Micah moved toward the door, which Rachel was starting to close. “Wait–” he said. “I want to help you.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” she said. “Just how are you going to do that?” She turned away from him.

“Look, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” she agreed, lifting her chin.

He stopped in front of her, lifted a hand. “Rachel…”

“Go,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “Just go.”

Micah stepped onto the porch, and she closed the screen door. He stood there facing the sun that burned into his eyes, his fingertips in his jeans pockets. Finally he cleared his throat. “You have no idea how much I regret what I did to you,” he said.

But she was already gone.

MILLS & BOON

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SHARON MIGNEREY

After living most of her life in Colorado, Sharon recently moved to the Texas Gulf coast, where Southern hospitality lives up to its reputation for being warm and welcoming. She wanted to be a storyteller since she learned that spelling words could be turned into stories. Sharon’s first book was published in 1997 after winning RWA’s Golden Heart Award in 1995. That same book went on to win the National Reader’s Choice Award. In addition to writing novels, Sharon has had several articles published by The Writer Magazine. She says the accolades are wonderful, but the only lasting satisfaction comes from serving the work. When she’s not writing, you can find her being happily involved with her critique group, learning how to garden in the Texan heat or playing with her two rescued shih tzus.

Sharon loves hearing from readers. She can be reached through her Web site www.sharonmignerey.com or in care of Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Shadows of Truth
Sharon Mignerey

Consider my affliction and my travail.

Forgive all my sins.

—Psalms 25:18

My deepest gratitude to Barbara Harrison,

Judythe Hixson, Sue Hornick and Pamela Nowak—

you each are amazing lights.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Busting a gang of drug dealers would be easier than going to the door to ask for Rachel Neesham’s forgiveness. Even so, Micah McLeod was back in Carbondale, Colorado, a scant hour’s drive from Aspen. Last spring, he had left town to follow a trail of evidence, first to Aspen, then to Cabo San Lucas, all the while pretending his undercover assignment here hadn’t rocked his world.

In truth, he had run.

In truth, he wasn’t sure he would have come back now if not for the threat he knew was hanging over Rachel’s head. That thought shamed him. She had deserved far better from him than he had ever given her.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the wrought-iron gate in front of Rachel’s big, two-story Victorian house and stepped onto the brick walkway that led to her front door. He squared his shoulders and climbed the two steps, each scrape of his boot against the wood echoing in his conscience.

The late-afternoon sun burned into his shoulder blades like a laser. The heavy oak door with its oval etched glass stood open, implying welcome. Once, he had been, and now he hoped she would give him the second chance he had failed to give her.

Her safety depended upon it, though he didn’t have hard evidence to prove it. Yet.

A month ago, Rachel’s old business partner, Angela London, had started leaving him messages from prison. Since she was a proven liar and a convicted felon, he’d figured she was simply working an angle, and he hadn’t been in any hurry to see her. Now, he wished he had answered her summons the first day she had called. The case that had put Angela behind bars had taken one more unpredictable turn, and Rachel was once again caught in the crosshairs.

He frowned, staring into the house beyond the screen door. Given the threats she had received, Rachel should have the house locked up. As it was, anyone could walk right in.

The fragrance from brilliant flowers overflowing the huge terra-cotta pots framing the door assaulted his senses and ratcheted up his unease. Through the screen, the foyer was gilded in sunlight, his own shadow stretching down a hallway that he knew led to the kitchen.

The house always made him think of home, and he realized that was because of the woman and children who lived there. They represented everything he thought a home should be. Welcoming. Generous. Loving. It was like the one he’d grown up in. As an adult, he’d never had that for himself.

He rang the bell, the chimes echoing through the house.

“I’ll get it, Mom,” a childish voice called, as light footsteps clattered down the stairs that framed one side of the entryway.

Sarah. The seven-year-old who looked so much like her mother. In the next instant she appeared, looking taller than she had last spring. Her honey-colored flyaway hair framed her face like a halo.

“Micah!” The little girl’s face lit, and she unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, then skipped forward. “You came back. I kept telling Mom you would. She didn’t believe me.” She took him by the hand and led him into the house.

He should have turned tail and run while he could. Leaving last spring without even telling Rachel’s children goodbye had been nearly as difficult as leaving Rachel. Behind him, the door slammed shut.

“Mom.” Sarah pulled him toward the kitchen while his courage fled like a rat. “Look who’s here.”

A dish towel in her hands, Rachel appeared in the doorway, one of those long skirts she favored swirling around her calves. She looked wonderful…she looked too thin…tired. A half smile curved her lips. When her gaze lit on him, shock and outrage replaced the smile as she gasped.

“You.” Her voice was just as cold as he had been afraid it would be.

“Hello, Rachel.”

She opened her mouth—to order him out of the house, he was sure—then composed her face into the expressionless mask she’d worn the day he had taken her in for questioning. “Sarah, sweetie, go play with your brother.”

“Mom.”

“Now.” Rachel’s tone was as firm as he’d ever heard it.

Last spring when they had first met, Micah hadn’t thought her capable of being this stern. Then, she had been his prime suspect, odd as it seemed now, odd as it had been then. An antique dealer with wealthy patrons, providing cover for drug-smuggling and money-laundering, a business owned by two women who had been childhood friends. Neither were the sort of scum he was used to dealing with. He’d been drawn to Rachel’s softness, sure it was a facade. He hadn’t understood until it was too late what an essential part of her nature that gentleness was.

Sarah let go of his hand and gave him a long considering look before climbing the stairs. Rachel stared at the floor while they both listened to the child’s retreating footsteps. The high cheekbones that gave Rachel’s face an exotic cast were more pronounced than ever, undoubtedly because she was thinner than she had been last spring.

The month he’d spent ignoring Angela’s calls had been a month too long. Oh, he’d told himself that he was too busy, but that would have been only half-true—he was always overworked. The simple truth was, Angela reminded him of Rachel, and thoughts of the awful things he had done to her in the name of his job kept him from sleeping at night. How could he ask for God’s forgiveness when he had done the unforgivable?

