A man that handsome couldn’t disappear anywhere.

He’d escaped her clutches without telling her anything at all. Darn. Either he was good at deflecting or he was just as curious as she was by nature.

She couldn’t make up her mind.

Then the crowd parted a bit and she could see his butt, a very nice, flat butt, cased in denim. As a female, she couldn’t help but respond to the sight. Eye candy indeed.

No, Liza couldn’t forget Max McKenny. Even as she nodded, listened and talked, he was the image burned in the forefront of her brain.

There was something there. And she wanted to know what it was.

But when she looked around again, he had vanished from the room.

A deflector who was good at disappearing acts? She could feel her instincts rev into high gear. Before she was done, she was going to know everything about Max McKenny.

Dear Reader,

Having a lot of journalists in my family has given me some familiarity with their inquisitive natures and often frank questions. They’re fun to listen to, they have wonderful stories to tell, but they’re not quite like the rest of us. They sometimes deal with some pretty ugly things, and being suspicious seems to become second nature.

You want to get a journalist’s attention? Give them the feeling you’re hiding something. Ordinarily it won’t matter unless you’re someone in a position of power or influence, but they can be a little tough with their curiosity and questioning even with family and friends. It seems to be built in, and then it’s finely honed. They want to know everything about everything.

And that’s how this story was born. I wanted a heroine with just that tart, sharp nature, that curiosity, even that hint of black humor. And then I wanted it to drag her into a dangerous situation. Being a journalist can do that, sometimes when you least expect it.

Wanting to know too much gets Liza Enders into trouble. It also gets her into love.

Enjoy!

Rachel

About the Author

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

Guardian in Disguise

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To inquisitive journalists everywhere,

especially some who belong to my family.

Thanks for digging for the truth.

Chapter 1

Liza Enders looked around the room at all the people gathered for the faculty welcoming tea. Yes, they called it a tea, which struck her as a grandiose description for a gathering of faculty members at a junior college in Conard County, Wyoming.

A “tea” should have paneled walls, leather chairs, old Victorian tables and heavy curtains.

Instead the faculty occupied a cafeteria with folding tables, plastic chairs and vertical blinds on the windows. The sandwiches were quartered but still had crusts, the beverage was a punch made of a soft drink poured over a brick of ice cream, and there was hot, tinny coffee in huge urns. The coffee cups were institutional, white with a green line, and the punch cups were plastic.

It was hard not to laugh.

“Tea” indeed.

She knew most of the faculty already because Conard County was her hometown and she’d already taught her first course over the summer session. This tea was the only one held each year, however, and the college didn’t spring for more intimate evening gatherings with the dean. No, they held this one social each year and all faculty were required to attend.

That meant the one new guy stuck out. Of course, he would have stuck out anyway, given that he didn’t remotely resemble his peers.

Most of the faculty looked like underpaid teachers, which they were. All teachers were underpaid, just as journalists were. Liza knew all about that, having recently been laid off from her job as a reporter.

They dressed casually but nobody had this dude’s kind of cool. And cool was the only word she could think of to describe it. He stood there holding a mug of coffee without using the handle, his denim-clad hips canted to one side in a way that was going to drive his female students nuts. His black T-shirt showed off some pretty good musculature—not at all common among the bookish types —and instead of the usual faculty jogging shoes or cowboy boots, he wore black motorcycle boots. Cool, she thought again.

Her instincts, honed by a decade as a reporter, drew her in his direction. Those little differences in appearance and stance suggested an interesting story, not a curriculum vitae of academic accomplishments.

She ran her eyes over him as she eased toward him, appreciating the picture of maleness, and allowing herself to enjoy the moment of attraction. God knew, she wasn’t attracted to any of the other male professors—most of whom were married, happily or not.

But she was curious. She’d spent a lot of time getting people to tell her things, and she was sure she’d get this guy’s story before this sham of a tea was over. Then her curiosity would be satisfied and she’d be able to return her attention to more serious matters. Like teaching, and figuring out what she really wanted to do with her mess of a life now that her true love, journalism, had spurned her in massive cost-saving layoffs.

That still rankled. The hunk in the black T-shirt would provide a little distraction and satisfy her now under-satisfied need to know everything about people. Especially intriguing people.

Something about this guy caused her nose for news to twitch like mad.

When she reached him, she extended her hand and gave him her friendliest smile. “Hi. I’m Liza Enders. I teach journalism.”

He shook her hand, a firm grip. “Max McKenny, criminology.”

That totally snagged her attention. “Really. I did the cop beat until I was promoted.”

“That’s a promotion? Getting away from cops?”

He smiled at last, and she was almost embarrassed by the way her heart skipped a beat. Such a good-looking man already had enough going for him without adding a devastating smile. Slightly shaggy dark hair with just a bit of wave to it, eyes the color of blue polar ice. Yummy. What was it he had just said? Oh, yeah …

“It’s considered one,” she finally answered. “The cop beat is rough but not all that difficult in terms of gathering information, so it’s usually given to the newest reporters. Most of us don’t last long at it, though.”

“Why not?”

“Between the hours and the stories? Well, you teach criminology, but I also covered auto accidents.”

“Oh.” His smile faded a bit. “That would be rough.”

“The average survival as a cop reporter is about two years,” she agreed. Then it struck her: he was learning about her.

She cocked her head a little. Had she just been deflected? She didn’t know many people who could do that, including crooked politicians with a lot to hide. “What about you? Law enforcement background?”

“Some,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”

“Well, your course will be popular. Seems like CSI made you a ready audience.”

At that his smile returned to full wattage. “Not much reality there.”

“No,” she agreed. “Criminalists don’t last too long on the job, either. Five years, is what some of them told me. So you were a criminalist?”

He shook his head. “Just law enforcement. I’m teaching mostly procedures and the law.”

“Were you a beat cop?”

“I was on the streets, yes.”

It seemed like a straightforward answer but Liza’s instincts twitched again. “I always thought it would be rough to be a beat cop,” she said by way of beginning a deeper probe. But just as she was framing her question he asked her one.

“So what do you get promoted to after the cop beat?”

She blinked. “Depends.” Then she decided to open up a bit, hoping to get him to do the same. “I went to county government next.”

“That must have been boring as hell.”

“Far from it. Folks don’t realize just how much impact local government has on their lives. Most of the decisions that affect an individual are made locally. Plus, it can be fun to watch.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“Only because you haven’t done it. You see some real antics. But what about being on the beat? You must have had some nerve-racking experiences.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I had my share, I suppose. You know what they say, hours of sheer boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror.”

“I can imagine. I bet you have some stories to tell,” she suggested invitingly.

“Not really.” He smiled again. “I was a lucky cop. You probably saw more bad stuff than I did.”

“Well, most cops tell me they go their entire careers without ever having to draw a gun.”

“That’s actually true, thank God.”

“So what made you change careers?”

He paused, studying her. “Reporters,” he said finally, and chuckled quietly. “I’m taking a hiatus. Sometimes you need to step back for a while. You?”

God, he was almost good enough at eliciting information to be a reporter himself. No way she could ignore his question without being rude, and if she was rude she’d never learn his story.

“Laid off,” she said baldly. “Didn’t you hear? News is just an expense. Advertising is where the money is at.”

