The men standing around her, those dealing in death, would be easy to strip from this earth.

She ran her fingers down the synthetic stock, taking in the slight imperfections on the newly manufactured gun. This one would be for a different kind of kill, a long-term tactical assault, rather than a one-and-done straight to the head.

Some people were only too happy to judge her and her family for the work they did, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was out there protecting the ones who didn’t appreciate it right alongside the ones who did. She was a hunter, a predator, who fought for her territory and for life as she knew it.

The shroud of darkness wormed its way around her as she waited for the Bozkurtlar, or what some people called the Gray Wolves. To call them a Turkish crime syndicate was an understatement. No, they were so much more.

They were the reason she and her family were here in Adana, the reason she couldn’t sleep at night, and the reason there were so many unmarked graves scattered around the Turkish hillsides. Their name suited them. No matter where in the world they were, death and mayhem followed.

That would all end soon.

She heard the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor and the clink of the metal door closing behind the group. From the sound, there had to be at least ten men. If anything went wrong…

She looked around her. They had made a mistake in agreeing to meet them in this shell of a warehouse. There weren’t nearly enough hiding places or corners where she could find cover if she needed to. And there wasn’t anywhere for her brothers to hide within the building. Without a doubt, the group’s intention had been to isolate her and to strip her of any way to double-cross them.

“Ms. Stone,” a man with a thick Turkish accent said from behind her. “I hope you aren’t planning on brandishing that weapon. We’re here to buy new, not used.”

She stood up to face Fenrisulfr Bayural. He was nearly a foot shorter than her, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in his stance. When he stared at her, his golden-hued eyes took on the darkness that surrounded them, making her instinctively twitch for the gun at her side.

She stared down at him, forcing herself to act far more confident and self-assured than she felt in his presence. He couldn’t sense weakness in her. If he did, he and the bodyguards around him would certainly pounce. When it came to running guns, buyers tended to get skittish.

Two years ago, in Egypt, one of her team’s sting operations had ended with a shipment of American weapons falling into the wrong hands—and the men on her team being murdered. They were part of the reason she had ended up here—men, especially those with a Napoleon complex, tended to be more than happy to play nice with a hot brunette. But she’d be crazy to think her looks would keep this from becoming a firefight.

“We sell nothing but the best. You’d be a fool to think anything less,” she said.

“Good. But will you also be providing more advanced weaponry or just the ARs?”

He wanted the launchers. Of course he did. But rocket launchers weren’t something that they readily had on hand. Yet what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. For now, she just had to play along and make it out of this room alive.

“How many did you want?”

“Four thousand RPGs and ten thousand ARs. I need my men to have adequate coverage when they attack Ankara.”

As he spoke the name of the city, she felt the warmth of the mic strategically stitched into her jacket. They had their location and an estimated number of enemy combatants—admittedly, a number far greater than they had anticipated. But perhaps it was Bayural’s plan to inflate the numbers. In the event any of their dealings leaked, he would appear far more powerful than he and his group really were.

“What do you have available for us?” Bayural crossed his arms over his chest, covering his vital bits as he prepared to negotiate his price.

No matter how he tried to protect himself, once her brothers bore down there would be no protection great enough. His life would be theirs for the taking.

“The Type 91 Kai MANPAD rocket launcher will do everything from annihilating a door to wiping almost an entire city block clean with its shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles. They’re easy to carry, cheap and fast to reload. Everything you want.” She chuckled slightly as she realized how much she sounded like a used car salesman instead of a trained killer. Her mother would have been so proud.

Bayural squatted down and picked up the sniper rifle. He lifted it up as he stood and shifted the gun in his hands as though he was weighing it. “Hand me a round,” he said, turning toward the guard to his right.

The man pulled a round from his pocket. Bayural jacked the round into the chamber, smiling at the metallic click and slide sound the gun made.

No. He couldn’t be allowed to actually shoot the rifle. It would be too dangerous. They were here to keep the general public from falling into harm’s way, not to place them into greater danger. “The gun is solid. The shipment will be solid. Our team, Black Dragon, will get them to you by tomorrow.” She tried to sound nonchalant as she slipped in their fake name, the code word. Her team would be here any second to strike these bastards down.

Finally, they could cut off the wolf’s head.

“Tomorrow? I want them within the hour.” He lifted the rifle, pointing it directly at her center mass as he peered down the scope. “You can do that, can’t you?”

She glanced toward the far wall, hoping like hell that she would see the laser signal letting her know her brothers were in place, but there was nothing.

“When can we expect your shipment?” Bayural pressed.

“First, I want my ten million.”

Bayural smiled. “Ten is too much.”

“With everything happening in Syria, prices have gone up for your standard RPGs. You know as well as I do that the market is at least two Gs per RPG. As for the ARs, you are getting a screaming deal. That’s less than two hundred a gun. We could get five if we went somewhere else.”

He nodded slightly. “I’ll give you a G per RPG.”

She laughed. Even if she had really had the weapons, there would be no way she would go for such a ridiculous deal, but she had to keep up the negotiation until her brothers arrived.

“Or we will give you two if you can have our shipment to us within the hour.” Bayural’s pitch rose, like he was growing more nervous with each passing second.

His bodyguard leaned in and said something in his ear, something far too quiet for her to hear. Bayural’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed. Whatever he said, it wasn’t good news.

Her chest tightened, and her Kevlar vest suddenly seemed all too heavy.

Her brothers should have been here by now, at her side. “We can do the hour, but I’ll have to talk to my team. Your order is larger than we were anticipating.”

This was falling apart. Fast. She had to get out of there. She scanned the room for her planned exit point. The door to the alley was closed, barred from the inside. There was nothing to use as cover. It would take at least three seconds for her to get to the location, two to get the door open. Five seconds. Basically, a lifetime if they opened fire.

He clicked off the safety, the gun’s barrel steady as it pointed at her. “Is something wrong, maybe you have something you want to tell us?” His voice threatening.

“No,” she said, trying to appear relaxed as she took a step back. “But if you wish to have the deal go through, you need to lower that gun.”

Bayural lowered the weapon slightly and motioned toward her with his chin. His guard took a step closer.

“What are you doing?” she asked as the guard grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm behind her. Her shoulder pinched as he lifted her hand higher, forcing her to submit.

Her instinct was to struggle and pull free, to launch into an attack. To get the hell out of there. But no, she had to trust her team. If they were waiting, there had to be a reason. They were trying to get more information. They must have needed more. She had to believe in her family.

“Back off,” she growled at the guard. “Let go of my arm or the last thing you will see is me ripping it off and shoving it down your goddamned throat.”