He studied Rachel’s bent head, hating that she looked so drawn, hating that his actions were undoubtedly the cause. The instant Sarah’s voice carried to them as she said something to her brother, Rachel lifted her head and advanced on him like a mama bear protecting her young.

“You…” Her finger was pointed at him, carrying every accusation he believed he deserved. “…Turn yourself around and get out of my house right now. You’re not welcome here.”

“Rachel.” This was every bit as bad as he had feared.

“Don’t you ‘Rachel’ me with your sweet voice and your lies.”

“I came to…” Ask for your forgiveness. Except that he didn’t deserve it. “…Explain.” True, as far as it went.

“I heard all the explanation I needed at Angela’s arraignment, Agent McLeod.” Rachel swept past him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, her light-brown hair gleaming in the sunlight as she headed for the front door. “You used me. You lied to me.”

“Not intentionally.”

“You know that old saying about good intentions paving the road to hell.” She held open the door and motioned for him to leave. “You abused my trust.” She sucked in a shuddering breath, then stilled while she waited for him, the dish towel clenched so tightly that her knuckles were nearly as white as the cloth.

He slowly walked toward her, wishing she’d look at him. She didn’t.

“I had no choice,” he said. “The job came first.”

“And it still does, doesn’t it?” Her eyes finally met his.

Holding her gaze tore a hole inside him. Once he’d thought the luminous green of her eyes contained all the colors of life. Now they were as cloudy and dull as a ruined emerald.

He couldn’t give her the outright denial he so wanted to. Striving for as much of the truth as he could manage in this instant, he said, “I heard about the threats and the demand for—”

“Still checking up on me, Agent McLeod?”

“Angela called me after you went to see her.” Micah stared at Rachel, echoes of his questioning of her last spring ringing through his head. Then he had still been half convinced Rachel was involved in Angela’s criminal activities, and he had threatened her. I’ll be your shadow, Rachel. You won’t be able to sneeze without me knowing about it. That had been a lie, too, since he had left, figuring she’d be better off. And look at where that had gotten her.

Rachel’s face paled even more. “I don’t have the money.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I don’t know where it is.”

“I know that, too.”

“If you come back, it had better be with a warrant.” Once again she motioned toward the door.

“You’re not a suspect, Rachel.” Reluctantly Micah moved toward it, sure he was about to lose his one chance. Though he was sure she wanted anything from him as much as she wanted a snake bite, he said, “I want to help.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” She let go of the door, and it slapped closed. Once again she advanced on him, all righteous fury despite the quivering of her chin. “And just how are you going to do that? Are you ready to call on my customers and assure them that I’m not peddling drugs to their children?” She snapped her fingers. “I have it. The bank that called due my loan. It’s a little hard to pay back money on a business that isn’t in business any more. Can you fix that?” When he didn’t answer she rushed on. “No, I didn’t think so.” Her eyes took on a shimmer. “Can you restore my reputation, Agent McLeod?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Save it for someone who cares.” She turned away from him and again opened the door.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed lifting her chin.

He stopped in front of her, lifted a hand. “Rachel…”

“Go,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “Just go.”

Micah stepped onto the porch and she closed the screen door. He stood there, his back to the door, his fingertips in his jeans pockets. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “You have no idea how much I regret what I did to you.” He raised his head but she was gone, both doors shutting him out. His heart heavy with loss, he turned back around, crossed the porch, and went down the walk.

Away from the woman he hadn’t known he loved until after he had ruined her.

From behind the sheer curtains in the parlor, Rachel watched him drive away, her fist pressed against her mouth to keep from crying out. For a single heartbeat, she had been glad to see him because the truth was she missed her friendship with him, grieved for it every bit as much as she grieved for her friendship with Angela. In the next heartbeat she remembered that he hadn’t been her friend at all and that she had been his suspect.

You’re not a suspect. Did she dare believe him?

The sharp pain of loss filled her all over again. For her best friend who had betrayed her. For her business that she had loved so much and sunk her life savings into. For the dreams that Micah had inspired. For the loss of it all.

“Mom,” came Sarah’s tentative voice from the doorway.

As she had done so many times over the last few months, Rachel straightened her back and forced the muscles in her face to relax into an expression that hid her grief and her anger.

“Yes, sweetie?” she said, turning around.

Sarah stood uncertainly in the doorway, rubbing her finger against her thumbnail as she often did when she was thinking.

“Why are you so mad at Micah?” she asked.

Rachel weighed that part of the truth she was willing to tell her daughter. She couldn’t tell Sarah that she had been falling in love with the man, that for the first time since her husband had died she’d felt alive and young and happy. Sarah wouldn’t understand that Micah’s friendship had been a sham. How could she? Rachel herself didn’t understand it.

Remembering the day she had hired Micah, she stared at her daughter. Never in Rachel’s wildest dreams had she imagined the carpenter with his competent hands and his dark, gentle eyes would turn out to be an undercover agent with the DEA, sent to investigate her as a possible drug dealer.

He hadn’t been her friend after all, which made her impulse to call him after the threats started all the more stupid.

The first demand for a half-million dollars had come via an e-mail, and she had deleted it, sure it was spam. The next demand had come in the mail, the plain white paper in an equally plain white envelope with no return address containing a single sentence. She’d thrown that away, too, sure that it was an awful prank, playing on all her new vulnerability. Then, a rock had been thrown through the living-room window one night, but the police had dismissed it as a random act of vandalism, probably by neighborhood kids.

Rachel had known it had something to do with the demand for money. She had been so certain of it that she had gone to see Angela in prison. Since she had been convicted of using their business to launder drug money, Rachel assumed the demands had something to do with Angela’s old activities. She had told Rachel she didn’t know a thing about a missing half-million and Rachel had left the prison that day, sure an overactive imagination had piled on top of her recent catastrophes and made her fear the very worst. She’d decided it all had to be some hideous prank, and that it was perfectly safe to let her children ride their bikes up and down the block without seeing a bogeyman behind every bush.

