Passion and peril collide as a detective and the witness he’s protecting come under fire

All formerly footloose waitress Reggie Frost wants is to show her family that she’s ready to put down roots. But her plans are derailed when she ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Now witness to a murder, Reggie has become a killer’s next target...

Undercover detective Brayden Maxwell is consumed by a quest to bring his father’s murderer to justice. Enforcing the law is personal, but so is his need to protect Reggie from the criminal tracking her every move. Stubborn and sexy, she’s a complication he didn’t expect. As they join forces, their attraction is unstoppable, but will it compromise his mission and her life?

A small smile tipped up Brayden’s lips, but his eyes narrowed.

“You’re not crazy. You were in a stressful situation. Are in one. I’d rather have skipped the nighttime jog through the woods, but I get why you ran. No need to apologize.”

“I’m still sorry,” she replied.

“Well, then. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks.”

He stared down at her for several long moments, his face unreadable. What was going through his head? Reggie thought maybe he wanted to add something else. His mouth twitched as though he was holding back. And she had a strange urge to coax whatever it was out of him. To reach up and touch his cheek and tell him he could share whatever he wanted to share, and it would be just fine with her.

* * *

Be sure to check out the next books in this miniseries.

Undercover Justice: Four brothers-in-arms on a mission for justice...

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

One of the things I was really excited to do in this brand-new series was to create a fantastic contrast between its warm, community-minded setting and its seedy underworld. I loved the idea of creating a bustling town that can’t help but have interconnected characters who all know each other’s business while also being blissfully unaware that there’s a snake among them.

So welcome to Whispering Woods, a fictional town in Oregon. Nestled in the mountains, it was once a thriving forestry community. Now, though, it relies on tourism to keep its year-round residents afloat. Well. Tourism. And (of course) a criminal mastermind.

I hope you enjoy your stay!

(Skiers, hikers and murder, oh my...)

Melinda

Captivating Witness

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Amazon bestselling author MELINDA DI LORENZO writes in her spare time—at soccer practices, when she should be doing laundry and in place of sleep. She lives on the beautiful west coast of British Columbia, Canada, with her handsome husband and her noisy kids. When she’s not writing, she can be found curled up with (someone else’s) good book.

For my husband.

I could dedicate a thousand books to you, and it would still never be enough.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

The four boys stood in an awkward square, no one quite daring to make the first move, no one quite willing to speak.

Brayden Maxwell, who knew he was already the quietest of the bunch, couldn’t force even a single word. He just shifted from foot to foot, wishing he could get out of the monkey suit his mother had forced him to wear, lock himself in his bedroom and pound away on his drums. Problem was, earlier that week, the repo guys had come by and taken the drum kit. The TV and the new kitchen table, too, though the drums were the part that mattered most to Brayden. They’d been a gift from his dad. The last thing given to him before the always-laughing, always-joking, always-in-your-face man had died in the line of duty.

It was crap. Even at fifteen years old, Brayden could feel the unjustness of the situation. Three cops dead. Four kids—him and his little brother included—without fathers. No one to play catch with, no one to wink at and point out the pretty girls with.

No one to pay the damned bills.

He winced, thinking his mom wouldn’t appreciate his use of the word damned, even in his own head. Those kinds of things were important to her. Swearing, cheating and lying. All high on the mom list of punishable offences. Except right now...dropping a mental damned was the least of Brayden’s worries.

A year had gone by since the deaths of their fathers, and the man who’d done it all was getting off without a day served in prison.

It was why they’d gathered together today. To hear the announcement as it was made public. To stand by their moms—widows now, which seemed like a weird thing to call a bunch of women in their thirties—and watch as the infamous Freemont City Bomber walked out of the courthouse. It made no difference that his face was shielded from the cameras, his identity undisclosed because of his age. It was obvious what would happen. He’d return to his everyday life, while things for them would never be the same.

Brayden looked at each of the boys in the room, feeling the burden of being thrust into his role as their leader.

Anderson Somers was the kindest. The slowest to anger. The one whose intelligence sneaked up on you, every time.

Harley was Brayden’s own little brother. Not quite two years younger. Sensitive, prone to doodling and always empathetic.

Rush Stephenson was tall and wide and a year older than Brayden and Anderson. His temper was well-known, and it took little to fuel the fire.

Brayden, though, was the one with the most forethought. The one who reasoned things through and came up with the plans. The one who would gladly step up and take the blame when their shenanigans went awry.

Which is why they needed him to bring this plan to the table.

So he finally cleared his throat and said, “This isn’t a funeral.”

“Feels like it,” replied Anderson.

“Feels worse.” That one came from Harley, who looked down at his feet as he spoke.

It kinda killed Brayden to see that his brother’s confidence had been stripped away like that. To recognize that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t build up the kid the way that their father had.

Failing, he thought, with far more bitterness than any fifteen-year-old should.

He took a breath and said what they were all thinking. “We need to find out his name.”

Rush spit on the dusty floor. “Whoever he is, I’d like to wring his neck.”

“We all would,” Brayden said back. “But since you’re probably the only one who could reach his neck...”

“It’s not funny,” Harley told him.

Brayden sighed, lifted his fingernail to his mouth, remembered he’d promised their dad he’d stop chewing, then dropped his hand to his side. “I’m not making a joke. Not really. I want to take the guy out just as bad as Rush does. But Dad—all of our dads—would want us to do it the right way.”

“What’s the right way?” Rush sounded furious, as usual. “Weren’t you paying attention, Bray? The system failed.”

“It wasn’t the system,” Anderson interrupted. “It was a loophole.”

“A loophole?” Harley repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means that murderer isn’t rotting in prison the way he should be,” Rush all but growled.

Brayden lifted a hand. “A loophole means that his lawyers are smart, and they found a legal way for him to not go to jail. For this anyway.”

Anderson’s eyes whipped to Brayden’s face. “You think he’s committed more crimes?”

Brayden nodded. “Don’t you? Someone living a straight life doesn’t just set off a bomb in a police station.”

“So what do you want to do?” Rush asked.

“I want to catch him.”

“Ourselves?” Harley said. “By the time we’re old enough to try, we’ll be too old to even do anything about it.”

Brayden fought an urge to give his brother a solid kick in the butt. “We’ll be in our twenties, not dead.”

There was a weird silence then, the word dead hanging in the air. Because people did die young. Their fathers were proof of that. Anderson’s dad, who’d still been a junior in high school when Anderson was born, had been just twenty-nine.

Finally, Rush spoke up again. “What’s the plan, Bray?”

Brayden managed a smile. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the tidy stack of pamphlets. He handed one to his brother and to each of his friends.

Anderson was the first to look up. “You want us to become cops?”

Brayden nodded. “I want us to become cops. And I want us to track him down and catch him.”

The room went silent again, and he was sure he could feel what each one of them was thinking. Rush would be bucking against the idea of working within the system. Anderson would be digesting the idea slowly, weighing the pros and cons. Harley would be hating it, thinking it was too far-fetched and too far in the future and too unlikely to succeed.

But it was his brother who spoke up first. “I’m in.”

Brayden couldn’t mask his surprise. “You are?”

“Yeah. Dad would want this.”

“I’m in, too,” said Rush at the same moment that Anderson chimed in with “It’s a good idea.”

Relief swept through Brayden. “All right.”

A final silence descended on them, brief this time. Then they all started talking at once. And none of it had to do with the stress and fear and sadness of the last year. It was as though making a plan—even one that extended so far into the future that it seemed like a dream—released all the tension. And for a while, at least, they could go back to being teenage boys.

Chapter 1

Fifteen years later...

Reggie Frost pressed the wash button on the industrial-sized dish sanitizer, then looked up and sighed at the big old-fashioned clock on the wall at the Frost Family Diner. It wasn’t even eight at night yet, but she was already exhausted. And an hour behind schedule.

Two of the other servers had come down with the flu, so she’d pulled an open, then worked a crazy busy lunch rush, a sleepily slow dinner hour and was now doing a close, too. She was just thankful that Fridays were notoriously slow before the start of the summer tourist season. Any other day of the week, and she would’ve been stuck there for the late-night snack crowd, too. And a week or two from now, when Whispering Woods was overflowing with out-of-town guests, she would’ve been lucky to get off work before midnight.

Small things to be grateful for, Reggie acknowledged.

It helped, also, that tonight was the kickoff for the annual Garibaldi Gala.

Hosted by its namesake, the party started out with fireworks on the Friday before the so-called official opening of tourist season. Everyone who didn’t have somewhere else to be was on the other side of town, jostling for free cotton candy and the best view of the soon-to-start light show. But even before she got saddled with the never-ending shift, Reggie hadn’t been planning on attending the late-night festivities. She was working on a plan. One she hadn’t yet disclosed to anyone. One she wouldn’t disclose unless it worked out. And in order to make it happen, she needed Jesse Garibaldi’s attention. She had to make sure the man knew without a doubt that she was as committed to the community as he was. It was the main reason she’d signed on to help out at family-friendly fair the following morning.

And she wanted to be well rested enough that she could cheerfully paint two hundred sticky-with-cotton-candy faces, work the lunch rush—again—then attend the Saturday night dinner and dance. The last part was key. The party was an exclusive one. Accessible only to those who worked for or with Garibaldi. And the man of the house always attended in person. Her hope was to speak to him directly. To present her request and hope that he’d bite.

No point in passing up on free food and drinks, either.

She tapped an aching foot, waiting for the cycle to finish its run. With the exception of the last load of dishes and a final trash bag waiting its turn to be run to the bin outside, the diner was in shutdown mode. Everything was tidy, all the floors sparkling. Reggie was sure even her long-passed grandmother—who had opened the place back when the town was still a forestry one—would be pleased with the way it looked at the moment.

And, she thought, it’ll prove to Dad that I can do it on my own.

“That’ll teach him to call me a slacker,” she grumbled.

But it was an affectionate complaint. She’d left the tiny town twice. Once, in pursuit of an education in psychology. Another in pursuit of love. Neither had panned out, and her dad teased her all the time about giving up. But the truth was, the time she’d spent away from Whispering Woods had put her life in perspective. She really did prefer the tight-knit community to all else. She enjoyed being near her father. She even liked the idea of inheriting the management of the diner over the management of potential future clients. Besides which, Reggie was convinced that she could learn far more about the human psyche while waiting on tables than she could from a textbook.

Those things made her more than happy to set up a permanent life in the touristy town.

Dishes and all, she thought with a smile.