He lifted her wrist higher, forcing her to lean forward from the pressure.

“Bayural, get your man—”

“To stand down?” Bayural said, finishing her sentence. “Hardly. Who the hell do you think you are to command me?” He dropped the rifle to the ground and looked to his guard. “Break the stock.”

She looked at the base where she had just run her fingers. The imperfection suddenly seemed so much larger.

The guard picked up the gun and smashed it against the floor again and again until cracks formed in the plastic. He batted it against the concrete one more time, sending the small GPS tracker her team had planted in the plastic skittering across the floor.

“You, your brothers, your sister, your team… You’re dead.”

“You may get me, but you’ll never get the rest of them. We’re survivors.”

“Even if I have to spend the rest of my days on this earth hunting every one of your family members down, I’ll do it. When I’m done, you and your kind won’t even be a memory. You will be nothing.”

There was a smatter of gunfire outside the corrugated steel building. A round pinged against the metal siding, the sound echoing through her.

With her free hand she reached down and pulled the knife from her boot. She jammed it deep into the guard’s foot. The man screamed, letting go of her arm in a panic to remove the blade.

She grabbed her sidearm, taking aim at Bayural and pulling the trigger. The round ripped from the barrel, striking the man in the chest. Buyural didn’t seem to notice the hit. He must have been wearing a vest.

The guards around him pulled their guns as she turned to find cover. Anything. Anywhere. She had to get the hell out of there. Now. She rushed toward the door as the sound of gunfire rained down upon her. The first round struck her in the thigh, ripping through her muscle with a searing heat, but there was no pain. Her ravaged thigh tripped her, the muscles failing to follow her brain’s command. Her body fell to the floor, but she pressed on, dragging her injured leg behind her as she crawled toward the back door.

The door flew open, and standing in the nearly blinding light was her brother. “Trevor!” she screamed. “Get the hell out.”

He ran toward her in what seemed like slow motion, but as he took two steps, the next round struck. Wetness. Warmth. Something had splattered her cheek.

She stopped struggling as she pressed her fingers to her face and traced the spatter to the gaping hole in her neck. No. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not now.

She sank to the floor as the blood poured from her.

The concrete was cold against her face as she watched the pool of red grow. The world narrowed to a pinpoint until all she saw was Trevor. His face. He’d always been so handsome. So dangerously handsome. She’d miss her brother.

She’d miss them all.

Breathe. All she had to do was breathe. But as she struggled to fill her lungs, there was only a strange gurgling sound.

She had been wrong to think this operation would be easy. Nothing in their lives had ever been simple. And now that misjudgment—and her desire to trust—would prove fatal.




Chapter One (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


There was a single question that Trevor Martin hated above all others: “Who do you think you are?” It only ever meant one of two things—he was about to get slapped by a woman or he was going to have to knock some sucker out.

It wasn’t the question that bothered him so much. On the surface it was just some retort people came up with when they didn’t know what else to say, but when he heard it, he heard it for what it really was—a question of who he was at his core. And when he thought about that, about what made him the man he was, he wasn’t sure that he liked the answer.

That self-hatred was one of the reasons he had taken a leave of absence from his contract work with the CIA. His entire family needed a break from the family business, so they bought the Widow Maker Ranch in Mystery, Montana. It was supposed to be an escape he so desperately needed from the thoughts of all he had done wrong in his life. Instead, it was as if the rural lifestyle and the quiet mountain mornings only made the self-denigration of his character that much louder.

He’d only been there a few days, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d made a mistake in coming to this forsaken place where he was constantly shrouded in clouds and imprisoned by the brooding mountains. Everything about the ranch made him long to stretch and push the world and his thoughts away—if only it were that goddamned easy. No matter where he went or what he did, his memories of the days he’d spent in his family’s private security business, one they called STEALTH, constantly haunted him.

And here he was the bearer of bad news once again.

If he were being honest, pulling the trigger and tearing down an enemy combatant was a hell of a lot easier than what he was going to have to do. He spun the motorcycle around in the dirt, kicking up dust as he screwed around and tried to focus on something he loved instead of something he was going to hate.

After a few more doughnuts, he got off his Harley and pushed the kickstand into place with his foot. Taking off his helmet, he set it on the seat, though a part of him wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for him to wear it as some kind of shield from the battle that was likely to ensue.

Running his hand over his too-long locks, he pushed them out of his eyes and tucked them behind his ears.

There were times, just like this one, that he wished he were back in a war zone and had a staff of people under him who could handle this kind of thing.

All he had to do was say his piece, give them the letter, and he could get the hell out of there. He just had to go in and do his duty. The moment he and his brothers and his sister had purchased the land, they agreed that this would be a part of the work that would need to be done. Unfortunately, he had drawn the short straw.

He had never seen a picture of the house in question, but the shack in front of him was a squatter’s paradise and far from what he and his family had imagined. The roof was a collection of corrugated steel in a jumble of different colors, and the siding, what was left of it, had started to rot and several pieces were only half-attached. Even the front door was cockeyed, listing to the left so far that there was at least a two-inch gap at the top.

Whoever resided there must be hard up. Maybe they had been hoping they were far enough out of the way at the farthest reaches of the ranch that they would go completely unnoticed. Thanks to the neglect of his cousins, the Johansens, whoever was living in this place had pretty much free rein—and their plan for disappearing in plain sight had worked. And from the state of the house, it was clear it had been working for a long time.

The forest around the house was filled with junk, everything from antique wringer-style washing machines to the rusted-out shells of farming equipment. From the state of disrepair, it seemed likely that this had once been the dumping ground for the ranchers of years past.

He walked toward the door. Behind him a twig snapped and the sound was answered by the chatter of a pine squirrel high up in one of the trees.

He wasn’t alone.

If he turned around now, it would give away that he was aware he was being watched. For all he knew, the inhabitants of the shanty had taken to the woods at the sound of his bike as he’d made his way down the makeshift road that led up to this place. If he just kept walking, it would give him time.

He started again, looking for a window or something he could use to catch a glimpse of whoever was lurking in the shadows around him.

They couldn’t get the drop on him; he wouldn’t allow it. He’d made it through years of toeing the line between danger and death, and he wasn’t about to get tripped up and find himself on the losing side now. Not when he’d come here to make a real home and a real life for himself.

He stopped at the front door of the squatters’ shack and started to knock.

“They’re not home,” a woman said from somewhere in the distance, her voice echoing off the timber stands around them and making the source of the sound impossible to pinpoint. “And they would have been long gone regardless, thanks to your crappy driving.”