Rachel’s heart pounded as one realization after another sank into her. Angela had lied…again. The demand for money wasn’t some outrageous practical joke—it was real. Micah was back, which had to mean she was once again a suspect no matter what he said. His nicely put apology had to be merely for show. And somebody wanted money she knew nothing about.

“Mom?” Sarah asked, drawing Rachel’s attention away from her bleak thoughts.

“He lied to me,” she finally said. “A huge lie that I don’t think I can forgive.”

“Did he tell you he was sorry?” Sarah asked with the direct logic reserved for the very young.

Rachel nodded.

“Then, you’re supposed to forgive him,” her daughter said. “That’s what Mrs. Berrey says in Sunday school.”

It was also the advice of Rachel’s father, a retired minister.

If only forgiveness were that simple. Rachel crossed the room to her daughter, gave her a quick hug, and wondered how to answer. From the beginning she had taught her children to live by the lessons passed on to her by her father. At the core of her being she had believed, really believed, in everything she’d learned. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. What you ask for in faith shall be given to you. Until last spring, she had been so sure those beliefs were as much a part of her as her next breath.

She’d been wrong. She had played by the rules, had lived the kind of life expected of the daughter of a minister, and she had been happy with it. But as it turned out, faith had been as hollow as promises made by her lifelong friend, Angela. Faith hadn’t protected her or her family, and it hadn’t provided an iota of comfort.

“If a person says they’re sorry, you’re supposed to say that it’s okay,” Sarah said.

“That’s very good advice.” She brushed Sarah’s bangs off her forehead and pressed a kiss there. “But it may take me a while to accept his apology.”

“I told you that he’d come back,” Sarah said.

“Yes, you did.” And each time her daughter had made the prediction, Rachel had prayed she would never see the man again.

More than ever, she knew God had turned a deaf ear to her prayers, a knowledge she had confessed to her dad one bleak night. The deaf ear, he had told her, was hers, not God’s. They had argued, and she’d felt battered by the notion that she had abandoned God when it was clearly the other way around.

Over the last few months she had lost nearly everything that had been important to her. Her business. Her reputation. Her ability to provide a comfortable living for herself and her children. Prayer hadn’t helped, and the platitudes offered by well-meaning friends cut to the quick. As for God—that serene Presence she’d felt all her life was gone as though it had never been.

She kept that to herself, though.

The last time she had voiced that thought, her dad had told her that life came down to only two choices. Move toward your Source or away from it.

“The reason you don’t feel God,” he had told her, “is because you’ve locked your heart up tight, and you’ve moved away from Him.”

“And I came here to talk to my father, hoping he’d understand at least a little bit,” she had replied. “Instead, once again, I got the minister, who doesn’t understand at all.”

That had been a long-standing argument between them, but now it seemed insurmountable. All she wanted was for her dad to comfort her, because she was still just as scared as she’d sometimes been when she was a child. The ensuing rift felt as deep as Glenwood Canyon to Rachel. Now, they no longer spoke except as it related to Sarah and Andy. She wouldn’t deny him access to his grandchildren since the three of them were his only living family.

Dragging her thoughts back to the moment, she looked down at Sarah. “Want to help me finish making dinner?”

“Okay.”

Rachel forced another smile. “Okay.”

And for an hour, she could pretend that making dinner was the biggest challenge she faced.

TWO

The following morning, Rachel headed for work, hearing her father’s voice in her head. “Be bold as a lion, Rachel,” had been his advice right after Angela’s arraignment last spring. “Only the guilty have reason to hide in the dark.” Except, she felt guilty, even if only by association.

As her dad had said to her recently, the words didn’t offer comfort. Though she still heard his voice in her head, she no longer confused it with God. Though her loss of faith had hurt her father, she couldn’t pretend to believe.

These days she related most to Job’s trials. Like the biblical figure, Rachel was sure there could be no purpose to all she had endured over the last several years—the death of her husband when an aneurysm had burst in his abdomen, the betrayal by her best friend, the loss of her business. Unlike Job, she thought of fleeing, though she had no idea where she would go or whether she would be able to make things better for her children.

“As with Job,” her father had told her, “all this is a test of faith.”

“Is that the category for your visits to Angela? A test?”

He’d looked genuinely shocked. “Of course not. She’s in need of my care, of spiritual guidance.”

“Even though she betrayed me?”

“Especially because of that.” And, as he’d said a thousand times before, he had told her, “My ministry to another doesn’t lessen my love for you.”

“Your visits to her feel like another betrayal,” Rachel had confessed angrily.

He’d looked at her sternly, then, in the way that had always, always made her obey him. “You know better than that. Prayer and study will show you that that is as ridiculous as your assertion that God has abandoned you. I’m so disappointed in you.”

Like the Look, his “I’m so disappointed” speech usually guaranteed she’d strive to please him even as the phrase cut her to the quick. But for the first time in her life, she had retreated, feeling lost and confused and emotionally abandoned. Now she no longer called her father except to make arrangements for her children to visit him.

She felt as though the support, understanding and compassion she wanted for herself had been given away to others, especially Angela. And, her dad seemed to believe she was asking him to choose between his ministry and her. Yet she had simply wanted some of his boundless compassion for herself. Maybe the wanting made her selfish, but she hadn’t been able to banish it.

Seven blocks from her home, she drove past the brick-front building that had housed Victorian Rose Antiques. The green awning shaded the front window, which still posted the sign that the business had been closed by the DEA. Since their merchandise was tainted by the drug trade, it had been seized. The day Angela had been arraigned, the bank had called in the loan that had secured the purchase of all that merchandise.

And now it was all her problem.

Rachel’s daily refrain echoed in her head. What in the world had Angela been thinking? Even Angela herself hadn’t been able to answer. All Rachel knew was that Angela had plea-bargained the charges against her and provided the names that had led Agent Micah McLeod to the bigger fish he had really been after.

But was that bigger fish now after her?

Rachel’s hands grew clammy with the memory of the rock shattering the window and bringing her out of a restless sleep. Since she no longer had the e-mail or the letter with their simple, one-line demands—I want my $500,000—the police had no reason to think the rock was anything more than a prank. She had told them about the notes, immediately knowing how lame her story sounded.