As if on cue, the sanitizer buzzed, and she quickly turned her attention to putting away its contents. Plates in their slots, mugs on their racks, cutlery in its case. In minutes, she had it sorted out. With another sigh—this one satisfied—Reggie grabbed the green bag from the ground and marched toward the rear door of the diner.

Five minutes, she said to herself. Then you’ll be on your way home. A half hour, and you’ll be in the bath. And tomorrow night, you’ll be sitting somewhere else, sipping champagne and eating canapés. And hopefully celebrating a victory.

But she no sooner had the door cracked open than one of her no-nonsense work shoes got caught in a groove in the cobblestone just outside, sending her flying. As she fell forward, one knee smacked the ground and the bag flew out of her grip. Reggie watched in disappointed frustration as the bottom split open and bits of leftover food and soggy napkins rolled out. All right beside the Dumpster that had been her destination in the first place.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

She started to push herself up, then went still as the sound of feet thumping on concrete reached her ears. A heartbeat later, there was a wordless cry, then a thump as something—someone—hit the other side of the big bin. The whole thing rattled. Even the lid shook in protest.

Then a man’s voice—laced with obvious fear—carried through the alley.

“I swear,” he said. “I swear that I wasn’t planning to say anything.”

A second man replied immediately, his tone calm and controlled, but somehow full of derision, too. “The thing is, two minutes ago, you told me there was nothing to say. Now you’re telling me you won’t say anything. Which is it?”

There was the sound of a muffled sob. “Both.”

“Both?”

“Yes!”

“That answer just doesn’t fly, my friend. You should never have come back to town. You were told what would happen if you did, weren’t you?”

The Dumpster rattled again, and Reggie cringed backward as a narrow-shouldered man dived out from behind it. He tried to tear across the alley, but the man chasing him was faster. Bigger. And wearing a police uniform.

For a second, Reggie was so startled that she almost forgot to stifle a gasp. She didn’t recognize the first man. But she knew the man in the uniform. A rookie named Chuck Delta. He’d moved to town very recently, hired on for the upcoming tourist season, and he came into the diner every morning to grab a bagel and a coffee.

Was he there on official business? Was the man he now held by the collar a criminal? Should Reggie make her presence known?

But before she could work through an answer to the last question, the first two were answered.

“You’re supposed to help people,” said the smaller man. “And I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The big one shook his head. “Maybe not this time around. But I recognized you. And that’s enough.”

Chuck took a step toward the stranger, his hand stretched out toward the man’s mouth. And in a futile attempt to escape, the stranger flailed, then cringed back against the wall.

Something worse is going to happen.

The second the thought popped into Reggie’s head, it came to fruition.

A flash of metal.

A muted bang.

A muffled cry.

Reggie stumbled backward fearfully, trying to right herself and instead scraping against both the ground and the discarded garbage scattered over it. A soup can—which had somehow sneaked out of its rightful place in the recycling—rolled across the road. She froze, watching it make its way out into the open, ping-pinging along.

Too much noise!

Her eyes lifted fearfully just in time to see as the first man slumped forward, and Chuck started to turn. And the need for self-preservation finally kicked in. Reggie’s feet smacked against the cobblestone, her brain urging her along in time with the beat of her flight.

Run-run, run-run, run-run.

She pushed out of the alley and hit the concrete sidewalk.

Quick-quick. Quick-quick. Quick-quick.

She hit the corner, then continued straight onto the pavement.

Go-go. Go-go. Go—

The screech of tires was the only warning she had as she darted out, and her chanting brain didn’t have time to catch up. With her feet still moving, she raised her eyes in horror. A slick black car was sliding toward her, kicking up the scent of burning rubber as it skidded over the road at a wild angle.

But Reggie couldn’t stop herself.

Biting down on her lip so hard that she tasted blood, she flew straight into the driver’s-side headlight. Or maybe it hit her. The sudden, sharp pain all the way up her body made it impossible to say which was true. She crumpled to the ground.

No!

She couldn’t afford to stop here. She had to keep going. So she fought to get to her feet, her hands flailing to grab something—anything—to pull herself up. What she found was a warm hand. Two warm hands, in fact. One wrapped around her own, and another on her shoulder.

Wide. Tall. Strong.

A man.

And Reggie’s first instinct, spurred by the violence she’d just witnessed, was to fight him off. Tooth and nail if she had to.

But he was mouthing something at her. Words she couldn’t quite make out. And his eyes—light brown and as warm as his hands—were staring down at her, full of concern. A little familiar. And genuine. She was almost sure. But was it enough?

She swiveled her head in the direction she’d just run from, and the world spun. It would have to be.

“Help me,” she said, her voice not much more than a croak.

He replied, and it sounded like “I’m trying.”

“Please.”

His expression went from concerned to puzzled, to even more concerned. But thankfully, he didn’t argue. He just bent down, lifted her from the ground and tucked her against his broad chest. She closed her eyes and sank into him gratefully, praying he could keep her safe from the craziness she’d just witnessed.

* * *

Detective Brayden Maxwell inhaled as he shifted his hips to accommodate the added weight, and a lightly spiced scent hit him. Pleasant. Just like the feel of the girl—who he recognized from the quaint little restaurant a few blocks over—curled up in his arms.

Reggie, wasn’t it?

He glanced down. Yep, her name tag confirmed that he had it right.

Just two minutes earlier, he’d been on the phone with his brother, telling him that things were going smoothly. The plan didn’t have a hitch. Finally, after a decade and a half of searching, he was sure, all but 100 percent sure that they’d located their target. The man who’d walked away without a scratch, but left them with deep scars.

Now this.

What had spooked her so badly that she’d run out in front of his car like that? He hadn’t seen anything himself. Heck. He’d barely seen her. He was just glad he’d had enough time to swerve as much as he had. She’d smacked herself pretty hard against his bumper, but three seconds less notice...he shook his head at the thought, then inhaled again, and the sweet smell filled his nose a second time.

Cinnamon, maybe? Pie from the diner?

He studied her for another moment. She was always smiling while she served at the restaurant. One of those big smiles that lit up her whole face. It was almost too big for her very petite form. Perfect for her sparkling eyes, though, which were the greenest he’d ever seen. Which were all but closed now. Fluttering just a little. Her body was shaking a little, too.

Yeah, she was definitely more than shaken up. Maybe not in medical shock, but definitely under a great amount of emotional distress.

Not good.

Brayden frowned and brought his attention to the street. He scanned it carefully. Up. Then down. Then both ways again. He couldn’t see a shred of anything suspicious. Or anything much at all, for that matter. The sky was dim, but the streetlights—few as they were in this small town—hadn’t yet come on. The moment hovered right between dusk and true darkness, and his eyes hadn’t quite adjusted.

He gave himself one moment more to study the surrounding area. Nothing jumped out, but his instincts were definitely alight.

He decided not to waste any more time looking for—and thinking about—something that might not even be there. The girl was scared. Possibly hurt. Both those things necessitated his assistance, even if he didn’t factor in her specific request for help.

“All right,” he murmured. “Let’s get you somewhere you can feel safe.”

Where that was, he didn’t know yet. But his experience with trauma victims told him that getting her away from the scene would be a good start.

He stared at his car for a second, then decided it would be easiest to transport her in the back seat. She could lie down instead of trying to keep upright. As Brayden tugged open the door and laid her down, she started to shiver even more, and her teeth were chattering, too. The evening air was far too warm for that kind of chill.

Definitely something close to shock.

“Hey,” he said, careful to keep his voice low and gentle. “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk. Sit tight while I grab it, okay?”

She gave him just the barest hint of a nod. It would have to do. He strode to the rear of the car, popped open the lid, then retrieved a thick duvet from the pile of items he’d just washed at the Laundromat. It still had a hint of warmth, leftover from the dryer.

Perfect.

He slammed the trunk shut, then moved back to the side of the car, where he carefully tucked the blanket around Reggie’s tremor-riddled form. He made sure to cover her completely, shoulders to toes, noting that one of her shoes was missing. A quick glance in the direction she’d sprinted from told him the missing piece of footwear was nowhere close.

“Okay,” he said to her. “We’ll worry about that later. For now, I just want you to lie still. Can you do that?”

She gave another tiny nod, the duvet bouncing with her agreement.

“Good.” He put a hand on her covered shin, glad to see that her shivering had tapered off already. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Then Brayden closed the door and made his way back to the driver’s seat. He turned the key and eased the car onto the empty street. He drove along slowly, mentally assessing what his destination ought to be.

The local doctor? He’d heard there was a man who ran a practice from his home, but it had to be after hours now.

Her place? He hadn’t a clue where it was.

The diner where she worked? Fine, unless she’d just run from there. It was only a few blocks over, after all.

Maybe Brayden’s own rented cabin? He paused to think about that possibility a little further. His temporary home was out of the way. But at least he knew where it was, and was familiar with its resources. Of course, having guests over wasn’t on his list of priorities. He had his mission—his one and only reason for taking up residence in the tiny town—and getting to know the pretty waitress wasn’t a part of it.

Because running over her with your car was?

Brayden stifled a sigh. Yeah, that hadn’t been on his to-do list, either. But adjusting to accommodate unexpected scenarios was a pretty key element in his work. So he’d just have to do it now.

As he put his foot to the gas, he let himself lift his eyes to the rearview mirror. Reggie had disappeared into the bulky blanket; her waiflike form was but invisible. Only a wisp of her dark hair peeked over one corner. For a second, it actually made him smile.

Then a flash of red and blue caught his eye, and as he adjusted his gaze to find the source, his smile dropped off completely. Straight ahead, a police car was cruising toward them. Flashers on. Sirens off. A solo, uniformed man at the wheel.

Something about the sight of the car deepened his worry. Generally speaking, when working a case that crossed jurisdictions, his boss made sure to alert the local authorities. Brayden knew that wasn’t the case here. His captain at the Freemont City PD had authorized the investigation—even if he hadn’t provided the time and the resources—and that sanction was enough. But the man they were investigating had entrenched himself in the Whispering Woods community. He had the mayor’s ear, and many pieces of the town’s property in his pocket, and the local police probably wouldn’t take kindly to having one of their favorite citizens investigated. So the case was more covert than most, and Brayden’s presence a well-kept secret.

Moments later, the cruiser pulled up behind him. The cop inside pointed sideways, and Brayden’s concern spiked. Still, he had no choice but to pull over. He flipped on his signal and slowed the already moving-at-a-crawl vehicle. The cop waved again, and Brayden pulled the car over completely. He rolled down his window and waited with barely contained impatience as the other officer climbed out.