He turned in the direction the voice had come from and relaxed a bit. She probably wasn’t going to try to shoot him—if she had wanted, she already could have drawn on him—but some habits died hard, and he lowered his hand to the gun that was always strapped on his thigh.

Standing in the shadows at twelve o’clock, her back against the buckskin-colored pine, was a blonde. She was leaning back, her arms over her chest like she had been there for hours getting bored. Even feigning boredom, she was sexy as hell. She had the kind of curves he had spent more than one lonely night dreaming about. And the way her white T-shirt pulled tight over her leopard-print bra… His body quivered to life as he tried to repress the desire that welled within him.

“You know where they went?” he asked, trying to be a gentleman and look at anything besides the little polka dots that were almost pulsing beneath her shirt.

She smiled as though she could see the battle that was raging inside him between lust and professional distance. “Have you met the Cussler boys before?”

“How many are there?”

She pushed herself off the tree. “If you stop thumbing that SIG Sauer at your side, maybe we can talk about it. Men playing with their guns make me nervous.”

“You around men and guns a lot?” he asked, but the question was laced with a provocative tone he hadn’t intended.

She walked toward him, and from the way she moved her hips even he, a man who had slept with only a handful of women, could tell that she had heard the inflection in his words as well…and she intended to do something about it.

He raised his hands in surrender. That’s not what he’d come here for, not that he would have minded kissing those pink lips, not with the way they gently curved in a smile but hinted at something dangerous if they were allowed free rein. With the raising of his hands, she stopped and her smile faded. There was a small cleft in her chin, and damn if it didn’t make her look even cuter than she had before.

Once, when he’d been young, his mother had told him, “Dimple in the chin, devil within.” From the look in her eyes when she was staring at him and that damn bra she was wearing, there was plenty of devil within her.

“Are you Trevor?” she asked, not moving any closer.

He took a step back, surprised that the woman had any idea who he was. “Who are you?”

This time, she was the one to wave him off. “Your brother hired me to keep house—starting here. He didn’t tell me that I was going to need a backhoe and a dump truck.”

Either she had accidently forgotten to supply him with her name, or there was a reason she was keeping it from him.

It hardly seemed fair she should know anything about him when this was the first he was hearing about her.

“You from around here?” he asked, motioning vaguely in the direction of Mystery in hopes she would loosen up with a little bit of small talk.

“Actually, I’m kinda new. Was looking for a slower pace of life.”

“Well, it doesn’t get a whole lot slower than here,” he said, a darkness flecking his words. He hoped she didn’t read anything into his tone. He didn’t need to get into some deep discussion with a stranger about the merits or pitfalls of a place where he doubted he was going to stay.

“If you think it’s slow in town then you haven’t spent enough time in the mountains. These mountain men are about as fast as cold molasses and a little less intelligent. If you ask me, their family tree is more of a twig.”

He laughed. “So where are you from…and hey, what’s your name again?” he asked, trying to play it off like she had told him and he had simply failed to remember it.

She gave him an impish smile, and he could have almost sworn that she fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Sabrina. And I’m from all over. Kind of an army brat, but my last stop was Schofield.”

Instinctively, he glanced down at her arms. She was pale and far from the buttery color of someone who had spent their days in the Hawaiian sun. She had to be lying.

On the other hand, maybe he was reading far too much into her and her answer. Maybe she just valued her privacy like he valued his. Besides, if he was going to transfer into the civilian world, he would need to stop thinking everyone was out to conceal the truth from him—not everyone was his enemy, especially a housekeeper in the little town of Mystery, Montana.

But he’d been wrong before, and that failure to see danger had gotten his sister killed. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not now. Not ever.

“Your father in the marines?” he asked.

“Schofield is an army base. I wouldn’t make that mistake around a vet, if I were you.” She sent him a dazzling smile.

She had passed the first test, yet something about her just didn’t feel right—just like everything in his life since his sister Trish had died.

“How long have you been waiting on the Cussler boys?”

She shrugged. “I only got here a few minutes before you. To be honest, I was trying to figure out where to start the cleaning.”

“So, they’re gone?” His job of kicking the family out of their shanty was proving to be a whole lot easier than he had expected.

“They’re not here, but I thought you had already come to kick them out. At least, that’s what your brother led me to believe.”

He was supposed to be here an hour ago, but he hadn’t known his brother was sending a crew behind him or he would have been on it. “And you haven’t seen any sign of activity?”

She shook her head. “But like I said, I only got here right before you.”

He walked up to the door and knocked. There was the rattle of dishes as the mice, or whatever vermin it was that lived in the place, scurried over them. He went to knock again, though he was almost certain they were alone, but as he moved the door creaked open.

“Hello? Someone home?” he asked, walking in.

The place was dark and as he entered, a putrid smell wafted out—the brothers mustn’t have been there in some time, or they were even worse at keeping house than they were at building one. He stepped in and the cobwebs in the corners of the front door clung to his face. He tried not to be squeamish as he wiped them away. No matter where he went in the world or what he was doing, he’d always hated that feeling. No amount of training or conditioning could get rid of the instinctual revulsion—and that was to say nothing of the inhabitants of the webs.

“Trevor,” Sabrina said breathlessly from behind him. “Look.”

He dropped his hands from his face and gazed into the dark shadows where she pointed. There, sitting against the corner, was a man. His face was bloated and his lips were the deep purple color of the long dead.

Trevor clicked on the flashlight on his cell phone and pointed it toward the man as he moved closer. Above his right ear, at the temple and just below the dead man’s ruddy hair, was a small bullet hole. There was no exit wound on the other side. The man’s eyes were open, but they had started to dry and shrink in the socket, in sharp contrast to the rest of the man’s features.

“Do you see a gun anywhere?” Trevor asked, flashing the light around as he looked for the weapon that could have killed the man.

“No,” she said, but she stood in the doorway staring at the man. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as though she were going to be sick.

Trevor rushed over to her and wrapped his arm around her. “Come with me. Let’s go back outside. It’s going to be okay. You’re all right. Everything is going to be fine.”

She turned her body into him, letting him pull her into his arms as he moved her out the door and to the fresh air of the forest. He had been right—she would be just fine; from the way she felt in his arms, he was the one who was truly in danger.




Chapter Two (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


Sabrina had no idea why she had reacted that way. The man was hardly the first dead body that she had come across, and yet it felt like the first time. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be looking at her through those cloudy eyes or the smell of the body that had been left sitting in the heat of the fall, but she just couldn’t control her body’s reaction.

Damn it. Every time she started to think that she was strong, she did something like this.