“But…” He hesitated. “I don’t know a lot about your business, but if papers don’t have news, who is going to buy them? And if no one buys them…”

“Exactly. You got that exactly right. But the bean counters and the shareholders don’t seem to get that part. Plus, they just keep cutting staff until every reporter is doing the work of three or four. No one cares that the quality goes down, and there’s no real in-depth coverage.”

“Blame it on a shortening national attention span.”

“Cable news,” she said.

“Thirty-second sound bites.”

Suddenly they both laughed, and she decided he was likable, even if he was full of secrets. Secrets that she was going to get to the bottom of.

Although, she reminded herself, she couldn’t really be sure he had secrets. It was just a feeling, and while her news sense didn’t often mislead her, she might be rusty after six months. Maybe. She cast about quickly for a way to bring the conversation back to him. “Where did you work before and how did you get to this backwater?”

“I was in Michigan,” he said easily. “Is this a backwater? I hadn’t noticed.”

She almost flushed. Was he chiding her for putting down her hometown? For an instant she thought he might not be at all likable, but before she could decide he asked her another question.

“How about you?” He tilted his head inquisitively. “What brought you here?”

“Two things. A job and the fact that I grew up here. I like this place.”

“And before? Where did you work?”

“For a major daily in Florida.” Damn, she was supposed to be the one asking.

“That’s a big change in climate,” he remarked. “I doubt I’ll notice this winter as much as you will.”

Before she could turn the conversation back to him, he looked away. “I’m being summoned. Nice meeting you, Ms. Enders.”

“Liza,” she said automatically as he started to move away.

“Max,” he said over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

Well, he didn’t exactly disappear. A man like him couldn’t disappear anywhere. Soon she saw him conversing with some other teachers.

He’d escaped her clutches without telling her anything at all. Darn. Either he was good at deflecting or he was just as curious as she was by nature.

She couldn’t make up her mind.

When the crowd parted a bit, she could see his butt, a very nice butt, cased in denim. As a female, she couldn’t help but respond to the sight. Eye candy indeed.

One of the other faculty members started yammering in her ear about the renewed effort to build a resort on Thunder Mountain and she reluctantly tore her gaze away.

Max wasn’t handsome, she told herself as she listened politely to the man talk about the threat a resort would raise to the mountain’s wolf pack.

She cared about wolves, she really did, and didn’t want to see them driven away or killed.

But she couldn’t forget Max McKenny. Even as she talked about wolves, he was the image burned in the forefront of her brain.

There was something there, a story of some kind. And she wanted to know what it was.

But when she looked around again, he had vanished from the room.

A deflector who was good at disappearing? Her instincts revved into high gear. Before she was done, she was going to know everything about Max McKenny.

She might have laughed at herself, but she knew exactly why she was reacting this way: training and instinct. It had been over six months since she’d had a story to follow. Max might be the most normal ex-cop on the planet, but that wasn’t the point. The hunt for information was. She could hardly wait to get to her home computer.

“So will you help us?” Dexter Croft asked her. “With the petition drive?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she agreed almost automatically. “But the ranchers aren’t happy about those wolves, which means many of the other locals aren’t, either.”

“Those wolves don’t get anywhere near the herds,” he said irritably. “In fifteen years we’ve only had one confirmed wolf kill.”

“I know, Dex,” she said soothingly. “I know. But it’s the idea we’re fighting. That and the news from Montana and Idaho.”

“Which is not all that bad.”

“I guess that depends.”

Dex drew himself up. “On what?”

“Whether you’re a rancher who’s running on a margin so slim one kill could cost you nearly everything.”

“They get reimbursed for wolf kills.”

She smothered a sigh. She wanted to save the wolves, yes, but you had to consider the other side of the story. Without cooperation from the ranchers one way or another, the wolves weren’t going to make it. “I said I’d help, Dex. But maybe we need a better way to talk to the ranchers.”

“We’ve been talking to them for years.”

“Maybe the problem is we’ve been talking at them. I don’t know. But I said I’d help.”

She turned to scan the room again, but still no Max McKenny. She wished she knew what excuse he had used because she’d sure like to try it out herself. She hated this blasted tea.

Then she turned back to Dexter and fixed him with her inquisitorial look. “So, Dex, why are you devoted to saving the wolves?”

The question seemed to startle him and he blinked rapidly. “Because they’re an important part of the ecology.”

She nodded. “Very true. I know a lot of people who just like them because they look like puppies.”

“That’s absurd. They’re not domestic dogs. You couldn’t bring one home with you. But they improve the ecology.”

“I know. I’ve read about it. I just wondered if there was some special reason you took up the cause.”

“It’s what’s good for the environment, that’s all.”

Which told her she was now going to be badgered by Dex on every possible environmental issue. Inwardly she sighed. Ten years of training as a reporter had hardened her against taking sides. She could have been fired for taking sides even on her personal time.

Well, she wasn’t ready to take up any causes yet. She was still feeling too bruised by the loss of her beloved career. Too bruised by the failing newspaper industry that had made it impossible for her to find another job and necessary for her to teach when she’d rather do.

She was lucky, she told herself. A lot of her friends who had been laid off had had to leave journalism behind.

Just keep that in mind, she told herself as she eased away from Dex and made her way to the door. You’re lucky. Even if you don’t feel like you are.

Summer warmth lingered, even with the earlier twilight and Liza chose to walk. Her apartment was only a few blocks away from the relatively new campus, and not too far from the semiconductor plant that had brought brief prosperity to the town before falling prey to an economic downswing and laying off about half its work force.

Most of those people had been forced to leave town, which meant the apartments were no longer full and rents had fallen. Given her salary as an adjunct, she supposed she should be grateful for that. But she really would have preferred living in the older part of town, seedy as some of it was, to living in the new sprawl that had been added over that past ten or so years.

Something had sure put her in a morose mood, she realized as she strode down sidewalks fronted by young trees. And here she thought she’d been getting over herself.

Maybe it wasn’t so easy to lose a job you loved and then have to move halfway across the country for a new one, even if it was a matter of coming home. Except home had changed since she had left to go to college fourteen years ago. Some things looked the same, but they didn’t feel the same.

You can never come home again. The old saying wafted through her mind and she decided it was true. The town had changed a bit, but so had she. And maybe the changes in her were the most momentous ones.

She sighed, the sound lost as the evening breeze ruffled the leaves of the scrawny little trees.

Well, at least there was now Max McKenny to stretch her underworked brain muscles again. Her mind immediately served up another mental image of him, and she had to smother a smile lest she be seen walking all alone down the street, grinning like an idiot.

But she wanted to grin, for a variety of reasons. She’d seen how the girls went after an attractive teacher, and he was more attractive than most. Heck, she’d done a bit of it herself in college. All you had to do was stare intently, longingly, and you could fluster an inexperienced teacher. You didn’t even have to follow them into their offices to rattle them and make them nervous. She wondered if Max had any idea what he might be in for being a new and interesting man in an area that didn’t often see new guys.

She bit back a giggle.

Yup, he was in for it. And since she wasn’t entirely immune herself, she would willingly bet he was going to have a lot to contend with.

Oh, he was yummy all right. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on the reason. He was good-looking enough, but not star quality. No, it was more that he projected some kind of aura, the way he stood, a man supremely confident in his manhood, she guessed. No apologies there. Yet he hadn’t struck her as cocky, which made him all the better.