“Call us,” the investigating officer had told her, “if another note comes.” A month had passed since then, and until Micah McLeod had showed up yesterday afternoon, she had hoped the police were right about the rock and notes being a prank.

The fear was back, and she hated it.

Think about today, she told herself. Today would be a good day because of the appointment she had after work. Jane Clark, one of her best—and wealthiest—clients from the antique shop, had a referral for Rachel. The whispered promise of returning to the work that she loved sang through her. Today, she reminded herself, was a new day.

After a half-hour on the road, Rachel parked her car behind one of the hotels that lined I-70. She went through the service entrance, clocked in and went to work for the first of her three jobs—this one as a maid.

She was so used to being invisible that she didn’t even look twice when a man came out of one of the rooms and approached her. His steps slowed, and she looked up.

Micah McLeod, his dark-brown eyes steady on her.

Her heart gave a familiar lurch—it always did when she saw him. She didn’t want to notice that he looked good, but he did. He wore jeans, a Western-style shirt, cowboy boots and a Stetson with the ease of a man who had grown up in the clothes rather than adopting them like some packaged country-music singer. She knew under his hat was a full head of hair, the dark strands liberally streaked with gray.

She forced herself to look away and wished he would walk right past her, somehow knowing that he wouldn’t. He came to a halt next to her cart, blocking her way back into the room she was cleaning.

“What in the world are you doing here?” he asked.

“Working.” She stuffed the linens she had just stripped off a bed into the hamper at the bottom of the cart.

“Working,” he repeated. “Why?”

A sharp retort was at the tip of her tongue when she noticed one of the hotel managers at the end of the hall. Jason Laird, a young man fresh out of college. His pretentious attitude grated more often than not, and he had made it clear maids were to be seen and not heard.

“For the usual reasons,” she said managing to keep annoyance out of her voice as Jason came closer. “Is there something you need?”

“Not anything you can give me here.” Micah turned around to see who she was watching.

“Good morning, sir,” Jason said to Micah. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he responded.

“Enjoy your stay.” Jason raised an eyebrow at her and cocked his head toward the room she was cleaning, his unspoken message as clear as a command. Get back to work.

Rachel pulled clean sheets from her cart while Micah stood there watching her as though she were some exotic species he was studying in a zoo. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she brushed past him.

He followed her into the room. “If you’re going to work in a hotel, why not turn your house into a bed-and-breakfast like you once talked about?”

The suggestion frayed her temper. How could he know so much about her hopes and dreams when she had clearly known nothing about his? Once he had told her about a ranch in Wyoming, his description of a home so vivid she had imagined living there. Like everything else last spring, that had most likely been a lie, too.

She snapped a clean sheet open and it floated across the mattress. Efficiently, she tucked the sheet around the mattress and did her best to ignore Micah’s large presence.

He simply stood there, waiting with the patience that was so much a part of him. She finished making the bed and did a visual scan of the room to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. All that was left was to vacuum.

When she retrieved the vacuum cleaner from the hallway, he blocked her way back into the room.

“Rachel, talk to me. Why are you working here?”

“Because I need the job.”

He moved to the side so she could enter the room, then followed her. “This is the best job you could get?”

Mentally counting to ten, she plugged in the vacuum. “There’s nothing wrong with this job.”

“Okay, maybe that was out of line, but you’re the most capable person I know. I’ve never known anyone smarter than you. You could have gone back into banking or—”

“So why would I stoop so low?” she interrupted, turning around to face him, last spring’s events so much at the surface she trembled. “Have you ever stuck around after your investigations are concluded to see what happened next? Or is it just on to your next assignment with your carefully taken notes so when you get called back to testify you remember the…how did you put it? Oh, yes…the pertinent facts of the case.”

He took off his hat and thumbed the brim before looking at her. “I remember everything, Rachel. And I regret—”

“Regret doesn’t feed my children,” she said, the last tenuous thread on her temper shredding. “And as for going back to work at the bank, nobody would hire me to be a teller, much less a financial analyst—not after learning my business partner had been convicted of money-laundering.”

“That was Angela London, not you.”

“And weren’t you the man who once told me that the quality of a man’s character can be measured in the friends he has?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No doubt.” She looked up then, and met his gaze. “Go away, Micah McLeod. If I never see you or talk to you or—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed the tears burning her eyes to go away.

“What’s going on?” Jason Laird stood in the doorway.

“Nothing,” Micah said. “I’m leaving.” He slipped past Jason who watched with his arms folded over his chest.

“You come with me,” Jason said to Rachel. “Right now.”

She knew what was coming, but like so much else over the last few months, being chewed out for talking to a guest was one more thing to be endured.

“Your services are no longer needed,” Jason said as soon as he sat himself down behind his desk.

“You’re firing me?” She had expected to be bawled out—not dismissed.

“You know the rules about contact with guests,” he said, “and your behavior toward our guest just now is completely unacceptable.”

Locking her jaw so her chin wouldn’t tremble, Rachel stared at a point beyond Jason’s shoulder while he finished dressing her down. Fifteen minutes later she clocked out and left the motel. It wasn’t yet 9:00 a.m.

She got in her car and sat there a moment, feeling her debts weighing her down and the empty light on the fuel gauge taunting her with this latest failure.

She needed the money from this job, meager as it was. She couldn’t go home. Be bold as a lion, she told herself, gazing down the road where another dozen motels lined the street. She hated the idea of another maid’s job, but it was routine work that fit with the schedule for her other jobs. Bold as a lion would be to march down to the bank and apply for her old job in the trust department.

But today she was only bold as a hungry kitten so, irritated with her own lack of temerity, she headed for a motel a block away where she filled out her first application. Once more the anonymous demand for the half-million dollars flitted through her head, this time making her laugh silently. Like she would be looking for a sustenance job if she had access to that kind of money.

Even with the promise of better money that would likely come as a result of her appointment with Jane Clark, any income would be weeks to months in coming. Which made today simply another one to survive.