Brayden noted that the man was barely more than a kid. Clean shaven, fresh faced. But with a stiffness to his shoulders. Straight out of the academy, maybe, with something to prove.

Brayden sighed, forced a smile and readied his license and registration. “’Evening, Officer.”

“Sir.” The younger man gave the paperwork a cursory once-over, then handed it back. “You’re not a local. You just passing through?”

The question made Brayden want to frown, but he held it in. No one just passed through Whispering Woods. There was one road into the town, and nothing but mountains and trees on the other side.

“I’ve got a business venture in mind,” Brayden said. “Got a short-term lease on one of the cabins out by the creek.”

“Ah.”

“Yep. Was I speeding, Officer?”

The kid shook his head. “Nah. I’m just investigating a report on a disturbance.”

Brayden felt his eyebrow twitch. The guy had to be inexperienced if he was giving even that bit of information away so freely.

“Anything I should worry about?”

“Nah,” the rookie said again. “What about you? You see anything suspicious happening around here in the last few minutes?”

Brayden made himself laugh. “Around here? I’ve been in town for over a week and I don’t think I’ve even seen a misbehaving squirrel.”

The kid’s face relaxed marginally. “Does tend to be a bit quiet. From Freemont City myself. Used to a faster pace.”

Freemont.

The mention of his own hometown made Brayden want to stiffen. He guessed it wasn’t entirely improbable that it was a coincidence. Whispering Woods was two hundred miles north of the Oregon city, and even though it was a bit off the beaten path, it was still a decently popular tourist destination. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to file away the information for later. He made a mental note, then relaxed his face into another smile.

“Guess that’ll do it,” Brayden said. “Good to be vigilant, though. Even in a small town.”

“You bet.” The kid gave his bare face a scratch, then stepped back. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

Brayden put the car back into Drive and flicked on his signal. He didn’t make it as far as pulling out, though, before the young cop called out again.

“Sir?”

“Yep.”

He braced himself for a question about the human-shaped pile of blankets on the back seat. It didn’t come. Instead, the officer held out a business card.

“That’s my direct line,” the kid said. “If you do see anything, feel free to skip the middleman and call me right away.”

“You got it.”

Stifling a relieved sigh and suppressing a need to hit the gas as hard as he could, Brayden eased the car onto the street. As he pulled out, he glanced in the rearview mirror. What he saw just about made him swerve into a fire hydrant. The kid had turned away and was heading back to his patrol car. And jammed into his belt at the rear of his waistband was a woman’s shoe.

Chapter 2

Reggie kept her mouth shut. Partly because she was still terrified. Partly because her head ached. And partly because she wasn’t sure exactly what to say to the big man who’d scooped her up like she weighed nothing, then tucked her into the back of his car with a gentleness that was completely at odds with his obvious strength. Especially since he’d—thank God—hidden her presence from Chuck, the gun-wielding cop.

Why had he done it? Normal people went to the police when there was an issue. And having a panicked woman run straight into your car was definitely an issue.

So maybe he’s not normal.

She hazarded a tiny peek over the edge of the warm blanket. She didn’t have the best view of him, but she could tell that his eyes were fixed on the road ahead. And she could also see that there was a definite edge to the way he held himself. His stubble-covered jaw was stiff. The hand he had on the steering wheel was tight. Tension everywhere. Maybe from lying to the cop. Maybe from something else.

Remembering she’d thought there was something familiar about him, she studied his features surreptitiously, trying to see more. When he cast a quick glance in the side-view mirror, she got a fuller look at his face. He had wide lips and a well-proportioned nose. His eyes were a pale brown that bordered on amber, and thick lashes framed them, making their unusual color stand out all the more. Beyond a doubt, he was one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. But she couldn’t place where exactly she knew him from. The diner, probably, but she was sure he wasn’t a regular, and she doubted a tourist would be so eager to mislead the local police.

She closed her eyes for a second, considering whether or not the bump on her head was making her short-term memory fuzzy. A strong possibility. When she lifted her lids again, he’d turned back to the road, and all she could see now was his profile. She had to admit to a weird stab of disappointment that she couldn’t stare at him for a bit longer.

Apparently the bump didn’t affect your libido, she thought sarcastically.

Reggie fought the need to study him further, knowing full well that she should be worried about what he planned to do with her rather than be distracted by his looks. She had no clue where they were headed or what his intentions were. Something in her gut told her she could trust him, but at the moment, she wasn’t sure she should rely on the instinct. If someone had asked her twenty minutes earlier whether or not Chuck was a good guy, she probably would’ve said yes without even considering another answer.

She fought a shiver as the memory of his furious tone came back to her. The man in the front seat was a far better option than being back there. He had to be.

At least until I’m far away from Chuck. That’s all that matters right this second.

Except as quickly as the thought came, it was replaced with the realization that it wasn’t quite true. In her panicked run, she’d forgotten all about the man on the other end of the gun.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped.

The man in the front seat tossed a concerned look over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“We have to go back!”

“What?”

“The man...the other one...” She tried to push up to a sitting position, but a wave dizziness hit her, overriding the worry and guilt and keeping her in place. “Oh, God.”

“Take it easy.”

She shook her head, making the dizziness even worse. “I can’t.”

“Just give yourself a minute. Breathe.”

Reggie closed hers eyes and took his advice, her mind reeling. What had happened to the other man? Could he possibly have lived? Should she be calling someone for help? Probably. Yes. Definitely, actually.

But who?

Clearly the police were out of the question.

“We have to go back,” she said again, this time in a mumble.

“I get the feeling that would be a bad idea.”

“We have to. I have to.”

“We’re over halfway to my cabin.”

“Your cabin?”

“Wasn’t sure where else to take you.”

“Oh.”

“You need to tell me something?”

She chewed her lip nervously, trying to decide what to say. “Someone’s life might depend on whether or not I go back.”

He met her gaze in the rearview mirror, and he didn’t look as startled as she thought he should. “And your life?”

“What?”

“That cop back there...”

Those four words were enough to make Reggie’s heart beat at double time, and her hands tightened on the blanket. “Yes. That’s Chuck Delta.”

“Well, Officer Delta had your shoe.”

Reggie glanced down at her feet, then recalled one of the slip-ons had fallen off during her hasty escape. And it wasn’t exactly good news that it was now in Chuck’s possession. But even that wasn’t the most pressing of her issues right then. She needed to help the victim. If he could still be helped.

“Bad time to play Cinderella,” the big man pointed out, then sighed when she didn’t respond. “All right. You tell me where you need me to go and I’ll circle back.”

“The Frost Family Diner.”

“Got it. But the second I see anything I think is dangerous, I’m hitting the gas. That includes running into the cop again.”

Reggie breathed out, glad he’d conceded, even with his conditions. “Okay.”

She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the tires under her back lull her. After a few silent moments, though, one of his statements came back to her.

His cabin.

And finally she placed him.

“Tuesday, table five. Two eggs, over easy, dry toast,” she said, opening her eyes again.

A smile tipped up both sides of his mouth and showed a row of nice even teeth before his gaze went back to the front windshield. “I usually go by Max. But that works, too.”

Reggie felt her face warm. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not like customers wear name tags.” His teasing gaze found hers in the mirror again. “Actually, I’m kinda flattered you remembered my meal.”

“You left one of the girls a twenty-dollar tip when she complained about the price of diapers. She talked about it—and you and your plans to start a bed-and-breakfast—for an hour after.”

“Ah. My wanton display of wealth. Should’ve known.”

“Generosity with no strings,” she corrected, then blushed a little more at how emphatic she sounded.

“Always glad to help,” he said with another glance at her in the mirror. “Never any strings.”

She sensed a question in the words, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Which made it even harder to answer. After a moment, she settled on something easy.

“Thank you. For picking me up and for taking me back, too.”

He replied just as simply. “You’re welcome. And speaking of which...we’re here.”

She fought the dizziness and propped herself up to look out the window. The street was eerily empty. And even though she knew it was because Jesse Garibaldi owned the whole block and all the owners were probably just getting ready for his party, it still made her shiver. Even the familiar sight of her family’s restaurant couldn’t help her shake her unease.

“See anything you don’t like?” Max asked.

“I don’t see anything at all,” she admitted. “But I still don’t like it. Could you drive around to the alley?”

“Sure.”

Very slowly, he guided the car to the end of the road. Reggie didn’t have to strain to see that it was as empty as the street.

Unless there’s a body behind the Dumpster.

She swallowed nervously and reached for the door handle.

“What are you doing?” Max demanded immediately.

“I need to get out and check.”

“Check what?”

Ignoring his question—mostly because she wasn’t sure she could answer without panicking again—she pushed open the door. From the front seat, the big man muttered something unintelligible, and before Reggie could even get both feet on the ground, he’d flung open his own door and made his way to her side of the car.

He positioned himself in front of her, arms crossed over his wide chest as he repeated, “Check what?”

She met his gaze as steadily as she could manage with her head swimming the way it was and made herself say the words. “Check for a body.”

Max’s eyes widened, then darkened as he shook his head. “We’re not checking for a body.”

“We have to.”

“Body checking is a police job.”

“Unless the police created the body.”

“Chuck?”

Reggie nodded, wincing at the sharp pain the motion caused. “There was a gun and another man and cop or not... I’m sure it wasn’t something legal.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t be checking.”

“I have to, Max. What if the other guy is still alive and needs help?”

His mouth twisted like he wanted to argue, but after a second, he just shook his head again. “I’ll go.”

“No.”

“The second you step out of the car, you’re going to fall over. What’s going to happen if someone is back there, and he’s not happy to see you?”

Reggie wanted to protest that she wasn’t anywhere near falling down, but it would’ve been a lie. Her head definitely didn’t feel right. But she wasn’t excited about the idea of him risking himself either. Not for her sake.

She swallowed. “I don’t think it’s very safe.”

“I’ve got some experience dealing with the shadier side of life,” he assured her.

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“It just means I can handle whatever’s around the other side of that Dumpster.”

“You’re sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

She took a breath, then nodded. “Okay.”

He studied her for a second longer—like he was trying to figure something out—then moved to the passenger-side door on the front of the car. He opened it, then the glove box, too, and pulled out something shiny and metal.

A gun.

Reggie was shaking her head—pain be damned—before he even brought it back and held it out. “I can’t take that.”

“You’re scared. And for a minute or two, you’re going to be alone. This’ll give you some security,” he said.

“I don’t even know how to fire it.”

“This is an easy one. Flick off the safety, then click, point and shoot.” He demonstrated the steps once, then twice, then handed the weapon to her and made her repeat the sequence herself. “Good.”