She hated cocky men. She’d had too many cocky editors and interviewed too many cocky politicians.

So that was a definite mark in his favor. He’d been pleasant enough, and friendly enough. Polite. Respectful.

And oh so unrevealing.

That part she didn’t like. Quickening her pace, she reached her building and trotted up the stairs. Her computer was still on, and she dropped her keys on the table as she hurried to it.

She wished she had all the resources she had once had as a reporter. But at least she had enough to begin her search into his background.

She started at the college’s website, knowing they had to say at least something about his qualifications.

Maxwell McKenny, adjunct instructor, criminology. B.S. University of Michigan, J.D. Stetson University College of Law. Eight years law enforcement experience.

Good heavens, he had a law degree? A beat cop with a law degree? What in the world was he doing here in the back of nowhere? With that Juris Doctor degree he shouldn’t have wound up teaching at a minuscule junior college in Wyoming.

And Stetson was in Florida, her old stomping grounds. He couldn’t have gotten that degree while working for any Michigan police department. Which must mean he’d gotten it before he went to work as a cop, or after he had quit.

And why, when she had told him she’d worked as a reporter in Florida, hadn’t he made the natural comment that he’d gone to law school there?

Because he had indeed been deflecting her.

Her nose twitched and her curiosity rose to new heights. Leaning forward again, she began a search of the American Bar Association. If he’d been admitted to the bar, he should be there somewhere.

“I’m going to find out who you are, Max,” she muttered as she began her searches.

Because something is smelling like three-day-old fish.

Max rode back to the La-Z-Rest motel on his Harley, a hog he enjoyed immensely as the weather allowed and had missed during his last assignment. Soon he was going to have to find some old beater to get him through the winter, but for now he was free to enjoy the sensation of huge power beneath him and little to slow him down on the road. Not that he sped. He did nothing to draw unnecessary attention.

Although he’d evidently gotten the attention of Liza Enders, former journalist. Just what he needed: a reporter interested in him. Being noticed was anathema, and something he was trying very hard to avoid right now.

Then that temptress with the cat-green eyes had come striding across the room, and he’d stood there like a starstruck kid when he should have ducked, watching her rounded hips move, noticing her nicely sized breasts, drinking in her shiny, long auburn hair.

Idiot. He should have moved away the instant he realized she had focused on him. But how was he supposed to have guessed she was a reporter? All he’d noticed was that the loveliest faculty member in the room was walking his way.

Thinking with his small head, he thought disgustedly as he roared into the parking slot in front of his room. Responding with his gonads. He never did that. Not anymore.

It was too dangerous.

Frustrated with himself, he turned off the ignition, dismounted and kicked the stand into place. He gave the hog a pat then headed into his room.

Once there, he flopped on his back on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. On the ceiling above him was a water spot that looked pretty much like the state of Texas.

He played over the conversation in his mind again, recalling everything he had told her. Not much. That and the brief CV the college printed wouldn’t really tell her a thing.

Well, except for that freaking law degree. She would probably find that odd for a beat cop, but he couldn’t be the only one who had a J.D. So what if the reporter dug a little more? What would she find?

Very little. He wasn’t even using his real name, not that that would make a difference. He’d gone so far to ground that even his real name wouldn’t yield anything except possibly a birth date.

He was a man who didn’t exist. And it had to stay that way for a while yet.

So why the hell had he allowed himself to be blinded by a pretty face and a luscious figure into holding still long enough to have a conversation? She’d been trying to get information about him. He was smart enough to know that. Many had tried over the years.

But maybe her curiosity was just passing. Maybe she’d let it go.

He’d have to keep an eye on her, that was for sure. If she started prying too much, he would have to hit the road. Not that he wanted to. He kind of liked the gig they’d set him up with here, in a place where you could spot a stranger from a hundred miles.

He kind of liked the thought of teaching. And even though he’d been here for only a short while, he kind of liked this town, too.

Finally he pulled his cell phone out of its holster and punched a number he tried not to call too often. One he definitely never put on speed dial and always erased from the phone’s memory of recent calls.

“Ames here,” said a familiar voice.

“Max.”

“Oh, man, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure. I just got the inquisition from a reporter. Are you sure my background holds up?”

“Considering how many databases we had to modify, yeah. It had better.”

“A J.D. looks pretty funny hanging off a beat cop.”

“Not if that cop wants to be a detective someday. Or run for prosecutor. Or teach at a college. Take your pick.”

Max sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“Why? Did she say she was going to check into you?”

“No, but her eyes did.”

Ames surprised him with a laugh. “She must be pretty.”

“You could say that. Why?”

“You noticed her eyes. Okay, we’ll keep tabs on it. What’s her name?”

“Liza Enders.”

“Got it. What paper is she with?”

“None. She teaches at the college, too.”

“All right. I’ll blow the whistle if anything looks suspicious. In the meantime, I think one of our nerds can make sure she runs around the maypole a few times if she tries to crack your background.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Need anything else?”

“No, that was it.”

He put the phone away and resumed his contemplation of the ceiling. It wasn’t long, though, before he was seeing Liza Enders rather than the Texas water spot.

She sure was an attractive armful. He didn’t go for the skinny women who looked more like boys, and no one would mistake Liza Enders for a boy.

She might be a great reporter, but he was better at a far more dangerous game. He knew from long experience how to cover his butt. And there was entirely too much at stake to let a reporter blow it.

His life, for one thing. And the lives of other innocents, too. Not to mention if he let anyone close to him, they could get caught in the cross fire.

He had to find a way to keep her distant.

He closed his eyes. At least it was safe to fantasize about her. It would never be more than that, but he’d been living on fantasies for a long time.

One more surely wouldn’t hurt.

Growing hot and heavy, he imagined removing the clothes from Liza’s curvy body.

Nope, it couldn’t hurt.

He awoke in a cold sweat and sat bolt upright with his heart pounding. The room was dark except for a nervous strip of blinking red neon light that crept between the curtains.

For an instant he couldn’t remember where he was. For an instant he wondered if someone had entered the room while he slept.

Reaching out, he found the pistol on his bedside table and thumbed off the safety. Was someone in the room with him? He listened, but heard nothing except the whine of truck tires on the state highway outside.

At last he flipped on the bedside light. Empty. Shoving himself off the bed he checked the tiny bathroom. He was all alone, the door still locked.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, pistol still in hand, he waited for the adrenaline to wash away. Nightmares. He’d had a few of them in his time.

Dimly he remembered some of it. They’d found him. Yes, that was it. They’d found him. They surrounded him and threatened him and kept demanding his real name.

He hadn’t been able to remember it. And each time he failed, they hit him again. It may have been a dream, but his head and stomach felt as if those blows had been real.

And Liza. She’d been there, too, demanding his identity.

As if he had one anymore.

Crap. He thumbed the safety on again and put the pistol on the table. Now he felt cold from the sweat drenching. He needed a shower, but didn’t feel safe enough to take one. Not yet.

That damn reporter was going to be a problem. He had to get rid of her somehow.

This might look like a game to her, but for him it was life or death.