Although maybe it wasn’t a bad thing that she had reacted as she had. She had gotten to play up the lady-in-distress angle. If she had to be undercover for any amount of time, it was going to be immensely easier if she had one of the brothers under her spell.

She just had to remember to keep him at arm’s length; the last thing she needed to do was let her emotions come into play. Emotions only had a way of getting her into trouble, and she was in enough as it was. They were the reason she was stuck in this place…and out of the direct line of sight of her superiors. Though she was certainly under their thumb.

Trevor was just another case, another investigation she had yet to complete. In a month, if everything went according to plan, she would be out of here and set down in a new little nowhere town in the middle of America investigating another possible threat to homeland security.

Trevor rubbed her back and as he held her, his chest rose and fell so rhythmically that she found herself mimicking his movements. He was like a man version of a white noise machine, and just as soothing.

If she had to guess, between his dark brown hair, his crystalline blue eyes and a jawline that was so strong that it could probably cut glass, he was all women’s kryptonite. He probably was the kind of man who had a woman every time he went downrange.

She pushed herself out of his arms and sucked in a long breath as she tried to completely dissociate herself from him. The last thing she needed was to share anything with him—even his breath.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, looking at her like she was a bird with a broken wing.

She nodded. “I don’t know what that was about. I’m sorry.”

“That was about a dead man,” he said, shock flecking his voice. “It’s not something one sees every day. I would have been more worried if you hadn’t reacted that way. Shock can be more dangerous than most flesh wounds.”

Crap… She couldn’t give herself away. Of course he would think she was a newbie to this kind of thing. She had to remember the role she had been sent here to play. A role that required that she be seen little and heard even less. What a joke for her superiors to play…they knew just as well as she did that silence wasn’t her strong suit. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was going to let anyone push her around, tell her what to do or require that she “let the men do the real work.”

Her skin prickled at just the thought of the last time she had heard someone mansplain to her.

Trevor touched her arm. “Sabrina, you with me?”

“Huh? Yeah.” She looked at him and forced a smile.

“Why don’t you go and sit down,” he said, pointing toward his motorcycle. “Or I guess you can lean.” He gave her a guilty smile, realizing what an absurd idea that was.

“I’m fine. Do you think you should call the police?” She motioned toward the shack with her chin.

She would rather not have any local officers running around the place and mucking up her investigation or compromising her position.

Yet they couldn’t hide a dead body…

Or could they?

If they swept this under the rug, it would give her more access to Trevor and his family without the threat of outside interference. It would definitely speed things up for her. If the police started poking around, the Martins would clam up and go even deeper into hiding.

And really, who would care about one mountain man who had turned up dead? He was totally off the grid, and as far as the government was concerned he was a nonentity. In fact, the only thing that his brothers, and folks like him, were known for were extremist ideals and a penchant for causing trouble.

Yet she couldn’t be the one to bring up the idea of hiding the very dead Cussler brother.

Trevor stared in the direction of the shack. “We should call somebody…”

The way he spoke made her wonder if he was thinking along the same lines as her. No doubt, he didn’t want anyone poking around, either.

“But?” she asked, prodding him on.

“I bet his family would go bonkers if we brought law enforcement out here. And the last thing this ranch needs is more craziness from the locals.” He frowned. “We are just trying to fit in here. We don’t want to draw unnecessary scrutiny from our new neighbors.”

“Well, if you think that the Cusslers would appreciate us not—”

“Yes, I’m sure they would want to keep this a family issue.” Trevor sounded sold on the idea.

She wanted to point out the possibility that the other members of the Cussler clan may be lying dead somewhere out in the timber as well. Otherwise wouldn’t they have already buried their brother’s body?

Yet she didn’t want to press the issue. Not if it meant there was a possibility he would change his mind and call the police. Not that he would. She had the definite feeling he wanted to sweep this man’s death under the rug just as much as she did.

“I’m going to go back in and take a look around,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, before thinking.

He looked at her as though he was trying to decide how much he should open up to her. “If we’re not going to call someone out here, we need to make sure that this isn’t the work of some serial killer or something. You know what I mean?”

“You think he was murdered?” she asked, trying to play up the innocent and naive angle.

“My hope is that this is nothing more than a suicide. I just need to make sure.”

She doubted that was really why he was going back in. He was probably looking for something more, something that would guarantee they wouldn’t find themselves in deeper trouble if any of this ever came to light.

“You wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She grimaced. He hadn’t really just tried to tell her what to do, had he? If he thought she was some kind of chattel that he could just order around, he had another think coming.

“Okay.” She sighed as she tried to calmly remind herself he wasn’t bossing her around out of some need for control; rather, it was his need to protect. “But be careful in there. If I know one thing about these kind of recluses, it’s that they have a reputation for hating outsiders. They may have set up some kind of booby trap.”

He stared at her like he was trying to figure her out. The look made her uncomfortable. “Got it, but I promise you have nothing to worry about when it comes to my safety. I have experience with this kind of thing.”

His alleged role in peacekeeping and his family’s Blackwater-type company was known, but she was surprised he was admitting any of it to her. Maybe her investigation wouldn’t be as difficult as she had thought. Hell, if things went her way she could have all the answers she needed in a matter of days.

Then again, things would have to go her way, and life hadn’t been playing nicely with her lately.

Trevor slipped back to the shack, holding up his phone as a flashlight as he made his way back inside.

She moved quietly after him. Maybe she could see something that he would miss, something that would prove the brother’s death was nothing more than a suicide so they could put this all to rest.

As she walked toward the shack, she stopped. No. She couldn’t pry. She couldn’t get any more involved with this. If she went in there and did find something, there was a high probability that she would slip up and say something that would give away her background. He couldn’t know anything about her position in the FBI.

She walked around to the back of the shack to where an old push lawn mower sat. There, on the ground beside it, was a puddle of dried blood. Pine needles had collected at the edges, making the pool look like some kind of macabre artwork.

She opened her mouth to call out to Trevor, but stopped. No. She couldn’t tell him.

From the state of the body in the house, there was little possibility this blood belonged to the dead man. If someone had shot him out here and moved him, there would have been drag marks or some indication that the body had been staged. Though she hadn’t spent long in the room with the dead man, she had noticed the blood leaking out of the wound at his temple. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the trail as it twisted down his ravaged features and leaked onto his dirty collar, staining it a ruddy brown. He couldn’t have been moved postmortem. No, the blood pattern didn’t match.

Which meant this blood had to belong to another person. And based on the volume of it on the ground, they were possibly dealing with more than a single death.