Reggie couldn’t think of a worse word to describe the situation. Less than an hour ago, she’d been worrying that she wouldn’t have time to do her nails before Garibaldi’s party. Now she was sitting in a stranger’s car with a gun in her lap. And the stranger was telling her things would be fine and holding out his hand and expecting her to just take it.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll help you into the front.”

As she closed her fingers on his, a startling tingle shot up her arm. The sensation was strong enough that it momentarily blocked out the buzz in her head. Surprise made her loosen her hand, and she shot her gaze up, wondering if he felt the shock of sharp heat, too. But Max was focused on tightening his hold and pulling her out gently.

Reggie made herself dismiss the heady sensation as a side effect of her head bump, and let him guide her to the passenger seat. But it was impossible to deny the jolt of loss as he let her go.

“Key’s in the ignition,” he said. “If I don’t come back around that corner in five minutes, I want you to drive away. Fast and far enough away that you know your 911 call is going to go to a different city.”

Reggie opened her mouth to protest, but he was already closing the door. With her heart in her throat, she stared after him as his pressed himself to the edge of the building, then slipped around the corner and disappeared.

* * *

With well-practiced stealth, Brayden eased along the exterior brick wall of the Frost Family Diner. He’d already compartmentalized his worries so that he could focus on the moment. From the shoe in the cop’s back pocket to whether or not this whole situation related to his own case, to the fact that he found the pretty waitress’s green eyes utterly mesmerizing, everything had been tucked into a tidy corner of his mind. Even the ridiculous prick of heat he’d felt when he took her hand had been momentarily put aside. After all, he wouldn’t get a chance to experience it again if he couldn’t satisfy her need to check up on whatever had happened in the alley.

He moved along a little farther. He didn’t feel insecure about leaving behind his weapon; he was more than capable of winning in a hand-to-hand combat scenario. Even if his opponent came armed, Brayden had a few ways of disarming him without breaking much of a sweat. If worst came to worst, he could always rely on the small knife he kept tucked in his boot.

He had a feeling, though, that neither a knife nor his fists were going to be necessary. In spite of the quiet, uneasy air, Brayden’s instincts weren’t screaming a warning. His gut wasn’t wrong often. Eight years a cop—four of them as a detective—saw to that.

He reached the Dumpster in question and pushed out from the wall to avoid rubbing his back along the sour-smelling bin. He inched along until he got to the corner, where he paused, listening. Not a single sound carried out from the other side. Even the dim light above didn’t emit a hum.

Feeling confident that he’d find nothing—but cautious nonetheless—he eased out into the open. Silence continued to reign. Brayden relaxed even more. His gaze swept the area in search of anything out of the ordinary. The alley was clean. Almost weirdly so. He slowed his perusal of the space, now looking for something in place instead of out of it. There were no scraps of trash on the cobblestone, no signs of refuse of any sort.

He frowned. There should’ve been something. A half a dozen businesses shared the alley and the Dumpster. How could it possibly be so clean? The answer was one that made his instincts jump.

Because someone cleaned it up.

The trip between the spot where he’d picked up Reggie and the spot where he’d pulled the U-turn to come back had taken a little more than thirty minutes. If someone had come in and taken care of the scene—assuming the waitress was right about what happened—they’d done it in a hurry. Which meant they likely missed something.

Brayden made himself do a third visual inventory, this time square foot by square foot, surveying everything from the walls to the ground. He still saw nothing. Convinced he’d been thorough but with his gut still telling him something was off, he turned to head back to the car. Then he spotted it. Wedged under the door opposite the large bin. A dull metal soup can with a highly-recognizable logo.

With a quick glance around, he took a few steps toward the discarded item. Then paused as something far more sinister caught his attention. Just above the can, at chest height on the wall, was a small, rust-colored smear. A few more steps and a closer look confirmed Brayden’s initial suspicion. It was blood. He’d seen enough of it in the course of his career to know.

Now he backed up, trying to get a wider view. The light was growing steadily worse, but he was almost positive that the wall showed signs of a hasty wipe down. An unnaturally even arc of dirt swept around the smear. Like someone had wiped it clean, then tried to mask the wipe down. An untrained eye might’ve missed it. A few days from then, it would probably be utterly unnoticeable.

Habit made Brayden want to call it in. But the integrity of the local police was more than just in question—it was possible that at least one of them was responsible. He didn’t even know for sure what the end result of the shooting was. If the man was alive, he stood a chance of being saved. Except he thought the chances of that were slim to none. If he hadn’t been dead when the cleanup happened, he wouldn’t have made it for much longer. A shooting in an alleyway wasn’t a warning—it was a death sentence.

Make a decision, he ordered silently.

He tapped his fingers on his thigh for a second, said a silent prayer for the man who’d very likely met his untimely fate in the alley, then yanked out his cell phone. As much as mourning the loss of life felt right, it was action that would make things right. So in quick succession, he took a series of photos, making sure to get the smear from multiple angles. Then he took a panoramic shot of the alley. As soon as he had a good collection of pictures, he dragged them into an album, added a shorthand note and fired them off to a generic email address that he and his team used for communications like this. What were the chances that a town as small as Whispering Woods was home to two criminal masterminds?

Slim to none.

This had to have something to do with the slippery crook who killed their father. And if for some crazy reason it all turned out not to be related to his own case, it was still a good record to have. Especially if a man had been shot, as Reggie said.

Reggie. Right.

He needed to get back to her. His five minutes were more than likely up, and he had a strong preference for not walking the fifteen miles back to his cabin. Tucking his phone away, he turned up the alley once more. He only got two steps before a bang rocked the air.

For a second, he was frozen, a tumble of bad memories hitting him hard.

The bomb. The echo. The debris.

Video footage of the tragedy jumped to the forefront of his mind. The remembered sound of it filled his thoughts for a minute, blocking out all else. A teenage boy, knowing exactly what it sounded like on the scene where his father was killed.

Then a second explosion echoed through the alley, and instinct kicked in a little belatedly. Brayden threw himself against the wall and ducked low; his head whipped back and forth as he looked for the source of the noise. Everything was still. There wasn’t even a whiff of smoke.

So what the—

A third boom sounded, cutting off his thoughts as he realized it had come from up the alley. Near the spot where Reggie waited in the car.

Panic hit, this time even harder than before and directed outward rather than inward.

A rare curse dropped from Brayden’s mouth as he bolted up the cobblestone road. In seconds, he’d reached the street, fear for the green-eyed waitress making his feet move fast. He stopped short, though, when he spotted his car in one piece, Reggie in the same spot he’d left her. Even from a few feet away, he could see the concern on her face, but it was no stronger an expression than it had been a few minutes earlier.

Puzzled, he took a step out. A fourth boom, then three more rapid-fire ones rang out. Brayden flinched. Then the sky above exploded in light, and he realized what it really was and his body sagged.

Fireworks. Seriously?

It might’ve been funny if it weren’t so ridiculous. He almost wanted to laugh anyway. He made himself refrain from doing it, afraid it might come out a little manically if he let it.

“Way to stay calm under pressure, Detective Maxwell,” he muttered as he picked his way over to the car and opened the driver’s-side door.

“Are you okay?” Reggie asked right away.

“Fine.”

“You’re sure?”

He forced himself to answer lightly. “This from the woman who got run over by my car.”

“I guess. But you do look a little green.”

For the briefest second, he considered telling her about his overreaction and where it came from. Something in her gaze made him think she might offer a sympathetic ear. That she might even genuinely care. He shook off the urge. They didn’t have time for exchanging stories or getting all touchy-feely. What he needed to focus on was getting her away from whatever had happened back there in the alley. Before someone came back to check on their handiwork.

“I’m really okay,” he assured her.

“And there wasn’t anything in the alley?” She took a visibly shaky breath. “No body?”

“No body. But there was something,” he admitted. “I just don’t think we should hang around and talk about it here. And considering the fact that Chuck-The-Cop had your shoe, I also think it’s probably best if we steer clear of your house. At least for the moment. Any objections to sticking with my original idea?”

“Your cabin?”

“It’s out of the way. Not easy to sneak up on. If someone is looking for you, it won’t be on their radar.”

She pursed her lips and drew in her breath. And before her nod of agreement was even finished, Brayden was turning the key.

Chapter 3

The familiar scenery whipped by in a blur of green and brown, muted by the twilight.

Though she’d grown up in Whispering Woods, she’d never had a reason to check out the little cache of rental cabins at the edge of town that bordered the wildest part of the mountain. Not up close anyway.

Unlike the large, well-visited lodge that sat in the middle of everything, their destination had the inconvenience of requiring a short drive. Most tourists didn’t want the effort. And any who were seeking something a little out-of-the-way seemed to gravitate toward the mobile home park on the way into town instead. Maybe because the park boasted its own little shop, running water and the convenience of a clubhouse.

The cabins where Max was staying were older and definitely more rustic. They’d once housed the loggers who used to call the town home. But as they approached the woodsy setting, Reggie could see that it was picturesque. Even in the dark, there was no denying the appeal. On one side of the clearing, four small cabins angled toward a fire pit. On the other, two larger wooden homes sat apart, separated from each other by a six-foot-high hedge. Tall evergreens surrounded all of it, providing a gorgeous green canopy overhead.

If she were choosing a vacation spot, it would be this over the lodge or the mobile home park any day.

Max pulled past all six houses and guided his car up a dirt path that could barely be called a road, then parked in front of a seventh cabin that Reggie wouldn’t even have guessed was there. It was the biggest of the bunch—though still a single floor—and clearly intended as a more permanent residence than the others. A wide porch went from one exterior wall to the other, and a welcome sign hung over the door. Potted plants lined the railing, and several rocking chairs and a wooden swing decorated one end of the porch, while the other held a cast-iron table and matching seats. Through the window, Reggie spotted gingham curtains, and up on the roof, she could see a metal chimney.

“Home sweet home-away-from,” the big man announced. “Sit tight and I’ll give you a hand getting out and up to the house.”

She started to protest that she was fine, but again, he was too fast. In less time than it took for her to reach for her seat belt, he was opening her door and holding out a hand.

Bracing herself for another zap of attraction, she took a breath and put her fingers into his. And there it was. A goose-bumps-inducing heat that radiated up her arm as he helped her out of the vehicle. Maybe it was simply the skin on skin, maybe it was something more, but either way, Reggie couldn’t shake off her awareness of his warmth and strength. And as he adjusted their position so that her hand was resting across his waist for support, it increased even more. The sudden physical closeness turned the prickles of attraction into a fierce burn. It made her stumble a bit before they even made it three steps across the ground toward the cabin.