Chapter 2

By morning, Liza’s curiosity had only grown. Max McKenny had indeed graduated from the University of Michigan and Stetson College of Law, both with high honors. Beyond that, she hadn’t found a thing, even when she searched Michigan newspapers for his name, thinking he might have been on a case that had gotten some publicity.

But responding cops seldom made the news unless something spectacular came down. Unless a cop was involved in a shoot-out or something equally serious, only the Public Information Officer talked to the press, rarely mentioning the specific cops involved. Very often the names of the first responders never rose to the surface of awareness. So Max might just have had a dull career.

The lack of information wasn’t terribly surprising, except that there was no record at all of any Maxwell McKennys in Michigan. It wasn’t a common name, and that should have made her job easier. Instead, her search was giving her a blank wall.

The American Bar Association had proved opaque. If it had a public membership directory, it wasn’t available online. Checking state licensing boards, as she’d learned long ago, was a total wash if you didn’t get the name exactly right. Maxwell McKenny, if listed as Maxwell D. McKenny, would never show up in a search.

Ah, well.

She tried to force her attention back to the day’s work ahead and forget she’d awakened from a dream that morning about a gorgeous hunk of manhood who resembled Max. Not entirely, but close enough that she couldn’t fool her waking brain into thinking it had just been a generalized dream.

Maybe part of her problem was that it had been way too long since she’d had a boyfriend, something which had everything to do with her former career. There were just so many times you could break a date before a guy went looking elsewhere. Which pretty much meant she had to date other reporters who would understand her schedule, except most of the single men in her newsroom just hadn’t appealed to her. There had been one guy—but she cut that thought off with a scythe. She was not going there.

So maybe she was just focusing on Max because a hunk had walked into view. Maybe this was all some kind of female reaction and not her nose for news at all.

A Harley roared by her as she strode down the sidewalk toward campus, and even from the back she could see it was Max, helmet notwithstanding. Of course. He would have a Harley, big and black, a machine that throbbed with energy and a deep-throated roar. It fit.

Hadn’t she read somewhere that motorcycle cops had thrown fits in some state when officials had wanted to replace their Harleys with something less expensive? Apparently other motorcycles just didn’t sound as good.

Or something. That had been a long time ago, and she couldn’t even remember where she’d read it. Maybe Max had been a motorcycle cop. That would have made his life more boring than most, though handing out traffic tickets was one of the most dangerous jobs cops faced. Even so, most motorcycle cops never ran into any real trouble.

And almost none of them made the news.

She shook her head at herself, deciding she was probably making a mountain out of a molehill. It wasn’t as if her instincts were infallible. She could be very wrong about this.

Much to her amazement, the Harley stopped at the corner and pulled a U-turn, coming back to idle beside her. “Want a lift?” Max asked as he raised the smoky visor that concealed his face.

She was tempted to tell him no, that she enjoyed walking on such a lovely morning, and that would have been true. But equally true was the fact that she hadn’t been on a motorcycle since her college days, and she’d liked it back then. It was tempting.

Even more tempting was wrapping her arms around his waist and discovering if his stomach was as hard and flat as it had looked in that T-shirt. Having her legs extended around his.

Was she losing her mind? Common sense reared. “Thanks,” she said, “but no helmet.”

He flipped open a steel compartment on the side of the hog and pulled one out. “I always carry an extra.” Reaching out, he strapped it to her head, securing it beneath her chin. “You done this before?”

“A long, long time ago.” Part of her wanted to rebel at the way he was taking charge, but another, stronger part of her really wanted to ride behind him on that bike.

So he guided her onto the seat behind him, warning her about the exhaust pipes, and helped her place her feet properly.

“Lean with me,” he reminded her, and then she was sailing toward the school with her arms and legs wrapped around him, thinking how envious all those young girls were going to be when they saw this.

The thought startled her, it was so juvenile, and she laughed out loud at herself.

“It’s fun, isn’t it,” his muffled voice said, misunderstanding the source of her laughter. There was certainly no reason to tell him the truth.

Well, she could now testify that his stomach was hard and flat beneath the leather jacket, and the thighs she was pressed against were every bit as hard. Being wrapped around him this way was causing a deep throbbing in her center.

Oh, man, she had it bad. The bug had bitten. Knowing not one thing about him, really, she wanted to have sex with him. Shouldn’t she have outgrown that a long time ago?

All too soon he pulled them into a faculty parking slot, and seconds later the engine’s roar choked off.

“Wow,” she said. “I haven’t done that in so long.”

“Maybe one Saturday before the weather turns cold I’ll take her out on the mountain roads,” he said easily. “I’ll bet it’s beautiful up there.”

“Right now especially.”

He twisted, offering one arm to help her lever herself off the bike. She was honestly sorry when her feet hit firm ground again. Reluctantly, she reached up to unsnap the helmet.

“That was awesome,” she admitted as she handed the helmet back, then watched him stow it. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He pulled his own helmet off and hesitated. “Maybe, if you want, you could take that mountain ride with me.”

It was her turn to hesitate. The ride sounded like incredible fun, but she still couldn’t escape that strange feeling about him. “I don’t know anything about you,” she said finally.

His polar-ice eyes narrowed a hair, then he surprised her by laughing. “Of course you don’t. We just met. Do you want my fingerprints and birth certificate first?”

All of a sudden she felt foolish for her suspicions. “No, of course not.”

He leaned toward her a little, his teeth still gleaming in a smile. “Getting to know each other takes time, Liza. Don’t you think?”

Then he hopped off the bike, waved and headed to his class.

She stood there feeling utterly flat-footed. How had he done that? He’d told her exactly not one thing more about himself yet had managed to make her feel foolish for even wondering.

Yet, she argued with herself, he was right. It took time to get to know someone personally. But she was still annoyed by the feeling that he was deflecting her.

Why should he? Surely the college wouldn’t have hired someone with a criminal record. They did background checks as well she knew. So why couldn’t she be satisfied with just knowing that he was another instructor like her? Exactly like her.

Because something about him seemed different? Because something didn’t feel quite right?

Sheesh. Shouldering her backpack, she started the short hike to her office. She hated questioning her own instincts, but maybe it was time to start. She was rusty, and even when she hadn’t been rusty she’d made an occasional mistake.

Well, she thought they were occasional mistakes only because she hadn’t come up with anything about the person who aroused her suspicions. That didn’t exactly mean those persons were okay.

When she reached her office, she tossed her bag on her desk and powered up her computer. She needed to check the presentation for her first class, a comparison between a TV news story and the actual facts of a legal case that showed how easily a reporter could create a false impression. It was important to her that her students understood exactly how the news could be bent before they got into the nitty-gritty of trying to write it.

Maybe she was getting a false impression now. Maybe Max was nobody at all but a former cop with a law degree who had decided to take a break by teaching at a community college. Maybe all her questions arose from the simple fact that he seemed out of place here.

It could all be as simple as that. As simple as her training driving her to look for the story behind the story, even if there wasn’t one. Man, no wonder guys didn’t much hang out with her. Not only had she worked weird hours, but dating her must have been like dating an inquisitor, now that she thought about it.

Few answers were good enough for her. She always wanted more information.

All of a sudden she remembered a boyfriend from five years ago who had erupted at her. “I can’t just say it’s a nice day,” he had snapped. “You always want to know exactly what kind of nice day it is. Did something good happen? What’s the temperature? Can I tell you the exact color blue of the sky?”