By the time she filled out her ninth application, any humor she had seen in her situation had long since vanished.

“Hello, Tommy,” Micah said to Angela London’s old boyfriend, surprised he had found the man the first place he looked—an upscale pool hall a couple of blocks from the historic Colorado Hotel. The clientele this early in the day was thin—Tommy Manderoll was playing alone. Waiting to score a sale, Micah was sure, since he was the one who had introduced Angela to drugs and the promise of easy money.

The man was nice-looking enough that Micah understood why Angela had gotten involved with him. But he was a user through and through.

Tommy didn’t look up until he had taken his shot, neatly pocketing a ball in the side hole. His eyes narrowed when he recognized Micah. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Micah shrugged and held out his hands in a placating gesture. “I haven’t asked you anything.”

“Yet.” Tommy moved around the table, chalking up the end of his cue as he went. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” He hit another ball, this time missing. Scowling at Micah, he accused, “You’ve been following me.”

“I just got to town,” Micah said, leaning against an adjoining table and crossing his ankles as though he had the whole day. “You have some reason to think you’re being followed?”

Tommy snorted. “Like I’d tell you.”

“I dunno,” Micah said crossing his arms. “A man paranoid enough to think I’m following him probably has something to hide.”

“I’m an open book. Ask my probation officer.”

One thing the man had proven last spring was his knack for self-preservation. He’d provided the DA the final pieces of evidence that had convicted Angela, all for the price of his freedom, of course. The man had copped a misdemeanor plea and had been given probation and community service. And Micah knew as sure as he was standing here that Tommy was still dealing and equally certain that if he searched the man or his car, he wouldn’t find anything but chewing gum in his pockets or his car.

“Have you seen Simon Graden lately?” Graden had been the big fish that got away last spring without so much as an indictment touching him. Though Graden hadn’t been charged, it was only a matter of time, since too many paths of money trickled toward his door. Even if Angela hadn’t told him that Graden had threatened her a week before she was sentenced, he would have been Micah’s first suspect.

Tommy took longer lining up the next shot, and once more he missed pocketing the ball. “We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

Micah knew that to be true. Upscale as this place might be, it lacked the five-star amenities that Graden would expect.

The man was quite wealthy—to most people he was merely one of Aspen’s millionaires. Unlike most others involved with the drug trade at his level, the man had no discernable organization. In spite of all the smoke and mirrors he hid behind, Micah was sure they would soon get him.

Since Tommy had turned on Angela for a price, he figured the man was capable of doing the same to Rachel. “There’s a rumor he’s looking for a missing half-million dollars. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

“Nope,” Tommy instantly said without looking at Micah.

Micah didn’t believe him. “And you wouldn’t know why he thinks Rachel Neesham has it.”

Tommy jerked his head up, his gaze colliding with Micah’s. So that had surprised him. Interesting.

“Miss Goody Goody?” Tommy shook his head. “That boggles the mind.”

“I don’t hear you denying anything.”

Once more Tommy shook his head. “The only rumor I’ve heard about Rachel Neesham is she’s in debt up to her eyeballs and that she’ll probably lose her house.”

That news kicked Micah hard. He supposed he should have seen that coming, but he hadn’t. Just like he hadn’t imagined her working as a maid in a hotel.

“What about Two-bits Perez?” Micah asked. Two-bits had been a paid snitch and a good “friend” of Tommy’s.

Tommy took his time lining up another shot, his hand steady as a rock when he hit it. “Haven’t seen him since last spring.”

“Even though you’re buddies.”

Tommy shook his head. “He’s no friend of mine.”

If the friendship had dissolved, it could be for a lot of reasons, Micah thought. Tommy could have found out Two-bits was a snitch. Or Tommy could have stopped supplying Two-bits with his drugs. Since Micah had a few questions to ask the man, he hoped the informant was healthy and easy to track down.

Micah pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Tommy. “If you hear anything I might want to know, you’ll call me?”

“What’s it gonna pay?”

Micah gave the young criminal a threatening smile. “The opportunity to keep living as a free man.”

THREE

“I was about to give up on you,” Jane Clark said after Rachel rang her doorbell a few minutes after six that same evening. “I tried calling your old cell phone number, but it’s been disconnected.”

“Yes, it has,” Rachel said. The cell phone, no matter how convenient, was one of the luxuries she could no longer afford.

Jane’s house was on the outskirts of Aspen, an hour’s drive from the job she had finally secured on the thirteenth application she had filled out. She’d had just enough time to change out of her new maid’s uniform and into a simple skirt and sweater before embarking on the drive.

“No matter,” Jane said, smiling over her shoulder. “You’re here now.”

Rachel followed Jane through a huge foyer and down a ten-foot-wide hallway that led toward the library. Last year, Rachel had been here numerous times while antique walnut paneling from a chateau in Reims was being installed in the library.

Jane had a love for the finest in European antiques, from paintings and statuary to exquisite stained glass and architectural elements. Then Rachel hadn’t minded the long drive because having clients in Aspen meant Victorian Rose Antiques had made it to the big leagues.

Jane ushered Rachel into the library. The room looked even more stunning than she remembered. The wood gleamed and hidden lights expertly showcased Jane’s collection of Italian urns. This room represented nineteenth-century carpentry at its finest. Caught up in the details, Rachel didn’t notice the man standing near the French limestone mantel until he cleared his throat.

“This is my friend, Simon Graden,” Jane said, taking Rachel by the elbow and drawing her forward. “When he told me that he was looking for architectural pieces for his home, I told him you were the person he needed to talk to.”

The name was familiar, though Rachel couldn’t place from where.

“Your reputation precedes you,” he said, moving toward her and holding out his hand.

Something in his tone was off somehow, making her shiver.

After the perfunctory handshake, Rachel asked, “What are you looking for, Mr. Graden?”

“It’s true then. You still are in business?”

“I no longer have a store, if that’s what you’re asking.” If the man had been anywhere in Colorado over the summer, he would have read about the scandal-related demise of Victorian Rose Antiques in just about any newspaper.