“You okay?” Max asked, pausing while she regained her footing.

She managed a nod. “Yes. Fine.”

“Okay.” He sounded a bit doubtful, but he didn’t argue. “Let’s get you inside.”

He pulled her even closer to carefully lead her up the path to the steps, and she realized she was thoroughly enjoying the nearness.

She wasn’t usually much of a first-meeting-manhandler kinda girl. If anything, she considered herself to be a bit standoffish with men, prone to assessing from afar rather than jumping in haphazardly. Working in the service industry in a tourist town meant plenty of opportunities for brief encounters. And in the peak seasons—summer and winter—there was a smorgasbord of willing guys coming through the town. She’d made that mistake in her past. Just once. But one slip was all Reggie needed to know better. She barely even noticed the line of guys who paraded through town with their skis or overdone dirt bikes anymore. Especially now that she’d rounded the other side of twenty-five. Something short-term and based on fun and fun alone wasn’t what she was after.

Although, judging by the way her body was reacting to Max...there were certain parts of her that hadn’t gotten the message.

And whether or not he was aware, she couldn’t tell.

She inhaled, trying to steady the abruptly staccato beat of her heart as they took the first stair. But the deep breath had the opposite effect that it should’ve. Because along with a hit of cool, woodsy air, she also drew in a breath of tangy, mouthwatering cologne.

She stumbled again. And again Max steadied her. This time, though, his jacket whipped loose and a cell phone clattered from his pocket to land on the wood beneath their feet. For a second, Reggie stared down at it, her heart sliding up from her chest to her throat.

“You said your name was Max,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

She pointed down. “The screensaver says ‘Brayden’s Phone.’”

“Oh. I can—”

She was off before he could even finish his sentence, one bare foot slapping the ground as she ran. A few steps later and her other shoe slipped off, too. But she didn’t stop to grab it, or even to look. Somehow, finding out she’d been deceived by the man who’d saved her brought to a head the gravity of her current situation. Something in her snapped.

A man had been shot. Not just in her sleepy little town, but behind her own family’s diner. The person who shot the man wasn’t some stranger or criminal. He was a police officer. And maybe he hadn’t seen her. But maybe he had.

And now...

Now she had nowhere to go. She was stuck on the outskirts of town with a man who’d lied about his name. A small, simple thing. The easiest thing to tell the truth about. She’d been too distracted by his eagerness to help. Too naive to think that he might have some ulterior motive.

It was just a name, said a little voice in her head.

She shoved it down.

Just a name, she replied to herself silently. That’s the whole thing. Why lie about such a small thing?

But the why of it all didn’t really matter. Not right then. All that did matter was getting away. Putting some physical space between herself and the big man. Even if that meant being unreasonable. Because clearly being near him clouded her judgment.

Reggie pushed past the tidy cabins. Rocks and pine needles and other, unknown bits of debris cut into the tender soles of her feet. She ignored the little stabs and kept going to the bottom of the driveway. There she paused.

The road or the woods?

The road would take her back to town. But Max—no, Brayden—would know that. If he was following her, he’d be expecting her to try to get home. And going home wasn’t safe anyway. She swallowed, thinking of her dad in his two-bedroom bungalow. Was he safe? Would Chuck come by there, looking for her?

Reggie shoved aside the worry. If the wayward cop did find a reasonable excuse for visiting her childhood home, he’d quickly figure out that Reggie hadn’t been there herself. And he wouldn’t want to make her dad suspicious. Being crooked didn’t make him stupid.

She took a breath and turned toward the forest. At the very least, it would provide a place to hide while she sorted through what to do.

“Reggie!”

The yell—up the driveway and as of yet out of sight—was enough to spur her on. She slammed her feet to the ground once more. In moments, she was pushing her way through the low, thick bits of greenery. She moved as fast as she could with the branches slap-slapping against her ankles and calves. Yard by yard, she put space between herself and the cabins. Brayden’s voice faded. Then it disappeared. And she kept going.

The shrubs gave way to bigger and bigger trees, spaced apart, their wide roots popping from the ground in a meandering, patternless dance. She didn’t let them slow her down.

At last the ground started to slope up, and Reggie knew it would only get more treacherous from there. Her breaths came hard and fast, and her face was covered in sweat. At last she stopped to gulp in some much-needed air and hazarded a look around. She could see the broken path she’d created, and also the way up the mountain. The rest of the area was made of enormous trees and a few crumbling boulders.

Had Brayden figured out yet that she hadn’t headed back into town? She couldn’t be sure. But she was almost certain that even if he had—and even if he was following her now—he was far enough behind that she could at last take a thirty-second breather. And she really needed one.

So she perched on the edge of one of the big rocks and rested her elbows on her knees, wincing at the sight of her feet. They were ragged. Covered in dirt and so torn up that she could pretty much count on an infection.

And that was almost as bad as the fact that it was nearly pitch-black.

Reggie lifted her gaze. The canopy above was so dark that it almost couldn’t be called green. The bits of sky between the covering branches were starless, and there was no moon to speak of, either.

Wondering if she’d put herself in even more danger by running, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Her breathing had slowed, and when a breeze kicked through the air, the dampness of her forehead made her shiver. But the chill brought on by the sound she heard next was far greater. The snap of twigs breaking under heavy feet.

With her heart thundering again, Reggie jumped up. The pain in her feet was immediate. And crippling. A cry escaped her lips, and she fell forward. The rocky ground loomed beneath her face and her eyes closed and her body tensed in anticipation of smacking into it. But before she could land, a strong hand closed on her elbow. It pulled her back, then she slid down to her knees. A second hand joined the first, moving over her shoulders, then under them. Together, they scooped her from the ground. Away from the pain. She knew without checking that it was Brayden. She recognized his touch. His scent, too. And in spite of the way her mind screamed at her that she was running from him, her body wanted to sink into him. Like she had before.

She fought the urge and instead yelled, “Put me down!”

“So you can run off and hurt yourself even more?” For the first time, he sounded a little impatient. “I don’t think so.”

“So you’re just going to do what? Carry me all the way back to the cabin?”

“Pretty obvious that you can’t walk there on your own.”

“You can’t hold me against my will.”

“I don’t want to hold you against your will. And if you wanted to leave the cabin, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve even driven you wherever you thought you needed to go.”

“You lied about your name.”

“It wasn’t quite a lie, and I would’ve explained it if you’d given me a minute.”

“Right.”

His chest heaved with a heavy breath. “Listen. My real name is Brayden Maxwell. Max is a nickname.”

Reggie wished her gut didn’t want so strongly to believe him. It was hard to argue with the instinct to trust. Especially when her nose was filled with his musky scent and his warm body was holding off the increasing chill in the air. It was a heck of a lot easier to justify running away like a crazy person when he wasn’t so close.

“Do you have ID?” she made herself ask.

“I do. Sitting in the center console of my car. Which is back at the house.”

“Not good enough.”

“What do you want me to do here, Reggie?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

He went silent for a minute. “Reach into my pocket and take my keys.”

“What?”

“My keys. You can use them like a weapon. Stab my eye out if I move the wrong way. Or you can use them to take my car. Either way, they might make you feel a little more secure.”

Reggie considered his suggestion. She knew he was probably just placating her. The fact that she was cradled in his arms kind of gave away the fact that he was the more physically powerful of the two of them. And realistically, he probably outweighed her hundred-fifteen-pound frame by a good hundred pounds of his own. He seemed almost oblivious to the added weight. But the idea that he was willing to add some vulnerability to his own side of things just to make her feel better...that was something. Or so she hoped.

“Which pocket?” she asked.

“Inside left.”

She lifted her hand and slid it along his chest. All on their own, her heartbeat sped up and her fingers slowed down. Her palm moved across his thick, more-than-obvious muscles, unintentionally exploring a little more than was necessary. No wonder he didn’t seem bothered by her extra weight. He was built like a truck. Reggie told herself to ignore it and will her hands to just grab the keys. But as she fumbled to find the pocket, it was impossible not to note the sharp breaths he drew in at each bit of contact.

So. Maybe he isn’t as oblivious to your presence as you thought.

The realization warmed her face, and she was glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see her unexpected blush.

Her hand closed on the key ring then, and she yanked out the little stack of metal. Before she could get them all the way out, though, Brayden sat down on one of the big boulders and settled her in his lap. He adjusted, and then his thick fingers landed on top of hers. He spread apart her knuckles and dragged a key between each one.

“Like this,” he said. “Makeshift brass knuckles.”

Reggie stared down at the homemade weapon in her hand, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. The latter was definitely winning.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“For what?”

Brayden sounded genuinely puzzled, and when Reggie lifted her eyes, she saw that his expression matched his tone. Those caramel irises of his were fixed on her and narrowed a little in a confused squint. And a laugh won out. A little giggle—maybe a touch hysterical—escaped her lips.

“Are you serious?” she wondered out loud.

“Yes?”

The unsure reply made her laugh a second time. “You saved me from Chuck. You took me back to the diner when I asked you to. And when I realized your name wasn’t Max, I assumed you were lying to me and I ran off like a crazy person. But you’re asking what I’m sorry for?”

A small smile tipped up his lips, but his eyes tightened. “You’re not crazy. You were in a stressful situation. Are in one. I’d rather have skipped the nighttime jog through the woods, but I get why you ran. No need to apologize.”

“I’m still sorry,” she replied.

“Well, then. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks.”

He stared down at her for several long moments, his face unreadable. What was going through his head? Reggie thought maybe he wanted to add something else. His mouth twitched as though he was holding back. And she had a strange urge to coax whatever it was out of him. To reach up and touch his cheek and tell him he could share whatever he wanted to share, and it would be just fine with her.

Seconds later, she was startled to find her hand had lifted. Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, tingling as they followed its strong line. It wasn’t quite smooth, but it wasn’t quite rough, either. Reggie wondered if he’d shaved that morning. Very abruptly, a vision of that filled her head. Brayden in front of the mirror with a straight razor in his hands. Lathered up in shaving cream, and wrapped in a towel.

With an embarrassed gasp, she dropped her fingers. But his palm came out to stop them from falling away completely. He cupped the back of her hand with his own and brought it up to his lips. He placed a swift kiss right in the center.

Heat—searing and nearly shocking—slammed into the skin there. It didn’t bloom out the way his other, inadvertent touches had. Instead, it clung to that one spot. Like a tattoo. Or maybe a brand. She closed her fingers around the feeling, savoring it, even though she couldn’t quite say why she felt the need.