She winced at the memory, mostly because there was more than a kernel of truth to it.

She had defended herself by demanding to know what was wrong with curiosity. She still believed there was nothing wrong with it, but maybe she was just too impatient for the answers. She’d give Max some time, she decided. If she kept getting the feeling he was too much of a mystery, then she could start digging.

She wondered how long she’d be able to rein herself in.

She learned the answer not two minutes later when she realized she was researching active law licenses in the state of Michigan.

She had it bad.

Max strolled to his office, wondering if he’d done the right thing in stopping to pick up Liza and offering her a trip into the mountains.

Yes, he decided. One of the things he had learned quickly was not to act suspiciously, and one of the most suspicious things you could do was avoid someone who was asking questions about you.

The only way to seem aboveboard was to act as if you were. And while he was at it, maybe he could convince her that she really didn’t want to know him or know more about him. Given his job, he knew how to be obnoxiously overbearing, and with an independent woman like Liza, that might be just the ticket.

He tossed his helmet on the desk and brought his computer up. He had some idea how to teach the course he was about to begin. It hadn’t been that long since he’d taken such a course himself, and he knew that part of what students would want to hear were actual on-the-job experiences. He’d heard enough stories to tell them as if they were his own.

He’d even managed to rustle up his own course outline and enough handouts to get him rolling. He figured he could pull this off as well as any role he’d ever had to play. And unlike Liza Enders, his students weren’t going to be suspicious.

Nope, the teaching part would be a walk in the park compared to some of the stuff he’d had to do—like lie.

There were some folks who deserved to be lied to. And then there were the rest, who didn’t deserve it at all.

What was that old joke? The drug dealer is more honest than the average narc, because the narc lies about what he is.

The thought made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Keep your eye on the ball, he reminded himself. It was a familiar refrain in his life. He had to keep his eye on the ball here, an important ball. And that was definitely going to mean keeping an eye on Liza Enders.

There were worse jobs, he decided. But nothing that began with a lie could end well. In fact, lies usually just blew up on you.

And right now, he wondered if Liza Enders was going to wind up being a grenade.

Two days later, Liza sat in the back of her own classroom, listening as Sheriff Gage Dalton explained why cops used Public Information Officers to speak with the press. But her mind was elsewhere.

She’d learned that Max did indeed have an active law license in Michigan, but no address for a practice. Private addresses were confidential. Okay, he was licensed. That part of his CV was real. But she had learned absolutely not one more thing, and that bothered her.

Gage, a former DEA agent, a man with a limp and a face badly scarred from burns received from a car bomb that had killed his first family, looked comfortable in front of the class explaining matters.

“You’ve got to understand why we need to control information flow,” he said. “First off, ongoing investigations need to be protected. We can’t share information that might tip off a criminal to how much we know. We can’t share information that might implicate someone who is innocent. We can’t share anything we’re not a hundred percent certain of. So we have a spokesperson who knows exactly what we can and cannot say.”

She nodded to herself, understanding it only too well, although it had caused her a lot of frustration during her years on the crime beat.

He went into some detail about the Atlanta Olympics bombing and how he felt that had been mishandled. Pencils and pens were scrabbling quickly across notepaper, fingers were typing rapidly on laptops as the students listened, enthralled.

Finally Gage looked at her. “Do you have anything to add, Ms. Enders?”

She smiled and stood up. “Of course I do. It’s still my job as a reporter to get everything out of you and any other source I can find and report it. So, class, you could say we have an adversarial relationship here. There’s a fine line between respecting an investigation and buying public statements hook, line and sinker.”

Gage nodded agreement. “Sometimes the press can be really helpful to us. Other times they can cause problems.”

The two of them batted stories back and forth and answered students’ questions until the class ended. Gage remained until the last student left, then he turned to Liza.

“I haven’t told you yet, but it’s good to have you back in town.”

“I haven’t been back that long and you hardly knew me before I left.”

He winked. “But I’m sure you knew me.”

“Oh, everyone knew who you were.”

“Hell’s own archangel,” he said.

She almost gasped. “You heard that?”

“Everything gets around this town sooner or later. I can’t say I blame anyone for calling me that. I came out of nowhere with death in my eye, I suppose.”

“But no one thinks of you that way anymore,” she assured him.

“No, probably not anymore.”

She hesitated. “Say, Gage?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know Max McKenny?”

Cops were good, especially cops like Gage, who’d worked undercover, but she caught an instant of stillness before he responded. “Only that he asked me to talk to one of his classes, too.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“My undercover days and how you have to work to stay inside the law when you’re trying to get in with people who are constantly breaking it.”

“That’s a good topic,” she admitted. “You were DEA, right?”

He nodded. “And I had to get through it without ever doing drugs myself. It’s not easy, and it can cause a lot of suspicion. Why do you want to know about McKenny?”

“I don’t know a damn thing about him,” she said frankly. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“Such as?”

“I can’t exactly put my finger on it. He wants to take me up into the mountains on a ride sometime.”

Gage shook his head. “You reporters. I did his background check for the college, Liza. Is that good enough?”

She felt like squirming, wondering yet again if she was being unreasonable about all this. Maybe this was nothing but a major fail for her instincts. Or maybe her whole problem with Max was that she was nervous about the attraction she felt for him. Attraction had given her nothing but grief in her past.

“I guess it’s good enough,” she said finally to Gage.

“He’s clean?”

“They hired him, didn’t they?” Gage smiled that crooked smile of his and headed for the door. “Let me know if he does anything to justify your suspicion.”

Ouch, she said to herself as Gage disappeared.

She thought again about the complaint her ex-boyfriend had made. Was she really too inquisitive? Too suspicious? Maybe so, she admitted as she returned to her office. Max McKenny had passed a background check performed by the sheriff’s office. That should be enough for her. Absolutely enough.

His reasons for coming here to teach were purely personal and none of her business unless he made it hers. God, she needed to rein this in. Even Gage thought she was being a bit ridiculous, although he hadn’t come right out and said so.

She was walking head down, waging an internal war with herself as she crossed the quadrangle. A few dead leaves rustled as they blew by her, an early announcement of autumn, but she barely noticed them.

Okay, she was trained to want to know everything, but she wasn’t trained to question everyone who crossed her path. What had Max done to arouse her suspicion except seem out of place? And who was she to decide he was out of place?

Heck, she was out of place herself.

So a good-looking guy with a law enforcement background came all the way from Michigan to teach at an out-of-the-way junior college. Maybe it was the only job he could find, given that jobs were harder to find than ladybugs without spots. She ought to know that, since she’d spent months searching after she got her pink slip.

Maybe he really did just want a break from chasing speeders. He wouldn’t be the first cop who found the job not to his taste after a while.

And look at her. If her life had followed her plan, she’d be working at an even bigger daily paper now instead of teaching.

She sighed.

Okay, maybe all this was happening simply because she was frightened of being so attracted to him. Maybe she was doing the deflecting, finding reasons to try to stomp down that attraction. Any other woman with these feelings would be trying to draw Max’s attention, not trying to find something unsavory in his past.

Maybe years as a reporter had screwed up her thinking in some major way. It had certainly screwed up her life and her relationships with men.