Crap.

She stared at the dried blood. Kneeling down, she scooped up a handful of the sharp, dried pine needles that were scattered around. What she was about to do could end up going all kinds of ass-backwards, but it had to be done for her, for her investigation and for her chance at getting her future back. There was nothing she wanted more than to rise in the ranks, and sometimes that meant that sacrifices had to be made.

She threw the needles atop the blood and stepped onto them. She kicked away at the dried blood, earth and needles until there was nothing.

It felt wrong to destroy evidence, but at the same time a sensation of freedom filled her. It was refreshing to break the rules and to make her own in name of the greater good.

Walking around to the door of the shack, she poked her head inside. Trevor took a step deeper into the shadows around the dead body. He knelt down and moved aside a piece of discarded cloth on the floor. He chuckled.

As he stood up, she saw a gun in his hand. He wiped the grip and the barrel down with his shirt, as though he was stripping it of any possible fingerprints.

There was only one reason he’d wipe the gun down—he was trying to protect the person who had pulled the trigger. Maybe that person was him.

Hell, he had probably come in here and killed the brothers in an attempt to get rid of them once and for all. Then he had waited for her to arrive before he rode up on his Harley like some kind of badass playboy.

He’d probably wanted her to see the man’s body first. He’d wanted to come off as innocent. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and act the hero.

And she had allowed the bastard to set her up.




Chapter Three (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


Trevor walked up the front steps of the ranch house and waited as Sabrina parked her car and made her way over to him. He had told her that she could have the rest of the day off. She didn’t need to come back to the main house with him—she could return to the old foreman’s place, which was hers now—but she hadn’t accepted his offer. Instead, she had only said that she had work to do.

Actually, it was the only thing she had said. The words had rung in his ears the entire ride back to the main house. There had been something in her sharp inflection that told him she was angry about something, something he was missing—and that there was danger afoot—but for the life of him, he didn’t understand.

It was like he was married all over again, his life awash with unspoken anger and resentment. The memory of standing at the front door of his apartment, watching as his wife bedded another man on their once-pristine leather sofa, made a sickening knot rise in his belly.

Once again, just like before, he was forced to be an unwilling participant in things unspoken.

Hopefully this time he would be able to stop his life from falling to pieces in front of him.

She came to a stop beside him, but she was putting off a distinct “don’t touch me” vibe.

He must have crossed some invisible barrier when he’d pulled her into his arms back at the shack, but it hadn’t been his intention to make her feel uncomfortable. He had just been trying to help, to lend a shoulder to a woman in need, not to tick her off.

“Did you talk to Chad yet?” she said, glancing down at her watch like she was checking just how much time he’d had before she arrived.

He shook his head. Truth be told, he had been hoping she would keep driving instead of turning off on the little dirt road that led back to the ranch. It would have made sense, her running away after seeing the Cussler brother rotting in his chair.

And if she had kept driving, he could have had the real conversation he needed to have with Chad without worrying about what she would hear. Now he’d have to play it cool until he could get his brother alone and he had the chance to find out exactly what he knew. No doubt, Chad would have dealt with that man’s remains as he had and left them out there for the Cussler family to handle.

They didn’t need to draw undue attention. They needed to fly under the radar and off the grid for as long as possible.

He cringed at the thought of having to move again.

Getting out of Adana had been a nightmare after Trish’s death. When they made their move to Montana, they sent misinformation on the dark net to make it seem like they were moving east to Thailand. They had no doubt that Turkish mobsters were just waiting for their chance to kill the rest of the family.

As long as nothing came out, they’d be safe for a while. It was the reason they had chosen this speck on the map. Plus, they’d have the cover of the United States and the amnesty that it offered if anything blew back on them. He and his family had done so many covert ops for the former president that they would always have government backup.

Or so he hoped.

Chad came sauntering out of the kitchen, a hot dog in his hand. He glanced from Sabrina to Trevor and gave him a raise of the brow as he stuffed the rest of the hot dog into his mouth, leaving a blob of mustard on his lip.

“I see you’re already living the high life, brother,” Trevor said with a laugh. “You want me to go in and get you a Budweiser, too? Nothing says American like a hot dog and a beer.”

Chad swallowed the bite. “Not all of us developed a taste for world cuisine. You can’t tell me that dolma is better than a good hot dog.” He wiped off the speckle of mustard at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you think, Sabrina? You vote American food?”

She shrugged like she couldn’t give a damn less. “Either, so long as I’m not cooking it.”

“And that right there is the reason I hired you. I’ve always liked a woman who was as smart-mouthed as me. You are going to fit right in.” Chad laughed. “Did you guys get the squatters handled?”

“Not exactly,” Trevor said. He cocked his head toward Sabrina in a silent message to Chad.

Chad’s smile disappeared. “Sabrina, do you mind getting started with your cleaning up here in the kitchen? ’Fraid I may have made a bit of a mess in there.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and instead gave Trevor a look as though she hoped he would step in and allow her to take part in their conversation.

“Uh, actually…” Trevor stammered. “Sabrina, you must be pretty tired. Like I said, if you wanted to head back to your place—”

“No,” she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it in the coat closet just inside the door. “I’ll get started in the kitchen. I have a job to do, and this place isn’t going to get any cleaner if I just go back to my place.”

Sabrina strode into the kitchen and the door swung shut behind her.

“Let’s step outside,” Trevor said.

Chad followed him out and Trevor made sure to close the door behind his brother. He glanced in the front window of the house to make sure that Sabrina wasn’t anywhere in sight. Thankfully, it looked as though she was in the kitchen.

“What in the hell were you thinking sending that woman out there?” Trevor asked, turning back to his brother. “Do you know what the hell I found in that shack? And because you were in some freaking hurry, Sabrina saw. Now she’s a possible loose end.”

“First, you were supposed to get out there long before her. You don’t get to make this my fault. You should have stuck to the schedule.”

“Had I known you were sending someone out behind me, I would have. How about you learn to freaking communicate?” Even as he said it, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the pot calling the kettle black.

“What exactly did she see?” Chad asked, taking a step back from him like he was afraid that Trevor was going to take a swing.

“That damned Cussler guy was splattered all over the walls. Been dead at least two or three days.” He pointed in the direction of the shanty. “I had to convince Sabrina that the dude was better off if we just left him and waited for the family to come back and collect his remains.”

Chad turned around as he ran his hands down his face. He stomped as he turned back. “Are you kidding me? We haven’t been here a week and there’s already a dead bastard in our back forty?”