Then Reggie dragged her eyes up to meet Brayden’s. He looked as surprised as she felt. But he didn’t say a word. He just shifted on the boulder, cradled her to his body once more, then stood up and started to walk.

Chapter 4

Brayden cursed himself for giving in to a rare moment of spontaneous emotion. Though giving in implied he’d done it consciously. The move had been pure instinct. The impulsive seizure of a moment. Not something he’d consider doing under normal circumstances.

And for your moment, you chose a kiss on her hand? Really, Maxwell? When her mouth was just as close?

But he couldn’t deny the impact of the small gesture. He could still taste her salty, dust-covered palm. Still feel the coolness of it on his lips. It was a sharp contrast to the warmth everywhere else their bodies had touched. Continued to touch. It dulled some—if not all—of his irritation at her sudden flight and brought him back to his typically patient self.

“M—er, Brayden?”

“Mmph,” he mumbled back.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“Nope.”

“I came in from the other direction.”

“Yeah. And you kind of ran in a circle.”

“I did?”

“That’s how I managed to catch up with you,” he said, grateful for the distracting conversation. “Took me about ninety seconds to figure out you were too smart to head right back into town. Went back to the house to get a flashlight so I could search for you, and I heard you crashing around above the cabins.”

“Crap.”

“Yep.”

“I guess I’m not very experienced at running and hiding.”

“That’s a good thing. Most of the time anyway.”

Brayden pushed through the last thick patch of trees. The far-range, motion-detection light came on immediately, illuminating the rear of his rented cabin.

“See?” he said. “Here we are.”

Reggie blinked at the light. “Wow. I’m not just bad at running away. I’m terrible.”

Brayden couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d tell you it takes some practice, but that probably wouldn’t be very reassuring.”

“Definitely not.”

He moved quickly from the back of the cabin to the front, where he paused at the bottom on the stairs and asked teasingly, “You ready to be carried over the threshold?”

Even in the dim light, he could see the color bloom in her cheeks. “I could try walking.”

He glanced down at her dirty, battered-looking feet. “Might be better not to. Unless you want to add splinter removal to my list of first aid duties. And call me crazy, but I think checking you over for a concussion and tending to those cuts is probably enough of a first aid order for one night, don’t you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”

“What?”

“Now I can’t insist on being independent without making it seem like I’m trying to create more work for you.”

“I’d apologize, but I’m not really sorry.”

“Fine. Carry away.”

Grinning to himself, he took the steps quickly, then paused at the door and adjusted so he could drag out his key. He held her tightly all the way into the house, not releasing her until he’d flicked on the lights in the rustic cabin and made his way through the country-style kitchen into the living room. There, he settled her onto the love seat and took a step back.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Not too bad.”

“Still dizzy?”

“Just a bit,” she admitted. “Mostly when I move quickly.”

“Like when you run through the woods barefoot?”

“Funny.”

“I thought so. Any nausea?”

“No.”

“All right. Close your eyes, count to thirty, then open them and look up at the light.”

“Okay.”

She dropped her lids, but when Brayden moved closer and positioned himself over her, her eyes flew open again immediately.

“I don’t think you counted to ten, let alone thirty,” he said.

Reggie blinked. “Uh. No.”

“Makes it a little harder to check your reactivity to light.”

“Oh.”

“Wanna try again?”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes a second time, and Brayden counted the seconds off in his head. One for every rise and fall of her chest. He was hyperconscious of their physical closeness. Every breath brought in that light cinnamon scent of hers. By the time he finished ticking off the moments, she bumped her leg against his. Twice. And she didn’t open her eyes at the end, either. She just continued to sit there, one lip sucked under the other, cheeks slightly flushed, and her long, dark lashes resting lightly on her skin.

Can’t beat this view, Brayden thought, drinking in the sight of her for a few seconds longer before speaking. “I think you’re good now. I’m at a count of fifty-three.”

“Right.”

As she opened her eyes, he brought his finger to her chin and tipped her face toward the light overhead. He held her still as he examined her, and when he did let her go, he had to admit it was with genuine reluctance. At least it was until her green eyes found his gaze and held it. He’d be happy to lose himself in that stare for a ridiculous amount of time.

“So?” she prompted softly.

“So?”

“Do I pass?”

“I wouldn’t recommend running into any more cars tonight, if you can avoid it,” he said, offering her a small smile. “But I don’t think you’re concussed.”

“That’s good news.”

“Sure is.” He eased up off the couch. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit. You want something to drink?”

“Just a glass of water, maybe?”

“On it.”

He pushed up off the couch and moved toward the kitchen. Digging through the cupboards gave him a moment of reprieve from the unusual onslaught of emotion gripping him. There was no denying the effect Reggie Frost had on him. Though he couldn’t pinpoint why, she definitely stirred every protective feeling he had.

And a few not-so-protective ones, he though as he paused in the doorway to admire her profile.

She was leaned over a little on the couch—not slumped, just resting—and she’d tugged her hair free so that her thick tresses covered her face completely.

Real shame to hide that, he thought absently as he stepped into the room and offered her the glass.

“Your water?”

“Thanks.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed it over, and unsurprisingly, another wave of desire swept through him. She met his eyes, and he could swear he saw the same want reflected in her eyes before her gaze dropped and she took a deep sip of the liquid in the cup.

He had to really work to focus on the more pressing needs of the current situation. He unzipped the first aid bag and dug through it for some antiseptic and some gauze.

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Might sting,” he agreed. “Why don’t you distract yourself by walking me through what you saw back there in the alley?”

She shivered. “I already told you about the guys and the gun.”

“Walk me through again anyway, starting at the beginning. I want a full picture.”

As Brayden dabbed the first of the cuts, she drew in a sharp breath and launched into the story.

He listened intently as the pretty waitress told him what she’d seen. About recognizing Chuck and about his threats. About the frightened man on the other end of the weapon and their brief exchange. She was just as scared herself. It was clear in the way she kept worrying at her bottom lip, and the slight quiver in her voice as she spoke. He couldn’t blame her for the fear, and it made him itch to reach out and comfort her. To bend down and touch her face and tell her it was all right. Maybe sweep back the stray strand of dark hair that kept slipping down to her cheek.

It was a strange urge for him, and it felt almost as odd to fight it as it did to have it in the first place. He might even have given in to it if his hands hadn’t been busy.

Back home, Brayden had a reputation for being cold and calculating. Though he’d never confirmed its validity, he’d even once heard a rumor that everyone in his department called him Ice when he was out of earshot. It didn’t bother him. Being calculating made him better at his job. Being cold meant he could stay detached. It was part of what made him such an effective cop. It was also the reason he’d been nominated to come to Whispering Woods first. He’d watch. Listen. Gain some insight into what exactly Garibaldi was up to in the tourist town.

So why is that coolness so hard to come by right now?

He studied Reggie for a second, watching her kissable mouth work as she talked.

He had no problem admitting that he found her physically attractive. He’d touched her less than a handful of times—albeit a few extended times—but each had been a bit like being hit by a lightning bolt. It’d taken a sincere amount of effort to not stop and assess it each time it happened.

Actually acting on the feeling was a whole other story. In that, he had a choice. Brayden picked whom he let into his space very carefully, and he could count on one hand the number of women he’d let get close in all his thirty years.

Not like you’ve got much choice here, he reminded himself.

It was true. This situation wasn’t intentional. But it was also true that holding the waitress up while she leaned on him for support was nowhere near unpleasant. It felt good, actually, to be so thoroughly needed. So much so that he almost didn’t notice she’d stopped talking until she cleared her throat.

“Brayden?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“What do you think happened to him?” she asked softly.

“The man who got shot?”

“Yes.”

Brayden hesitated. His instinct was to keep as many details under wraps as he could. The detective in him didn’t like the idea of oversharing. Especially with a civilian. He sensed, though, that not disclosing things would put up a wall, and he was sure he was going to need this woman’s trust. He sat down on the edge of his coffee table and met her eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “The alley was clean. Except for one small thing.”

“Which was?”

“A half-inch-long, rust-colored smear on the wall.”

“Blood.”

“Likely.”

“So it wasn’t just clean. It was cleaned up.”

She was as intuitive as she was pretty, he had to give her that.

“That was my first thought,” he agreed.

She closed her eyes for a quick second, then opened them to meet his gaze. “Chuck’s a cop, Brayden. What does that mean about the rest of Whispering Woods PD?”

Brayden didn’t even have to consider his answer. “They could be involved, too.”

“But someone needs to be told what happened. State police, maybe?”

“We don’t know what there is to tell,” he reminded her. “Definitely not enough to bring them all the way out here fast enough. And to be honest, they might just go ahead and alert the locals anyway.”

“So what do I do?”

This time, he took a moment to think about how to answer. It would be easy enough to tell her the truth—that he was a cop himself and would do his best to find out what was going on. It wasn’t technically a true undercover assignment. Just a covert one. An exploratory mission that was a lot easier to do when no one knew who he was.

So you don’t need to leap in and give yourself away to a virtual stranger. Especially when you haven’t even finished what you came here to do.

He decided to see if he could get away with not disclosing his identity—yet anyway—and instead asked, “What were you going to do, before all of this?”

“Go home. Sip wine. Prepare for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m signed up to run the face-painting station for a few hours in the morning. I’ve got the lunch rush at work. Then I’m supposed to get into a really uncomfortable pair of shoes and get ready for the dinner.”

“The lunch rush is the only part of that I understood.”

“The Garibaldi Gala is tomorrow.”

“Right.”

The exclusive party had slipped his mind in the height of all the excitement. He’d spent the week hearing about it. Even inquired about somehow getting a ticket only to be told it was absolutely invite only. An event catered to stroke the egos of local businessmen. Every one of whom would be in attendance.

Except Reggie, if she stays here.

“No one will miss you at the fireworks tonight?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

She shook her head. “I was skipping them in favor of resting. Is that bad?”

“It’s fine. Just don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. Chuck’ll already be on high alert. He doesn’t know for sure that you witnessed what happened. You said yourself you don’t think he saw you. And even though it’s not proof, he does have that shoe of yours. If I were him, I’d be trying to find out exactly what you knew.”

Her face pinched with worry. “So you think he’ll be looking for me?”

“I think you should find a way to let him know not to be looking for you.”

“How?”

“Got a friend you can call? One who’ll be at the fireworks and be willing to lie for you with no questions asked?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I want you to fake an illness. Nothing too serious. Just a good excuse for keeping out of sight unless you have to be seen.”

“Okay. I think I’ll call—” Her face fell as she reached for the pocket on her uniform. “I left my phone in my locker at the diner.”