Just as she was concluding that this was all about scars from old relationships and fears of garnering new ones, she saw the booted feet in front of her.

Too late to stop, she collided with Max McKenny’s hard body. At once he gripped her elbows and steadied her.

“Oops,” she said and looked up reluctantly. To her horror a blush heated her cheeks, as if he could read every thought in her head. Not to mention her lack of attention that had caused the collision.

“Sorry,” he said. “Are you all right? I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

Another ouch. If her head had been up, she wouldn’t have been able to avoid seeing him approach. She would have fixated on it. But he hadn’t even noticed her.

“I’m fine,” she said in a muffled voice, embarrassment and annoyance both rising in her.

“One of my students called to me,” he offered pleasantly enough as he released her elbows. “Note to self, never turn head while walking forward.”

The heat began to leave her cheeks. “I could give myself the same note.”

“You were lost in thought. Your head was down. I should have kept that in mind.”

“I shouldn’t walk when I’m woolgathering,” she admitted, stepping back a little when all she wanted to do was step forward and press herself up against him. Her cheeks warmed again. “Sorry.”

“Hey, we teach at a college. Aren’t we supposed to be absentminded?”

That smile again, that devastating smile. It reached out and filled her with warmth, especially in her most secret places. God, she hoped he couldn’t smell her pheromones. She was glad when the breeze quickened, blowing any possibility away. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be that absentminded,” she replied.

He laughed quietly. “I was coming to look for you.”

Her heart leaped and she forced it back down. “But my office is that way.” She pointed.

“I checked your schedule and figured you were on your way back from class.”

Another wave of heat rolled through her. She almost hated him for the effect he had on her. “Oh,” she said, unable to think of anything witty. “Why?”

“Because tomorrow’s Saturday. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Want to ride up into the mountains with me?”

She wanted to say no just because she wasn’t ready to admit she might be a fool. Because she really didn’t trust men all that much. Because it would be easier to convince herself all over again that this man had something to hide than it would be to risk the possibility of getting hurt by him.

But Gage’s reassurance rang in her ears, reminding her that she’d never vetted a boyfriend before. Besides, this was a bike ride, not a date. He probably thought it would be more fun to share the time than ride alone.

And she really, really wanted to go. She knew she was lying to herself when she decided it would be an opportunity to learn more about him. She just wanted to be on that bike, wrapped around him, winding up mountain roads with the wind in her face and the changing leaves showing between the firs.

“Yes,” she said, the word escaping her before she even realized it was coming.

“Great.” His smile widened a bit. “I’ll pick you up around ten, so the air has a chance to warm.”

She gave him directions to her apartment building, promising to be out front.

“Wear something warm and rugged,” he said. “Basic safety rule.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Then before she could gather herself, he was striding away again.

She realized that she watched Max walk away an awful lot for someone she had just met.

Resuming her trek to her office, not all that far really given the small size of the campus, she wondered if she needed her head examined.

She only wished she knew who was crazier, Liza the woman or Liza the reporter. At the moment, it seemed like a toss-up.

Hiding in plain sight is how Max explained it to himself. The best way to defang Liza’s suspicions was to make himself available as if he had not a single thing to hide. It had always worked before.

Besides, riding on the bike wouldn’t provide a whole lot of opportunities for in-depth questions or conversations. Of course, he was planning to bring a picnic lunch for them to enjoy, but that was part of the illusion.

Because he was all illusion. Sometimes he wondered if any part of his real self still existed. Every so often, the question would rise up and sting him.

Who was he? Damned if he really knew anymore. Doing his job required learning to think like the people he associated with. He not only had to reflect their actions, but also their thoughts so he would never slip, never be caught unawares, never give himself away.

Maybe he was just questioning himself because he’d been dumped into a new role and still hadn’t learned to entirely think the part. Worse, this role was only temporary, so part of him was resisting the change.

It was, he vowed, going to be his last game. He was going to finish this and then try to find his way back to who he really was before his thinking got so messed up he needed a decade on an analyst’s couch.

Easy to think, maybe not so easy to do. Sometimes he honestly wondered.

Late that night, he got on his bike and roared along the back roads of Conrad County. He had a contact here—a name given to him by Ames—who he could turn to if he needed to. But existential questions weren’t exactly the kind of thing he was supposed to need help with.

No, he was left with his own personality disarray and his own questions to be dealt with as he wrapped up his final job.

So what exactly did he know that was real? The bike between his legs, the almost-crazy ride down dark county roads and Liza.

His thoughts persistently came back to Liza. She was real. He wasn’t so sure, though, about how he was responding to her. Yes, she was acting on him like a sexual magnet, but she wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, probably.

No, there was something else about her. Something that suggested her greatest lust was for truth, one lust he wouldn’t be able to satisfy.

He’d had some problems with his job before, times when he had questioned himself, but never before had he felt soiled by it.

Until now. Thanks to her.

His motives didn’t matter, not a bit.

How was he supposed to deal with that?

By playing the game out, he realized as he twisted the throttle up until he was tearing down the road like a bat out of hell. By playing it out.

He had no other choice.

Far, far away in a run-down section of Washington, D.C., a woman with long black hair and a sequined tube dress beneath a baggy olive drab jacket walked swiftly along dangerous streets with loudly tapping heels. More than once a car pulled up to the curb, but when the driver rolled down the passenger window to accost her, she shot him a death look that made him peel away fast. In her pocket, she clutched a small pistol, and each time her hand tightened around it.

She made it back to the abandoned, derelict apartment house, the one with the big signs saying it was scheduled for demolition, and slipped in through a back way until she reached an apartment in the middle of the hall.

She stepped into a filthy room where a bunch of mattresses padded the floor. A kerosene heater fought off the night’s chill.

Five men waited for her, all of them dressed in various kinds of cast-off army-style clothing. She couldn’t have looked more out of place.

They all looked up at her arrival.

“I got his real name,” she said with savage pride. “It was like we thought. And if that isn’t enough, I’ve got a date with the source in two nights. The way this guy is crumbling, I’ll probably get an address pretty soon.”

The man who went by the name Jody sat bolt upright. “Give me the name. I’ll find the bastard no matter where he’s hiding.”

The woman smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Maybe you can. But if you can’t, I will.” She fingered the switchblade in her other pocket. She did like to use a knife, and a certain ATF agent was going to be her next work of art.

Chapter 3

Max was waiting for Liza when she emerged from her apartment building into bright autumn sunshine. He stood leaning against his silent bike, his arms folded, clad head to toe in leathers for the road.

Max wore “bad boy biker” pretty well, she had to admit.

She herself wore her thickest jeans and heaviest boots, and a sweater beneath a ripstop nylon jacket. Not nearly as good as leathers, but she didn’t have the money or the ability to buy leathers overnight.

She noticed that Max had added a backrest to the pillion seat for her. A thoughtful gesture, one she certainly hadn’t expected.

He greeted her with a smile and held a helmet out to her. “I was half convinced you wouldn’t show.”

“I don’t do that,” she said, although she could have admitted with equal honesty that if she’d had his number she might have called him any of a half-dozen times the night before to cancel. As many times as she’d been obliged to break a date, never had she failed to call. Maybe lacking his personal phone number was the only reason she was out here right now.