“You should have just left me to handle my end of things, man. I had this taken care of. All I needed was a little time. But no, you wanted to rush things. To make sure everything was cleaned out and taken care of before Zoey and Jarrod arrive.”

“You know how they can be—they were even more adamant than I was about the absolute need for privacy here. This family is all we have, Trevor.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.”

Chad took in a long breath as though he were trying to collect himself. “So, was the guy’s death a suicide or what?”

“There’s no goddamned way. Someone shot him.” He thought of the handgun he’d left sitting on the ground beside the dead man. “The gun was too far away from the body. No major stippling around the entrance wound, and the bullet had lost enough velocity that it didn’t even travel through the entire skull—there was no exit wound. I’m guessing whoever pulled the trigger had to be at least ten to fifteen feet away.”

“And where did you say you found the man?”

“He was sitting up in a chair, like someone got the drop on him. He didn’t even have time to stand. He didn’t see it coming.”

“What about the rest of the hillbilly clan…did you find them? They alive or dead?”

“Hell if I know.” Trevor threw his hands into the air. “I’m hoping that they just ran off. We don’t need a dead family on our hands.”

“Did you get a chance to look around?” Chad asked. “Wait, did you and Sabrina call in the locals?”

Finally, Chad was beginning to understand the implications of his screwup. If only he hadn’t been in a hurry, they wouldn’t already be compromised.

“Sabrina went along with keeping it quiet, but I don’t know how long she’ll be up for maintaining that.” He glanced back inside, but the beautiful and stubborn woman was nowhere in sight. “She hasn’t been acting right, ever since…” I held her in my arms. He didn’t finish his thought.

“Huh? Ever since what?” Chad pressed.

“Since she saw the body. I’m afraid she may be a liability.”

“What are you saying?” Chad asked. “You think she needs to disappear?”

“No,” Trevor said, almost the same moment his brother had uttered the question. “No. We can’t harm her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. And who knows, maybe I made a mistake in thinking she can’t be trusted. Maybe she won’t be a problem.”

Chad shook his head. “What if she does tell someone? What if it comes out that we tried to cover up a man’s death at our new ranch?”

Trevor stared at his boots. “She wouldn’t…”

“Dude, if she tells anyone… First, we are going to look as guilty as hell. Second, our faces are going to be spread across the world in a matter of hours.”

“She won’t say anything.”

“And how are you going to know if she does or doesn’t? For all we know, she’s in there texting her mother’s brother’s cousin about what you guys found. Hell, she could be sending pictures of the dead guy.” Chad paused. “You know that I don’t want to hurt an innocent woman. Not after what happened in Turkey… And Trish…” Their sister’s name fell off his brother’s tongue like it was some secret code, some unspoken link between past and present.

“Then let’s leave her be.”

Chad shook his head. “No. If you don’t want to neutralize the threat, you’re going to have to watch her like a hawk. Every move she makes, you need to be there… hovering.”

“And what about the squatters? The body?”

Chad sighed. “What about it? Like you said, let that guy’s family handle it.”

“And what if they do, and they call the police?”

“If they haven’t already, they aren’t about to now.” Chad stared at him. “For all we know, one of them is the one who pulled the trigger—or else they’re lying out there in the woods somewhere, too. Either those bastards are on the run or they aren’t going to be spilling any secrets any time soon.”

“Do you think I should go back out there? See if I can find them? Make sure that they’re going to stay quiet?”

Chad stared out in the direction of the main pasture, but Trevor could tell that he wasn’t really looking at anything. “I’ll talk to Zoey and see if we can find out a little more on these Cussler guys. I want to know how many hillbillies were living out there, and who would have wanted them dead. I want to make sure that whoever is responsible for pulling that trigger isn’t about to bear down on us.”

His brother was right. They needed to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed.

“Most importantly,” Chad continued, “I want you to keep Sabrina quiet. If you don’t…you know what’s at stake.”

“She won’t be a problem.” Trevor paused, thumbing the gun at his side and letting it comfort him from his barrage of thoughts. “Hey…you don’t think these Cussler guys have anything to do with STEALTH, do you?”

Chad shook his head, but from the way his face pinched, Trevor could tell that he was wondering the same thing. “Bayural and the Gray Wolves couldn’t know that we are here. Zoey has made it her business to make sure of it. Everything we did has been in cash, or through Bitcoin. We’re covered.”

“Just because our sister is a computer whiz, it doesn’t mean that we are safe. You know how easy it is to find someone, especially a group like our family. One stupid random selfie with us in the background and we’re in danger. They are using the same facial recognition software that we are.”

“Zoey has this under control,” Trevor said, trying to give them both a little comfort—it had always been his job to keep the peace within the family, a job that had proven harder than ever thanks to his failure with Trish. His mistake was something that neither he nor the rest of his siblings would ever forget. “Besides, Zoey has made it her personal mission to keep them chasing fake hits around the globe. From what she said this morning, she currently has us pinging at a marketplace in Cairo.”

Chad chuckled. “God, can you imagine those bastards’ faces when they realize that they’ve been set up? I would almost pay to see it.”

There was the clatter of pans hitting the floor from inside the kitchen.

Chad bounded up the porch steps and cracked the door. “Sabrina, you okay in there?”

“Fine, just fine!” she called back, sounding harried.

“Where did you find this woman?” Trevor asked, motioning toward the house.

“She came recommended from Gwen when we bought the ranch. They hired her when they were getting the ranch ready for us to take it over.”

“So, just because our cousin—whom we barely know—thinks this woman is trustworthy, you took her word for it?” Trevor was surprised. Chad wasn’t one for details but he was normally careful about who they brought into their lives.

“Brotato chip, you seriously have to pull the stick out of your ass. You’re starting to act like Jarrod.”

He was nothing like their oldest brother. Jarrod had been a lone wolf since the moment he called upon them to take their positions within the business. After he had set up STEALTH he hit the road, looking for assignments from various governments.

“I hope Zoey looked into her background,” Trevor pressed.

“Of course. Zoey said she was clean, nothing too much to tell. Looks like Sabrina had been travelling around the world with her military family until she turned eighteen, just working odds-and-ends jobs since then.”

It was in line with the little Sabrina had told him, but something still felt wrong. Trevor glanced toward the kitchen where Sabrina was working. Maybe someday, if he could just ease himself back into being a civilian, something might start feeling right.

A man could only hope.




Chapter Four (#u9f345e87-b006-5080-8800-4945bafafc53)


She sat in the corner of the barn, letting the streak of morning sun that was leaking through the siding spread over the tips of her boots. Though the beam had to be warm, she couldn’t feel it through the leather. Maybe the sun was just like the rest of her life…pretty to look at, but completely devoid of feeling.