“You can use mine.” He went for his own pocket before remembering. “Which you dropped outside.”

She smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Again.”

“Forgiven. Again. I’m almost done with your feet, and as soon as I am, I’ll go grab it.” He lifted a fresh wipe from the first aid kit, then said, “So. Your invitation to the Gala. Does that mean your family works for Garibaldi?”

“No. We don’t work for him. But we do lease the diner from him,” she replied. “You don’t know Garibaldi’s story?”

“Not really.”

It wasn’t quite a lie; Brayden knew the man’s history, not his current story. It had taken him and the other guys nearly two years just to track him to Whispering Woods. So when he’d asked around a bit, he’d done his best to be subtle. All he got in response was a lot of people singing Garibaldi’s praises. Like he was the town’s personal savior. Something in Reggie’s tone as she explained made Brayden think she didn’t necessarily share the sentiment.

“Well,” she said, “when the forestry industry bottomed out fourteen years ago, a lot of people foreclosed. Or just walked away. The minimal tourism wasn’t enough to maintain their homes and businesses. Then Garibaldi showed up. He assumed a few dozen mortgages. Then a few more. He invested a lot of money in the town and built the lodge.”

Brayden finished with the antiseptic and moved on to the bandages. “You don’t sound all that impressed.”

“I don’t want to seem like I’m not grateful,” she replied. “Without his help, we would’ve had to leave town, too, I’m sure.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. I was just barely a teenager when Garibaldi showed up, but the whole thing gave me a weird feeling.”

“No one questioned his interest in the town?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“There were a couple of business owners who weren’t all that happy. They got kind of vocal.”

“People you knew well?”

“You could say.” She offered him a ghost of a smile. “All three were local businessmen. One of them happens to be the man who plays Santa Claus every year in the little parade we have.”

Brayden fastened the last of the bandage on one foot, then moved on to the next. “No one listened to them?”

“They left town.”

“What?”

“Two of them moved away. Only Santa Claus stayed.”

“Well. Santa Claus does have a certain amount of obligation.” He patted her foot and smiled. “All done.”

She sighed and leaned back. “So what next?”

“After tonight, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, you do exactly what you were planning on doing. Go to work. Then go to the Garibaldi Gala.”

“Really?”

“It’s the least suspicious thing to do.”

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m scared.”

“Rightly so. But the alternative will draw more attention than you want. You can probably get away with lying low tonight, but after that...anything out of the ordinary is going to seem like you’re hiding.”

“Because I want to be hiding.”

“You could leave town.”

“But my dad...”

“So the Gala it is.”

Reggie was quiet for a long moment before sitting up abruptly, a hopeful look on her pretty face. “You could come with me.”

Brayden frowned. “I don’t think I’m on the guest list.”

“The invite was for a plus-one.”

He started to protest, then realized that the idea actually had appeal. On multiple levels. He could stick close to Reggie. He might even get a chance to speak to Garibaldi directly—something he’d been trying to do for a week without success.

He nodded. “All right.”

Relief filled her face. “Do you have a suit?”

“I do. And I’m even willing to put it on. But first. The phone call to your friend. I’ll go grab my cell from outside.”

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze as he pushed to his feet, and before he could stop himself, he bent down to tuck her hair behind her ear. For a second, she looked startled. Then she smiled up at him. A small, appreciative look that carried up to her eyes, and warmed him from the inside.

“Thank you, Brayden,” she said. “Again.”

“No problem.”

He slipped out of the cabin, his mind working to process what she’d told him about Garibaldi and the men who opposed his takeover of Whispering Woods. If all three had left town under the described circumstances, it would’ve raised a lot of questions for him. As it stood now, the circumstances were still suspicious enough that he wanted to talk to the one who’d stayed behind.

Santa Claus.

At least the idea of interviewing Saint Nick provided some comic relief. All he had to do was ask the pretty waitress for an in.

Brayden snagged his phone from the ground, then made his way back inside, the request on his lips. “Reggie, do you think you could—”

He stopped immediately when he spotted her. She’d tucked her legs up onto the couch and pulled her arms in to her body. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow and steady.

“Reggie?” he called softly.

She didn’t stir.

For a second, he contemplated waking her. Even though he was sure she didn’t have a concussion, there was no such thing as being too careful, and there was the phone call he’d asked her to make. He moved toward her. Then stilled again as she let out a little sigh. She was far too peaceful to disturb, and the call could wait and be altered to suit their needs. No one would be looking for her here.

The couch, though, was a cringeworthy place for a solid rest.

Brayden crossed the room, then bent to carefully scoop her up. She mumbled something incoherent, pressed her head against his chest, then settled in like she belonged there.

With his own sigh and a strange tightness in his chest, he carried her from the living room to the bedroom, where he tucked her soundly sleeping form into his own bed. When he was satisfied that she was comfortable, he moved to leave the room. He found that he couldn’t quite do it. So—chalking it up to a need to ensure Reggie’s safety—Brayden settled into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and closed his own eyes.

Chapter 5

Reggie woke with a start, her heart hammering hard against her rib cage. It was utterly dark, and she was in a strange bed. Pushing up in a panic, she whipped her gaze around the room. Nothing was familiar. But when her gaze landed on the hulking form lying next to her, her memory finally did its job and reminded her of the night’s frightening ordeal.

Brayden.

The gunshot.

Chuck.

The run through the forest.

More Brayden. And—

Wait.

What was the big man doing in the bed beside her?

She took a steadying breath and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder lightly. Too lightly. He didn’t move.

“Brayden?”

She waited. Still nothing. She tried a combo instead. Squeezing his elbow and speaking a little louder.

“Brayden.”

And that got a response. Sort of. He rolled to his side, flung an arm over her legs, then slid it up to her hips and dragged her into a backward embrace. Reggie was so startled by the abruptly intimate contact that she let herself be pulled into place without protest. And just like that, she was spooning with a man she barely knew.

But it felt good. Comfortable. His large form was warm and safe, and without meaning to, she wriggled a tiny bit closer, inhaling the woodsy scent that emanated from his body. Her rear end fit snugly against his upper thighs.

More than snugly, really. Perfectly.

It was kind of a strange realization, and it made her heart skitter nervously. With a sigh that had more than a hint of regret, Reggie slipped her hand over top of his and slid it out of its resting place just to the side of her stomach. Very gently, she eased it off and inched away. But when she pushed back into a sitting position again, Brayden’s eyes opened, too, and he blinked at her a little sleepily. He looked rumpled and confused and far sexier than was fair.

“Hey.” His gaze cleared a little as it landed on her. “You better?”

“Better?” she repeated.

He stretched and put one hand behind his head. “Think you were having a bad dream. Sat down beside you to try to wake you up. Kinda grabbed my sweater and held on. You’ve got a heck of a death grip. I must’ve dozed off, too.”

Warmth crept up Reggie’s cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Minor inconvenience,” he teased.

“I actually don’t even remember falling asleep. Wait. What time is it? You wanted me to phone my friend.”

“Decided it could wait.” Brayden rolled over and pulled his phone from the nightstand. “It’s a little after seven in the morning.”

Reggie’s chest squeezed nervously. “Seven? But it’s pitch-black.”

“Room-darkening blinds.” He reached over to the window and flicked open the fabric just enough that a soft light filled the room.

“We slept the whole night?”

“Looks like it.”

“Why aren’t you more worried?”

“We’re safe here at the cabin. Doors are locked, alarm is set and I’m not on anyone’s radar. You can still call your friend and give your excuse retroactively.”

She exhaled, then slid back onto the bed—closer to him, but not quite touching—and held out her hand for the phone. “I’ll send a text.”

Brayden handed over the slim device. “I’ll make some coffee.”

She waited until he’d left the room before keying in the number for her best friend—whose family leased another shop from Garibaldi—and typing, Hi, Jaz. It’s Reggie. U up?

She knew before even asking that her friend would be awake. With a newborn in the house, sleep was an elusive thing for the other woman. The reply came through a few seconds later, confirming it.

Ugh. Baby’s been awake since five. Whose phone is this?

Reggie winced. She hadn’t thought of an explanation for that. She decided to ignore the question for a moment.

I had such a headache last night, she wrote, feeling a little guilty at the fabrication. Crashed before the fireworks even started.

Hope ur not getting that flu that your staff has had.

I think it’s just a migraine. But I’m gonna rest for a while longer, just to be sure.

U still coming to the fair?

As long as it turns out to be just a headache. Can u let the right people know that I’ll still be there? Don’t want anyone to think I’m not coming.

Yeah. Sure. What about work?

I’ll get one of the girls to cover my lunch rush.

Good plan. Do u need me to bring u anything right now?

Reggie’s guilt slipped away at the thought that her friend might insist.

She punched in a quick reply. Thanks, but no. If I do turn out to be sick, I don’t want to share.

Good point. But u sure u don’t want soup or something?

Yep. Thanks.

Reggie breathed out, relieved the deception had gone smoothly. But she didn’t get off quite so easily. The phone pinged again. She looked down with a groan.

One more thing, though... Jaz had written.

What?

WHOSE PHONE IS THIS?

Reggie sighed. Left mine at work. Borrowed one.

There was pause. At seven in the morning? Another pause. Omg. A third pause. U MET A MAN!

She debated lying. She hadn’t met a man in the sense that Jaz meant. At least...not really.

Her gaze lifted from the phone in her hands to the slightly ajar door. On the other side, she could vaguely hear the sound of dishes clattering, and what she thought was the soft hum of music. And a vision of Brayden making breakfast while he sang along to some oldie pop song filled her head. It made her smile before the buzz of the cell phone jerked her back to the moment.

How did u meet him? her friend wanted to know.

The question wiped the smile from her face immediately. In spite of how attractive Brayden was, the circumstances were just the opposite. But she couldn’t very well explain any of that to Jaz.

I didn’t meet a man. I borrowed a phone.

From who?

Customer at the diner. Close enough to the truth.

Is the customer a man?

Yes.

Aha! And aren’t u working at lunch?

Did I say I was working at the diner right this second?

...

I’ve gotta go lie back down.

Reggie. Seriously.

What?

U okay?

Fine. Really.

Not kidnapped by aliens and forced to send these vague messages that I’m sure are half-truths?

Reggie smiled. Hardly.

It was easy to picture the resigned look on Jaz’s face as the next message came through. K. My parents r manning the bouncy castle today. I’ll make sure they tell people ur alive and well.

THX.

Luv u.

Likewise.