No, said a merciless voice in her mind. Quit playing games with yourself. She was out here because she wanted to spend time with Max, to ride that Harley, clinging to him and see what came next. Despite all her fears of rejection, she still couldn’t resist.

She was feeling a sense of adventure unlike any she’d known in a long time. The thrill of taking a risk. Ready to cast caution to the winds, to go along for the ride, sure that it would at least be exciting.

Lately she’d felt she was in danger of getting stodgy. No way was she going to let that happen.

So she let the excitement of the moment take her, and she mounted the bike behind Max. With the backrest, she didn’t necessarily need to cling to him as closely, but she clung anyway, her head pressed to his leather-covered back, her cheek liking the feel of that leather as she watched the world whip past sideways.

In fact, she liked it so much that not until she began to feel a bit dizzy did she lift her head to look forward at the ribbon of rising road. The height of the pillion gave her the ability to look right over Max’s shoulder as they started their climb into the mountains.

With increasing altitude, the color of the leaves brightened, dotting the mostly evergreen forest with blotches of orange and gold. The air also grew colder and she wished she had put on her gloves.

Each time they rounded a bend, her thighs tightened around Max as she leaned with him, and she was getting so aroused that she started to lose track of the passing world. The rumble of the bike itself only added to her heightened awareness and as the miles passed, she gave in to it.

Why not? He’d never know.

She began to wonder what would happen if they stopped. Was he feeling the same way? Possibly. If he was, what if he reached out for her, took her without warning or preamble?

She rather liked that idea. Talking only got in the way sometimes, and her body was awakening in a way that suggested being dragged off to a cave by her hair might be the perfect outcome.

She laughed silently into the wind, amused by the turn of her thoughts even as they continued to wash over her with increasingly blatant visions.

Yeah, he could just pull her off the bike when they stopped, and toss her on the ground—pine needles and leaves would probably make a soft enough bed, although the practical reporter in her was sure there’d be a rock in exactly the wrong place. Then he’d slip his hands, probably chilly, up under her sweater and …

Her thighs clamped around his in response. Thank goodness he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head because she was sure she’d turned beet red when she realized what she had done.

“Okay back there?” he called.

“Fine,” she lied. If fine was feeling like a stew pot that had suddenly been turned on high and wanted to boil over.

“I want to stop at the old mining town up ahead.”

“Okay,” she agreed as loudly as she could manage when it was impossible to breathe. Sheesh, the guy hadn’t done one suggestive thing and she was already on her way to bed with him.

No way.

He pulled off the road a half mile farther along and slowed as they started down a bumpy rutted old wagon track. She recognized it from her high school days but was surprised he knew it was here.

“How’d you know about this?” she asked.

“One of the faculty told me. Said I couldn’t miss it.”

“You can’t if you know what it is,” she agreed, her voice bobbling as the bike bounced hard.

“Sorry,” he said, and slowed even more.

Another half mile and they emerged into the area surrounding the old mining town. Signs, rusting a bit, warned them not to get any closer to the tumbledown buildings. The ground was pitted in a few places from cave-ins.

Max halted the bike, though the engine still rumbled. “Is it really that unsafe?”

“Very,” she said. “The ground all around is honeycombed with old shafts. Nobody knows how long they’ll hold out or exactly where they are.”

“I vote for using my good sense then.” He switched off the ignition, put down the stand, then slid off the bike with amazing ease. Turning, he helped her to the ground.

For an instant she thought her legs were going to give out. She must have been clinging to him tighter than she had realized, and the vibration of the bike had become so familiar her body wasn’t ready to recognize it was gone.

He pulled off his leather gloves, shoved them into the pockets of his jacket, then reached for her hands. “Sorry I didn’t think about this,” he said.

“About what?”

“How cold you were likely to get without gloves.” A faint smile accompanied the words as he sandwiched her hands between both of his large ones. He rubbed her flesh briskly, warming it.

“I’m too used to Florida,” she mumbled. “I have gloves. Silly me, I tucked them in my pockets instead of putting them on.”

His chuckle was warm, and regret filled her when he let go of her hands.

He turned to face the ramshackle town, a place full of the remnants of old buildings, silvered by the years. “The kid in me really wants to explore.”

“I know. I did when I was young and foolish.”

“But how come nothing is growing?” he asked, indicating the clearing around the town. It was actually quite huge, extending in an oval that looked as if the ground had recently been cleared.

“Tailings from the mines,” she said. “They were removed maybe fifteen years ago because they contained so many heavy metals. Poisonous stuff, and it was getting into the groundwater.”

“What kind of poisonous stuff?”

“Uranium for one thing. Some of that ground is still radioactive, and nothing grows on it. Then there’s arsenic, lead, zinc, bunches of stuff.”

“How radioactive is it?”

“Probably not that bad or we wouldn’t be allowed to get even this close.”

“I guess.” He looked at her. “How did you learn all that?”

“There was a lot of discussion when they wanted to clean it up, and I did a little research on my own.”

“Always the reporter, huh?”

She didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “Some things are ingrained.”

“Well, natural caution suggests this wouldn’t be a great place for our picnic. But I would like to look around a bit before we find a better spot.”

A picnic? She hadn’t expected that, and the thought delighted her. Clearly he was in no hurry to take her back. Feeling lighter, she walked around the edge of the clearing with him.

“This is fascinating,” he said as they paused to look at the small town from a different angle. “Imagine how hard folks must have worked up here to dig all these mines. What were they looking for?”

“Gold. It played out fast from what I hear. You can find isolated mines all over the mountain, though. They’re all barred up now.”

He nodded. “I don’t think any sensible person would want to risk their necks in one of them. Timbers must have rotted. Water may have destabilized the ground.”

“Obviously. Look at the cave-ins. So far they’ve been in areas where the mines are shallower, but can you imagine how deep some of these must go? And back when the tailings piles were here, you could really see how hard those guys worked. Huge mounds of broken rock, all pulled out of the ground with a bucket, a pulley and maybe a mule.”

“I’m almost sorry they cleaned it up.”

“You can see pictures of it in the library. But I know what you mean. When they took the tailings, they took away history. All sense of what this place used to be. Now it could be almost any old ghost town.” Her eyes were drawn to a bit of faded cloth flapping in a window. Somebody’s curtain from over a century ago hadn’t quite rotted. “Evidently in its day it was a pretty wild place. No law, claim jumping, a few murders. A saloon that collapsed years ago. Just imagine, men brought their families to a place like this.”

He nodded, studying the town. “Everybody was hoping to strike it rich and then get the hell out of here, I suppose.”

That surprised a laugh from her. “I guess so. I hadn’t thought of that. It never became big and grand like some mining towns, so there wouldn’t be much to hold anyone here except a hope and a prayer. A very basic, very difficult life.”

“And what about Conard City? Did that come before or after?”

“About the same time, actually. Cattle ranching was already underway, as I recall, when they found gold up here. And with those big ranches, you still needed a town for other things. Some central location for a blacksmith, a church or two—”

“And don’t forget bars. I can’t imagine cowboys without bars.”

“When I was a kid I saw the tail end of that. They’d come to town on Friday nights with their pay, and for a little while the cops were very busy, although they tried to look the other way. I hear it was even rougher when my parents were kids. Rougher but contained, the way they told it. My mother joked that she never needed a calendar to know when the weekend came. The streets filled up with pickup trucks.”