“But you can get me merchandise?”

“Only the best to be had,” Jane assured him, while Rachel said, “The purchase of antiques requires patience if you’re looking for a particular piece.”

Jane chuckled and moved toward the door. “Something I know from firsthand experience.” She motioned toward Rachel. “You’ll join us for dinner, of course.”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve—”

“Got those darling children to get home to.”

“Yes.”

“Then I need to tell the cook we’ll only be two for dinner. Sure you won’t change your mind?” When Rachel shook her head, Jane said, “Simon, I’ve made the introduction, and I’m leaving you in very good hands. Rachel, help yourself to a beverage.” Another wave, this time toward the built-in bar.

Rachel watched the door close behind Jane, not at all sure what to make of Simon Graden. He acted as though he was fifty, but, despite his gray hair, he looked young enough to be in his early thirties. Wanting to give her hands something to do besides flutter nervously, she opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re looking for,” she said, twisting off the cap and taking a sip.

“A half-million dollars worth of merchandise,” he said evenly.

That again. Her first temptation was to say something flip, like, There’s a lot of that going around. Her second, more concrete thought was that she must not have heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graden. I don’t think I quite understand. Are you planning to go into the antiques business?”

“I have a business.” He smiled, almost gently, and she caught a glint of steel in his blue eyes. “And it’s missing a half-million dollars.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Surely he wasn’t talking about the anonymous e-mail and the letter demanding money. She took another a sip of water, then shivered as the cold liquid trickled down her throat. His voice startled her when he broke the silence.

“Does that sum mean something to you?”

This was no dark alley where danger lurked, but she was at once as terrified as she might have been facing an armed mugger.

“Business transactions should be simple, don’t you think?” He shook his head, crossed the room back to the mantel where he had left a goblet, which he picked up, then smoothed a finger across one of the facets of cut glass. “An exchange of money for goods or services rendered.”

Rachel swiped a sweaty palm across her forehead, wishing her brain would engage sometime soon and that the panic in her chest would subside. This was bizarre beyond words. This meeting was supposed to lead to good things, to renew a career she had loved. It wasn’t supposed to be one more fear to pile on all the others.

“Reliable resources tell me that you have—or can get—what I want.”

“Antiques?”

He clucked his tongue. “Rachel, I’ve been told you’re a smart woman.” He looked steadily at her, those blue eyes cold and clear, “I’ve been told you already have the…” He paused. “…The item I want.”

Rachel felt completely disconnected, hating how much this all made perfect sense and how nothing about this situation was the least bit sensible. How would Jane know someone like this man—someone shaking her down like the third-grade bully who had regularly taken her lunch money.

Only much more dangerous.

“You don’t have to look so stunned, Rachel. You understand my requirements, don’t you?”

The simple answer was yes. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, somehow sure that doing so would mean admitting that she had a half-million dollars that she’d never even seen.

The man had said something about goods or services. “What services?”

“A refund,” he corrected. “That should have been returned months ago.”

“A refund?” Muzzy from the conflicting thoughts going through her head, she looked toward the door where Jane had disappeared.

He smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”

Rachel lifted a hand toward the door. “Jane thinks you want my expertise in antiques.”

“It’s best if it remains that way, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“But—”

“Now, then. When can I expect delivery?”

“I don’t have your—”

“Then I suggest you talk to whomever does.”

The library door clicked open on the heels of a quick knock, and Jane breezed into the room. “Cook says dinner is ready whenever we are. Is Rachel going to be able to help you?”

“I’m sure of it,” he said with a smile, handing Rachel a picture that had somehow magically appeared in his hand. “She was just telling me about her family.”

But she hadn’t been. Numb and feeling completely out of her depth, Rachel glanced down at the photograph. It was of her father, Sarah and Andy at the park a couple of blocks from her house. Andy had the Blue’s Clues Band-Aid on his knee from where he had skinned it.

The day before.

This picture had been taken yesterday.

“You have a lovely family,” he said. “I can see why you’re so proud of little…Sarah, did you say her name was? And Andy. He looks like a wild one.”

This man knows the names of my children. He has a picture of my children. She stared at the photograph, looking for all the world like one she might have taken. Only she hadn’t.

“He’s four now, isn’t he, Rachel?” Jane asked.

“Yes.” Rachel looked up, found Simon Graden standing close enough to touch, a benevolent-looking smile on his face. Then she looked into his eyes and found them to be as cold as the fear slithering through her belly.

“There’s nothing more compelling than family, is there? So nice your father can spend time with your children in the park. And he’s a retired minister, you say?”

Once more, Rachel nodded, her neck and lips stiff. This man was threatening her. And if he could get close enough to take pictures, he could get close enough to do worse.

He extended his hand again, this time with a business card between his fingers. “You’ll call me as soon as you can arrange delivery?”

Rachel automatically took the card, a slight nod to her head, the gesture rooted in the fear swamping her.

“Oh, this is great,” Jane said, crossing the room, a wide smile lighting her face, and giving Rachel a squeeze. “I’ve been so worried about you with that whole nasty business with Angela. And I just knew that you’d be able to get back in business again if you had a little help. It’s no wonder you’re looking a little dazed. Sometimes good news is almost harder to take in than bad news.”

Rachel glanced from Simon to Jane, both of them smiling as though things were wonderful and she wasn’t teetering at the edge of an emotional cliff. She swallowed the bile that burned the back of her throat.

“You should thank Jane,” Simon said. “Friends who will go out of their way for you are rare.”

“Yes,” Rachel agreed faintly, looking around for her purse. All she wanted to do was leave. Run. Gather up her children and her father and simply disappear.

“After you’ve had a chance to research that one item you were going to check on when you get home,” Simon said, “you can call me.”

Rachel looked from him to Jane, who smiled.

“Now that I know you’re back in business again, we’ll talk. I’m remodeling the patio and I was thinking a big bronze urn would be just thing. You know, like that Roman one you showed me last year.” As if realizing she was about to go off on a tangent, Jane laughed. “I’ll save that for next time. It’s so nice to see you again, Rachel.”