Reggie let the phone rest on her knee, guilt tickling at her again. She wasn’t in the habit of lying to anyone, let alone to her best friend. She hated that this situation necessitated it. And she had a feeling it would get worse before it got better.

And what about Dad? You’ll have to talk to him soon, too.

She cringed at the thought of trying to fool him. He was sixty-five, but he was as sharp as ever. Maybe sharper even, with his age. Reggie had never been able to sneak something by him—not as a kid, not as a teenager and definitely not now as an adult.

She inhaled and straightened her shoulders. The simplest way to avoid having to deceive him would be to figure out what was going on before she had to talk to him. Maybe she could even enlist Brayden’s assistance. He seemed eager enough to help her. And he already knew what was going on and was aware of the danger but didn’t seem too concerned about it. Working together might be the perfect solution.

“That’s an awfully determined look on your face.” The amusement-laced statement made her jerk her head up.

She found Brayden standing in the doorway, a tray of food in his hands and an apron tied around his waist. For a second, she forgot what she’d just resolved to ask him. The domestic look somehow suited him and was out of place at the same time, and the result was...good. Better than good. But more complicated words failed Reggie right then.

Was there anything more seductive than a man who brought her breakfast in bed?

“Toast?” he offered, then stepped closer.

As he set the tray on the bed, his scent mingled with the coffee aroma, and the combination made Reggie’s body warm. And it made her stomach growl.

Brayden laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday at about lunchtime,” Reggie admitted.

He tipped one of the mug handles her way and lifted a plate. “Don’t be shy.”

“Thanks.”

She devoured the first piece of toast quickly, offered Brayden an unapologetic shrug, then helped herself to another slice before adding a splash of cream to her coffee and taking a hearty slurp.

“Good?” Brayden asked.

“Perfect.”

“So.”

“So?”

“You going to tell me why you were making that gotta-get-it face when I walked in?”

She swallowed another bite of toast before answering. Was there a tactful way—without coming across as totally lascivious, either—to say that he was the “it” at the other end of her determined expression? Probably not. So she decided not to bother trying to find one.

“I want your help,” she stated. “Or I guess I should say more of your help.”

He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “Hmm.”

Her heart dropped a little. “That’s not an encouraging sound.”

“Just wondering what more you need. I’ve already run you over with my car, carried you through the woods and agreed to be your date to the prom. Er, Gala.”

Reggie relaxed a little. “Hilarious.”

He dropped a wink. “What do you need help with?”

“Figuring out who was on the bad end of Chuck Delta’s gun.”

Brayden’s face immediately stiffened. “That’s a job for the police.”

“I know. But you said yourself that there’s no way to know if the rest of the local cops are in on...whatever this is. What’s wrong with a little amateur sleuthing?”

“Aside from the danger to your life?”

“Aside from that...yes. What’s the problem?”

He set down his mug and met her eyes. “I need to tell you a secret.”

Reggie’s heart did a nervous jig as she waited for him to confess something terrible.

* * *

Brayden resisted an urge to get up and pace around the room. Guilt tickled at his mind, and he sighed and ran a hand over his hair, trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t do any harm for her to know why he was really there. In fact, with the danger she was already in, she’d probably want to know. Especially if she thought she ought to be digging into what happened. The idea that she might wind up on Garibaldi’s bad side made him grind his teeth together with worry.

She needs to know, he thought. But she also needs to agree not to share the info with anyone else.

“Can you say something?” she asked, her voice a little shaky. “You’re just sitting there. Brooding.”

“Sorry. I just don’t want this to come out the wrong way.”

“Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You’re married,” she stated.

He stared at her for a second and said again, “What?”

“You’re married. And we just slept together.” He cheeks went pink. “I mean. Not like that. But still.”

He couldn’t fight a laugh. “No, Reggie. I’m not married. I’m very unmarried.”

“Well...what then?”

“I need your word that you’ll keep this between us.”

“How can I agree to that when I don’t even know what it is you’re going to tell me?”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you’d be willing. I’m trusting you with a secret. It’s not a bad one. I just want you to respect my need for confidentiality.”

Brayden saw her suck in her bottom lip, considering it. Finally, she sighed.

“So long as it’s nothing illegal.”

He fought another laugh. “Hardly something illegal.”

“Okay. Then you have my word. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Whatever it is.”

“I’m a cop.”

She flinched, and he knew she had to be thinking about Chuck.

“I’m a good cop,” he clarified. “A Freemont City detective. I can dig up some proof, if you want to see it.”

She shook her head. “I believe you.”

“That easy?”

“It wouldn’t make sense for you to lie after what I saw a cop do last night.” She swallowed nervously before adding, “Besides. You seem far more policemanish than businessmanish.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You saying my cover’s no good?”

Reggie shrugged. “I tend to notice things.”

“Like?”

“The wrong name on your phone. The fact that you weren’t wearing a suit the day you came into the diner and that you weren’t wearing one tonight. Not until I asked you about putting one on anyway.”

“So all businessmen wear suits?”

“All the ones who’re trying to convince someone to sell them something.”

“Hmm. Think I got made by everyone else in Whispering Woods?”

Her mouth tipped up. “Made?”

Brayden smiled back. “TV-cop talk isn’t good?”

“About as good as your real estate developer story. But don’t worry. We’re all TV-small-town-naive around here,” she said teasingly.

“Except you.”

“Well. I would’ve fallen for your clever ruse, too, if it hadn’t been for everything that’s happened tonight.”

“Maybe you should’ve been a detective.”

She laughed, the sound filling the room pleasantly. “Thanks. But I think I’ll stick to running the diner. Pay might not be as good, but the uniform suits me far better than a badge and a gun.”

Brayden found himself grinning. “I dunno. I can kinda picture you in Kevlar.”

“I can’t tell whether or not that’s a compliment.”

“Definitely is. Looking good in body armor isn’t a feat just anyone can pull off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m in the market for a new outfit.”

“Please do.”

She went quiet for a second, then said, “Can I ask you something?”

Brayden willed himself not to tense up. “Sure.”

“You’re here conducting an investigation?”

“Yes.”

“And I guess you probably can’t tell me what it’s about.”

“Not really,” he admitted. “And it also means I’m not going to let you chase down leads on Chuck Delta or put yourself in any kind of danger.”

“Can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with what I saw in the alley?”

He hesitated. Sharing too many details could compromise a case. And with this particular one...there was the far more personal aspect to consider. That alone was enough to make him hold back. In the end, though, he opted for some more honesty. If nothing else, it would make her cautious enough to keep relying on him to protect her.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “The guy I’m after... I’ve been chasing him for a long time, and he’s capable of some pretty bad stuff. It would genuinely surprise me if the two things weren’t connected. So I’m going to treat it as if they are.”

“And that’s why you’re helping me.”

“It’s in my job description to help people. And it’s in my nature, too.” He smiled. “I guess you could say that I habitually go out on a limb.”

“Oh.”

Did she sound a little disappointed? He thought she did. For a several moments, he was puzzled. Aside from her impulsive and ill-timed run through the forest, she hadn’t fought his assistance. Didn’t she want to be helped?

A strand of dark hair stuck to her cheek, and his hands itched to pull it away and tuck it behind her ear.

So glad it was her who came flying out in front of my car.

The thought—a little absent, a little ridiculous—made him pause as he clued in to a possible explanation for her let-down tone. Maybe she was glad he’d been on the saving side of things, too.

He reached across the bed and squeezed her hand, and another jolt of electric attraction passed from her fingers to his. “Hey. Can’t say I’m not enjoying helping you. If I had to pick who to rescue in Whispering Woods, you’d be at the top of the list.”

Her eyes lit up. “Maybe you just haven’t seen enough of what Whispering Woods has to offer. Have you met Wanda from the health food store?”

“Don’t think I have. Don’t think I need to.”

“What about Sarah at the grocery store?”

“Nope.” He slid his palm from her hand to her forearm, liking the tiny shiver the action produced.

“Olivia at the gas station?” Her question came out a little breathless.

“Uh-uh.” He dragged his fingers up to her elbow, then past it, and inched closer.

“Ummmmm.” She dragged out the sound like she’d forgotten what she was going to say next.

“Um?”

“Helen. Down at the bike rental place?”

“Didn’t catch my eye.”

“Oh.”

Brayden stared down Reggie, admiring her upturned mouth. Her green eyes danced with amusement, and they flicked from his gaze to his lips—where they hung for a moment—then back again. Then the amusement was gone. In its place was something warm. Something interested. Something interesting.

Undisguised desire.

Brayden placed the look two seconds before she lifted her hand to touch his cheek and pushed forward, tipping her face to his. Automatically, he bent down to close the gap between them. Her eyes dropped shut, and he covered her lips with his in a kiss. It was meant to be gentle. Exploratory. A question, maybe.

Is this what you want?

The second his mouth touched hers, though, his silent query flew away. His ability to hold back went with it.

Her lips were soft and sweet. Still a little bit salty with sweat from her crazy run the night before. Far warmer than the air around them. Brayden devoured them. He sucked the top one, then the bottom. When she let out a little gasp, he took advantage and swiped his tongue between them, and the inside of her mouth was hotter still.

The tray of discarded dishes slid sideways and clattered to the ground as her fingers came up to the back of his neck. She rubbed the short edges of his hair, and Brayden met the attention eagerly. He pressed his palms to the small of her back and held her there, marveling at how right it felt. How natural. Like she wasn’t a woman he’d met just a half a day ago. So much so that it took most of his willpower just to break away.

“We should get going,” he said against her mouth.

She tipped her face up, her lids still low, her expression noticeably disappointed. “Okay.”

“Not because I wouldn’t rather be doing this. But because we need to stick to the plan and keep to your schedule.”

“And we don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”

“Right.”

“So we should probably let each other go.”

“Probably.”

“All right.”

Except he couldn’t quite make himself do it. Instead, he kissed her again. A little more slowly this time, but no less thoroughly. Her grip on him tightened, and she dragged him with her as she eased backward onto the mattress. He was almost—but not quite—on top of her now, one knee resting between her thighs as he held himself up with one elbow. He deepened the kiss even further, his body molding to hers. Her petite frame fit perfectly against his large one. There should’ve been a contrast. An imperfection. Instead, it was the opposite. Like they were built to complement one another.

She let out a little gasp, and he pulled his mouth from hers and dropped it to her jawline instead. He traced the line of it with his lips. The pleasant taste of her exploded in his mouth and made him want more. So he indulged. He nipped at her ear, then ran his tongue down her throat to her clavicle. He tugged on the sensitive skin there while his free hand roamed over her body.

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