Then again, yesterday had been full of them—at least when it came to Trevor. She glanced down at her phone and his picture. The photo was sharp, black-and-white, typical of the FBI. And yet it didn’t really capture the man she had met. No, in real life he was far less imposing than he seemed in the picture. The photo failed to show the way it felt to stand there encircled in his arms, and then to realize that he had been playing her from the moment they met.

She flipped to the email from her handler, Agent Mike Couer, and stared at the man’s instructions. She’d have to play nice, get along and then get out of there. If she didn’t screw this up, she could be in and out without the Martins even knowing who she was or what she did. She’d made it this far; as long as she didn’t get wrapped up in another set of arms, she’d be just fine.

For a moment she considered calling Mike and telling him about the body they had found, but she stopped. There wasn’t enough evidence to track this back to the family. Sure, she could probably take Trevor down for the murder, but that wasn’t what she was here for; no, she was here for them all. They had to be stopped before they put any more weapons into the hands of terrorist organizations…and that was to say nothing of the lives that they themselves had snuffed out. This family was likely responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, if not tens of thousands.

The thought made the anger bubble up inside her. These days that feeling, that fire, was her only constant companion. Without it, she wouldn’t know who she was. It was that feeling that propelled her forward, past the crap in her personal life, and helped her to focus on her prime objectives. Her life wasn’t hers to live. Her life belonged to the people of the world, people who deserved to be kept safe and out of the line of fire of the Martins.

Stuffing the phone back into her pocket, she made her way into the house.

She just needed to get her hands on as much information about the incident in Turkey as possible. There were reports of photos, pictures proving that the STEALTH team had been involved in the illegal gun trade, and during the event civilians had been shot and killed. If she could just prove it, or find evidence that the family was part of organized crime, not only would her past indiscretions at the agency be forgiven, but she might also find her way out of the remote offices and back to DC.

The house was silent as she weaved between the moving boxes. Trevor and Chad had been vague in their plans for the day, but she expected nothing less. No doubt, they were at the shanty taking care of their mess. She should have been out there with them, getting information about their possible involvement with the dead man and his family, but she hadn’t found a way to get herself invited along. And really, even if she caught Trevor red-handed with this murder, where would it get her?

He was good at keeping people in the dark, but his family wasn’t as good as they thought they were. She’d get what she needed. She always did.

Trevor’s bedroom door was closed, but his room seemed like as good a spot as any to start. She opened the door. The room had nothing but four boxes, a desk, and a mattress and box spring on the floor. At the head of the bed, there was a rolled-up mummy bag sitting on a large body pillow.

Apparently, even though he had nothing, he was a man who still liked to make his bed in the morning.

Grabbing a box, she set it on the bed and pulled off the tape. As it opened, the scent of sand and sweat rose up and met her—the smell of war.

Well, she could fight, too.

She pulled out a set of fatigues. They were green and brown, a throwback to what Americans once wore in the jungles of Vietnam—not what she would have expected from desert warfare. The last time she’d seen an operative wearing this was in northern Africa. Some of the insurgents there loved to use the fatigues almost as their own personal calling card. They had even taken to calling themselves al-Akhdar, or “the Greens.”

It didn’t surprise her that this man would have found himself alongside such an infamous group. From what little she knew about them, the Martins had a way of being in prospective war zones even before the leaders of the country knew they were under fire.

She lifted the uniform out of the box and hung it up in Trevor’s closet. Though she never had time to clean her own apartment back in Washington, coming in undercover as a cleaning lady had its benefits. She could almost openly go through whatever she wanted under the guise of her newfound job.

It didn’t take long to empty the box and move to the next, putting away things as she came across them. Though she hadn’t expected to find much in the boxes, she had hoped that maybe he’d tucked something away—a picture, some sentimental token—but there was nothing. In fact, aside from his picture and the few boxes that were in the room, there was little to prove that this man truly even existed.

The only things she’d been able to glean so far, thanks to what she’d managed to overhear from the brothers this morning, was that the rest of the family—Zoey and Jarrod—would be arriving sometime soon. When they got there, she would have little time alone in the house. She’d have to work fast.

After going through what amounted to four boxes of random clothing and a set of encyclopedias that she was sure dated from the 1980s, she folded up the boxes. Carrying them under her arm, she stepped toward the door. As she moved, she noticed a gap between the head of the bed and the wall. It wasn’t much, just a couple of inches.

Making her way over to the gap, she pulled back his pillow, exposing a long black gun case.

Now we’re talking.

She pulled out the case, gingerly setting it on the bed and clicking open the tabs. In the belly of the case sat an M107 .50 caliber. She’d only seen a few of these in her days, and they were always in the hands of snipers—army snipers, to be exact. She snapped a quick picture of the gun and its serial number, but made sure not to touch the weapon. She sent a quick message to her people at the Bureau, hoping that one of them could pull up something.

He had played her when he’d brought up Schofield. He must have been testing her. Which meant there had been something about her that made him think that she couldn’t be trusted. Or maybe he mistrusted everyone. She racked her brain trying to think of something she had said or done that could have blown her cover, but nothing came to mind. She’d played it pretty cool…except for the girlie bit.

Or perhaps he wasn’t Army after all. If his family had in fact been running weapons, as they assumed, then maybe this was just one from their catalog. There was little reason for Trevor to have such a specialized weapon out here in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana. Unless he feared for their safety, or he thought he was one phone call away from having to kill someone.

She was probably right in assuming he was the type who was always looking over his shoulder. It probably came with his kind of game.

Maybe it was that she simply saw some of her own life mirrored in his. Over the last year, thanks to her little slipup—okay, major setback—she had been away from home and the Bureau nearly the entire time. In fact, there had been only three days that she was in the office. One when she went in to see him, one when she was called into her superior’s office and told she would henceforth be working remotely, and then when she was packing up her desk. Ever since then, she’d been living out of hotel rooms around the world. Everything in her life had been temporary and single-use.

She ran her fingers through her smooth hair. Since she’d taken residence at the Widow Maker Ranch she’d finally gotten the chance to buy and use real shampoo again, and not be stuck with the cheap stuff that was always in the guest basket at the hotels where she stayed.

Compared to Trevor’s constantly on-guard life—a life that required high-caliber rifles and owning nothing but a smattering of dusty old clothes—a few split ends seemed to pale in comparison. At least she had a certain amount of freedom. For the most part, she could check out when she was off duty.