“You, too.” Good manners made Rachel respond as she went out the door. Somehow she kept from running down the wide marble hallway to the front entry. Outside, the setting sun was lodged between two peaks, streaming golden rays across the valley. She stared unseeingly at the beauty for a moment, her mind utterly blank, then ran down the wide flagstone steps toward her car.

He wanted her to call him. But she didn’t have his money, didn’t have any idea how to convince him that she didn’t.

In her car, she jammed her key into the ignition and noticed her hand shaking. As the engine revved, she looked at the crumpled picture of her family. Tears burning her eyes, she smoothed out the glossy paper, her fingers lingering over the images of her son and her daughter.

He knew how to find them. And he had threatened her, all the while making it sound as though she was agreeing to find some rare antique for him. What could she even say to anyone else? He’d made it look as though the photograph was hers. He hadn’t said, “I’ll hurt your children.”

He didn’t have to.

She put the car into gear and headed down the picturesque road that led back to the highway and her hour-long drive home. She glanced at the fuel gauge, praying she had enough gas to make it home, while sweat coated her palms.

She’d hoped for a reprieve. Instead, this was one more disaster, and this one scared her like nothing else. She had no idea what to do.

Call Micah McLeod.

That would happen right after manna fell from heaven.

Still, the thought haunted her throughout the ride and didn’t go away after she picked up Sarah and Andy from her next-door neighbor’s house or after she put them to bed. It stayed right with her as she went through her evening chores, making and discarding a dozen different plans. Eventually, she found herself staring blindly out the kitchen window, her reflection taunting her.

A sound outside in the darkness startled her, and she stepped to the side and peered into the night. One more thing she was afraid of, one more fear to conquer since that rock had been thrown through her front door.

A rap on the back door a few feet away made her jump.

“Rachel, it’s Micah.”

She recognized his voice, and slowly moved to the door, unwilling to send him away, unwilling to invite him in.

“Rachel?”

She suspected that he saw her, or at least her shadow, but still she hesitated. How could she open the door to this man who had told her one lie after another, all in the name of doing his job?

“Rachel, please. Let’s just talk.”

She switched on the outside light, and there he stood on the back porch, looking tall and dependable, like a man she could lean on if she had a problem.

In her dreams.

“I’m sorry you got fired this morning.”

“Nothing travels faster than bad news.” The fact she had almost forgotten about that surprised her. Of course, that was no longer the worst thing that had happened today.

He stared at her through the screen door, holding his Stetson in front of him like a shield. With a sigh, she unlatched the door. “Come in.”

He slipped past her, and though she wanted to be angry at him for his past actions, at the moment, all that was insignificant. Annoyed with the feelings feathering through her chest—like relief…hope—she watched him, wishing this man had truly been the friend he had once seemed to be. But she knew better than anyone how futile wishes were.

She went to the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of iced tea. “Tell me why you really came back.”

He looked at her sharply, then away, as though deciding what he should say.

“You always do that.” With more force than necessary, she clunked several ice cubes into one glass, then another. “Thinking. Weighing. It’s like you’re trying to remember which lie you told and how to tell another without getting caught.”

“I suppose that’s how it must seem to you,” he said, setting his hat on the table.

“Lies by omission,” she said, “are still lies. No evasions this time, Micah. Why did you come back? And don’t tell me it was to apologize. The time for that was months ago.” Despite her best intentions to be unemotional, her voice caught when she added, “I might have forgiven you then.”

“I am sorry.” He took a step toward her, then abruptly stopped when she held up her palm. “And you do deserve the truth, all of it.” He raked an impatient hand through his hair. “It’s just that the truth is never quite as black and white as it should be.”

“You mean like Angela going to prison and her drug-dealing boyfriend getting off scot-free.”

Micah nodded. “And like you getting caught in someone else’s mess. I’m sorry for that, Rachel. All of it.” This time, he tucked his fingers into the top of his jeans pockets and faced her square on, his chin lifted, as though he was facing a firing squad. “Most of all, I’m sorry for lying to you.”

She held a glass filled with tea. “And that’s why you came back.”

His gaze at once skittered away from hers.

That simple thing ignited her temper all over again, and she slammed her glass onto the counter. “Get out.” She marched across the kitchen and picked up his hat, the felt absurdly soft against her fingertips. “Take your hat and go. I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to be glad you came here tonight. What in the world was I thinking? I’m not going to put up with you pondering every single thing you say because whatever comes out of your mouth will be a lie. And if its not a lie, it certainly won’t be the truth.”

For an instant, she caught his gaze, then looked away.

The months of frustration continued to pour out of her. “It’s been the worst day ever. Somebody threatened me and my kids tonight, and then there you are at my door and I think, great. The hero in the white hat has finally shown up.” She thrust his taupe-colored hat into his hands. “Well, wrong again.”

Hating her burst of temper, she held open the back door and motioned for him to leave. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, though, planted as solidly as the old pine tree in the middle of the yard.

“What do you mean, someone threatened you tonight?” he asked, the question cutting to the heart of the fear swamping her.

“It doesn’t concern you.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Does this have anything to do with the money?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Angela called me after you came to visit her,” Micah said. “She was worried about you.” He paused, and when Rachel’s jaw tightened, he said, “Because she thinks she knows who might be behind the threat.”

“She told me she didn’t know.” Rachel dropped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She lied again.”

“To protect you.”

“And how does not telling me protect me?” she asked, her temper again at the surface. “More importantly, how does it protect my kids?” She plunged a hand into the pocket of her long swirling skirt, and withdrew a crumpled photograph that she held out to him. “My family is everything to me.”

“I know that.” Micah looked from her to the images on the picture. Her father. Andy. Sarah. All of them unaware they had been photographed. “You didn’t take this picture?”

She shook her head.

“Who gave this to you?” His intuition told him that this was a huge breakthrough, and as a DEA agent he felt the thrill of the chase. But as the man who loved Rachel, he wanted her to deny it all the same, hating the idea of Rachel in danger, hating that she might have come face-to-face with the ultimate villain.