“It seems like a quiet town now.”

“It always mostly was, I guess. If you’re interested in local history, you should talk to Miss Emma.”

“Who’s that?”

She looked at him and found him looking right back at her. Those polar-ice eyes snatched her breath away. There was a noticeable pause before she answered. “Emmaline Dalton. Everyone calls her Miss Emma, although I don’t know why. Anyway, she’s the librarian, and her family was one of the very first to settle here. Her father was a judge, so she probably has lots of interesting stories apart from the library archives.”

“Dalton? Any relation to the sheriff?”

“His wife.”

“Ah.”

He nodded, glanced back to the town. “Well, since we can’t safely explore, I guess it’s time to move on and find a good place for a chilly picnic.”

This time when they mounted the bike she put her gloves on. It didn’t matter. He grabbed her hands and tucked them up inside his leather jacket. Warmth from his body, and a marvelous sense of intimacy filled her. Even through her gloves she could feel hard, rippling muscles as they bounced back down the rutted track to the paved road.

“So where is it they want to put this new resort?” he shouted over the bike’s roar.

“Just up ahead about two miles.”

When they reached the pavement’s end, he pulled them off into a small glade where a few late wildflowers blossomed in red and gold. The air smelled so fresh up here, scented with pine and mulch, and the trees were close enough to swallow the breeze. A few deciduous trees edged the small glade, their leaves like golden teardrops.

The cloudless day was so beautiful that she couldn’t help but let go of all her curiosity and suspicion. Max was just another guy, albeit damned attractive, and there didn’t seem to be one thing about him to arouse her curiosity. Not now, not today.

She was content to sit on the ground and lean back against a log while he pulled out sandwiches and bottles of water. She could tell by the packaging that he’d picked up the sandwiches at Maude’s diner, and her mouth watered.

“So,” he said, “this Dexter guy has been bearding me about saving the wolves up here.”

“He got me, too.”

“Are there many of them?”

“There’s a pack, maybe two. I guess all of a dozen or so.”

He nodded and settled beside her, also using the fallen log as a backrest. “Down from Yellowstone?”

“They must be. There’s no place else left for them to come from.”

“Is Dexter a pain in the butt?”

She grinned. “I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll find out. So tell me, why aren’t you practicing law? Isn’t that why most people get a law degree?”

“Most do, I suppose.”

Biting into a sandwich helped her to remain silent and wait for an explanation, but when it didn’t come, her suspicions about him rose to the fore again. “Is there a reason,” she asked when she finally swallowed, “that you don’t want to discuss it?”

He looked at her. “That’s a helluva loaded question. Sort of like, When did you stop beating your wife?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. I just wondered.” Although truthfully, maybe she had meant it that way. This guy kept making her bristle with suspicion, no matter how ordinary he appeared. Instinct told her that meant he wasn’t ordinary and she’d better take care.

He shrugged, chewing a bite of sandwich before answering. “I haven’t made up my mind,” he said finally. “The law fascinates me, obviously. That’s why I became a cop, in part. But the longer I was a cop, the more I wanted to understand just what I was enforcing, and the more I realized I didn’t want to be a cop forever. Studying law seemed like the way to go. Lots of opportunities. If I wanted, I could become a prosecutor, maybe. Work in a private practice. Get into politics. Teach.”

“So now you’re teaching. Do you like it?”

“It’s early days yet. So far it’s fun.”

“I bet the girls are all over you,” she said. She couldn’t help it.

“You mean my students?” He lifted a brow. “Well, they do seem to cluster around a bit.”

She snorted. “You’re a new guy in a quiet town. Interesting. Attractive. I bet it’s more like flies to a honey pot.”

He unleashed a laugh. “Not yet, Liza. Not yet.”

“It’ll get there.”

“Are you warning me to protect my chastity?”

She snickered. “Not exactly. I just remember being that age and how some interesting, attractive professor could rev me up. They’ll swarm eventually.”

“What revs you up now?”

The question caught her sideways, and she almost blurted the truth: you. Thank goodness for that small hesitation between brain and mouth.

“Curiosity?” he suggested smoothly. “Like wanting to know everything about someone new?”

“Not everything!”

He smiled. “Okay. How about the Cliff’s Notes version. I was born in Michigan, after college I joined the … department, took some time to get my law degree, and otherwise I’ve been yawning a lot.”

She wondered if that hesitation before department meant anything. She sat up a little straighter, but decided not to probe that. She didn’t want to warn him he might have slipped because that usually turned people into clams. “No wife, no kids, no significant other?”

“Nope. Being on the streets only appeals to women until they have to live with it. It’s stressful and I saw a lot of spouses leave because of it.”

She nodded. “I saw that in my job, too. Bad hours. But your job had a lot of danger, as well.”

“Some. But you can’t blame a person for not wanting to wonder if someone they love is going to come home. Not everyone has a problem with it, but it takes a toll. I figured I’d wait until I changed careers.”

“And here you are, with a brand-new career.”

“That was the point.” He returned to eating his sandwich.

She bit her lip, then said, “You went to Stetson College of Law, right?”

“Right.”

“Then how come you didn’t mention it when I said I’d been working for a paper in Florida?”

He turned slowly to look at her, and something in his gaze seemed to harden slightly, just a little, but enough to almost make her shiver. “It never occurred to me. Is it all that important that I was there for three years? I’ve lived other places, too.”

She didn’t know how to answer him. While most people would automatically have said, “I lived there for a while,” when she mentioned Florida, that didn’t mean everyone would.

She looked down at her sandwich. This guy was a cop. He was probably used to asking questions, not offering information.

So maybe this was an innocent difference in their way of making connections. She was a reporter who had spent a lot of years learning to create rapport. His job was different, and maybe had taught him different things.

Or maybe it was something else. Trying to explain it away wasn’t making her feel any easier.

“I just thought it was curious, that’s all,” she said firmly, and bit into her sandwich to forestall any other questions. She had asked too many. How many times had she been told that she asked too many questions? More than she could count.

After a moment he spoke again. “I just didn’t think about it, Liza. Everyone who looked at my CV knows I went to Stetson.”

“True,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

He put his sandwich down on the bag it had come in and rolled over on his hip, so he faced her directly. It was an open posture, almost welcoming. “I’m driving you nuts,” he said. “I don’t talk enough about myself.”

Bingo, she thought.

“I’m not used to it,” he said when she didn’t reply. “I’ve never been terribly outgoing, most of my social life revolved around people I worked with, and I’m just not good at casual talk except the joking kind.”

“Well, I can understand that, I guess. And I’ve been told often enough that I ask too many questions.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “My sense of humor would probably appall most civilians.”

At that she nodded and laughed. “I know the kind you mean. We shared it in the press room. We didn’t dare tell those jokes to outsiders.”

“Exactly.”

“But that’s how you deal with the ugliness,” she said presently. “With bad jokes about things that most people wouldn’t find funny at all.”

“Yeah. And there’s a lot of ugliness.”

She shook herself, realizing that she was in danger of leading them to discuss that stuff. A lot of which she had tried to forget. “Sorry. Let’s move on, as they say.”

For now, anyway. His momentary hesitation might mean nothing. And his explanations seemed valid. He was just a closemouthed man. He wasn’t the first she’d ever met.

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