For a split second, she felt a niggle of pity for the handsome Trevor Martin. He was never going to be able to live a normal life, not doing what his family did. They would always be hunted. And forget about having a love life.

The pity turned to something else, something entirely too much like disappointment.

She was just being silly. What was going on with her since she met this man? It was like she had never been around a good-looking, dangerous, Harley-riding, perfectly built badass before.

She closed the gun case, slipping it back in exactly the same position she had found it.

No doubt with her unpacking his room and all, he would probably assume she had seen it, but she didn’t want to make it blatant. And hopefully he would brush it aside, thinking she was the kind of woman who knew nothing about guns.

Her secret made a smile flutter over her lips. There was just something thrilling about being something and someone that no one expected at first glance. It was almost like a superpower…if she were a superhero, she’d have a cool name. No, better than cool—she’d want something enigmatic, mysterious. Something like the Shadow Defender, keeper of secrets and protector of the innocent.

She giggled as she walked out of the room, running smack-dab into Chad. Looking up, she tried to cover the guilt that was no doubt marking her features. Damn it, how had he gotten in without her hearing anything?

“Hey,” she said, stepping around him. “I thought you guys were out for the day.”

Chad glanced toward his brother’s room. “Uh, yeah. What were you doing in there? Does Trevor know you were planning on going in there?”

She gave him her most alluring smile, hoping that she could bring down his suspicions in true female superhero style. “I just thought I’d get a move on unpacking all the boxes. I was going to go ahead and hit your room next. That way you guys have a comfortable safe haven to come home to at the end of the day.” She shifted her weight, subtly exaggerating the curve of her hips. “There’s nothing worse than a barren room.”

Chad’s eyebrow rose.

Crap, hopefully he didn’t think she was making a move on him; she hadn’t meant anything. No, not when it came to him. Chad was good-looking enough, but he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Trevor. She thought back to the way Trevor had taken off his helmet and swept the long hair from his eyes. If he had a fan blowing on him, she might as well have been watching a freaking modeling shoot.

She turned before Chad could get any clue as to what she was thinking. The last thing she really needed was either brother assuming there was any possibility of something more than an employee-employer situation.

“Sabrina?” Chad called after her. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go ahead and unpack my things. No need for you to worry about it.”

She waved behind her, not bothering to look back. There went her chance, at least for now, to get into his room. At least she had a starting point to her investigation. If she ran the serial number on the .50cal, maybe she could pull up something. If she was lucky, there would be some agency out there tracking the gun, but based on what had just happened, luck wasn’t on her side.

She made her way to the newly remodeled kitchen, which still smelled of paint. As she pulled a box of Cap’n Crunch out of the pantry, the back door opened and Trevor strode in. He was sweaty and shirtless, wearing only a pair of running shorts and tennis shoes. He stopped and stared at her for a moment too long before he shut the door. Apparently he hadn’t been planning on bumping into her, either.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he walked over to the cupboard by the sink and grabbed a glass of water. Since his back was to her, she could make out a droplet of sweat slowly twisting down the thick muscles along the tanned skin of his spine. The bead moved slowly, making her wonder if it tickled.

“I see you’re one for a healthy start to the day. I like it,” he said, filling up his glass and turning around with a cheesy, oh-so-cute smile on his face.

“The Cap’n and I have a long-term relationship,” she said, hugging the box to her chest like it was a bulletproof vest. “He knows just how to make me smile.”

“I hear you. I’m a sucker when it comes to food.”

“You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart,” Sabrina said, but as the words escaped her, she just as quickly wished she could rein them back in.

Why couldn’t she just be normal around this guy—flirty, yet out-of-bounds? Instead, here she was saying things that she couldn’t have imagined herself saying when she was forced to take this assignment.

“In that case,” Trevor said, grabbing a towel and dabbing at his forehead, “would you mind pouring me a bowl? I’ll be right back, just going to go put on a shirt.” He flipped the kitchen towel over his shoulder.

Hold up, had he really just implied she could make her way into his heart? No. He couldn’t have meant anything like that.

As he walked away she once again found herself staring at the little bead of sweat, which now sat at the subtle indent that marked the place where his hips met his back. Her gaze moved lower as he walked away. His shorts moved in perfect harmony with his round, toned behind.

Yeah, she could touch that. Chances were, he would fit perfectly in the cup of her hand.

Wait, he was playing her. She couldn’t fall for his abundant charms or his easy grace. No.

She turned around and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and poured him some cereal, carefully setting the milk on the table beside it so he could add it in when he came back.

Her phone pinged with an email. Checking around her to make sure no one was near before opening it, she unlocked her phone. There was a message from Mike. Just seeing his name pop up on her screen made her stomach clench. Just once, she would have liked to not have that feeling. It was stupid, really. His name would always pop up. He was too involved in her life for him to just disappear. If anything, she was foolish to think she would just get over him and be able to go back to work and pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Maybe she would have been better off quitting her job and moving on to something else, but she had told herself she was a big girl—able to handle anything that life threw at her, that she would just have to accept the consequences that came with her choices…and yet she seemed to always die just a little every time she saw anything to do with her former flame.

She hated him. Everything emotional he represented. He was the embodiment of all of her worst flaws—her inability to say no, to make people unhappy, and the weakness she felt when it came to the needs of her heart. If only she could turn the damned thing off, be cold, distant, professional.

Opening the email, she read the encrypted note:

Dear Ms. Parker,

In regard to your findings at your current posting, we are and have been aware of your assignments’ past—including jobs dealing with long-gun usage. I’m glad to see you are finally making headway. Too bad it has taken you this long.

If you fail to meet the goals and standards set forth in your proposal in a timely manner, the SAC has let me know that they will be forced to look elsewhere for a UC who is better qualified. You have a week.

—M.C.

What a bastard. Mike had known what Trevor was and he’d left it out of the case files he’d handed her. He was trying to get her fired.

Of course.

What had she been thinking, assuming her sentence would be simple banishment to a remote office as an undercover agent along with her former flame? The special agent in charge, or SAC, whom they’d been forced to report to regarding their relationship had put them together out here in the middle of nowhere, hoping that they would learn to get along and develop a new sense of trust with each other. But the move had been ill-advised. As it was, she had a feeling she was in a dog-eat-dog battle with her ex, and only one would leave this kennel alive.

No big deal. She could do this. In fact, there was no better impetus for her to kick butt and take names than someone thinking she was incapable—or, in this case, Mike thinking he had the upper hand and assuming he could get rid of her that easily. She would show him, and the rest of the Bureau, exactly what she was made of.

The door to the kitchen opened and Trevor walked in. His smile had disappeared.




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