“First tell me what you know.”

He took a step toward her. “This isn’t a game, Rachel.”

Her mouth tightened, and for a moment he didn’t think she would tell him

She held his eyes in a challenge. “Simon Graden.”

He wished she hadn’t just confirmed his suspicion—and his worst fear.

FOUR

Micah didn’t even pretend not to know who Rachel meant. The man—the kingpin—he had been after last spring. The one who was still in business while Rachel had paid too big a price for being a suspect.

Her eyes were on him, direct and clear and demanding the truth. Facts, he could give her. The truth was a lot harder. “Tell me what happened.”

“He threatened me.” She shook the crumpled photograph. “Worse, he threatened my children. And the scariest part is, it was all so polite. Courteous. He could repeat every single thing he said to me from a pulpit and the meaning would seem innocent to anyone else.”

She shivered again, this time reaching for the sweater she’d left hanging over the back of a chair. Nerves, Micah knew, because his own were stretched thin. At the moment, he didn’t care about the investigation or the instructions from his superior that Graden be taken down. Micah wanted Rachel and her children far from this situation before anything could happen.

“Start from the beginning, Rachel.” Inwardly, he winced, knowing he sounded just like a detached investigator.

And she did, telling him about the call from Jane Clark and how excited she’d been, because for the first time since last spring, she hoped there might be a way out of the pit she was in. How frightened she had been at Graden’s benign-sounding threat. How recently this picture had been taken, and how close to home. How she wanted simply to disappear along with her children and her father.

“That part is a good idea,” Micah said, gesturing toward the phone. “Pick up the phone, call your dad, and I can have you on the road before midnight.”

Her expression crumpled even more as her glance strayed to the clock on the stove where the time read that it was a few minutes before ten.

“Rachel?” He wanted to gather her close and stand between her and whatever was hurting her so. He didn’t know how things could get worse, but he was certain they were about to.

She shook her head. “It’s too late.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. For her to be reluctant to call her dad, no matter how late, didn’t make a bit of sense.

She lifted her chin and looked at him, sighing. “The truth is that my dad and I aren’t talking right now.”

Her completely neutral tone didn’t jibe with the tension radiating from her body as she once again wrapped her arms around herself. Micah was dead sure she had no idea how much she revealed with that protective gesture.

“Are you going to tell me why, or do we get to play twenty questions about this, too?” he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table. He took a sip of tea from his glass.

She turned away from him, but not before he saw a private, hopeful smile dissolve into near tears. A memory manacled him to the chair like a prisoner, and he wondered if she had been grabbed by the same one.

He had been working for her for only a few days when the handyman, Smitty Jones, had dropped a heavy armoire on Micah’s foot. Rachel hadn’t believed his assertion that his injury was nothing more than a bruise and she’d demanded he show her. After he’d put his boot back on, she somehow ended up inviting him to dinner. He wondered now if the invitation had surprised her as much as it had him.

He’d come, sure that he’d find the missing pieces of evidence he needed to prove that she was involved in selling drugs and laundering money. Instead, he’d practiced T-ball with Sarah and built a Lego fort with Andy. Instead, he had cooked dinner side by side with Rachel because it was an excuse to get close to her. And he’d forgotten about the investigation for a few cherished hours. He’d nearly kissed her that night, and as he watched her now, he regretted that he hadn’t, regretted that he’d never have another chance.

He’d been welcome then, trusted then.

Abruptly, he folded his legs under the chair, the present coming back into focus.

“You might as well tell me what’s going on between you and your dad,” Micah said. “You know I’m going to find out anyway.”

Her eyes strayed to the calendar, held to the refrigerator by a couple of magnets. “It wouldn’t do any good to call him tonight, anyway. He won’t be there.”

“Because,” Micah prompted.

Her lips tightened as she glanced at him, then looked away, pacing around the spacious kitchen as she wiped an invisible speck on the counter and moved a canister into position. “Because he goes to see Angela every other week, and he left this morning. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

“Is that the reason you two aren’t talking?” Micah could imagine how that would rankle—having her father remain loyal to the woman who had betrayed her.

“One of several.” She gave her attention to another microscopic speck on the counter.

Micah glanced at the photograph she had left on the table. “But your kids see him.”

“Of course. He’s family.”

“And this is a life-or-death situation, potentially.”

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

Micah stood. “You wanted the truth, Rachel. So whatever your issues with your dad—”

“I’ll handle it,” she said, her tone flat.

“Okay.” Since she was already annoyed, he decided to broach the next sensitive subject. “Until I can get your family to safety, you need to have someone here with you.”

She shook her head.

“This isn’t like last spring,” he said, “when you were suspected of being one of the bad guys. Your safety is paramount. Think about it. Graden keeps raising the stakes, by your own admission. First an e-mail, then an anonymous letter, then a rock through your window and now today’s threat. Keeping you, Sarah and Andy out of harm’s way is just as important to me as—”

“Getting your man?”

The accusation carrying the sting of truth, Micah came to a stop in front of her. “Seeing you reconciled with your dad,” he corrected, taking the washcloth from her and tossing it in the sink. “Seeing you have your dreams for this house come true.”

Her lovely eyes clouded even more, making Micah feel like a heel for having brought that up, remembering how last spring she had begun the application process to create a bed-and-breakfast out of this stately old house.

“Another pipe dream,” she whispered.

“If keeping the house is an issue,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I’ll give you the money.” He hadn’t intended to say that.

“Give?” She stepped away from him. “You or the DEA?”

“This has nothing to do with the investigation.”

“That’s taking guilt a little far, don’t you think? Even for you?”

“Lend, then.” Guilt. She had that nailed. Guilt or not, he’d gladly give her the money. If it chased the shadows from her eyes, it would be worth every cent. “Until you’re back on your feet.”

“No.”

She looked at him then, and once more he found himself drawing comparisons to last spring. Then, her eyes had been filled with delight and contentment. She’d loved her work, her children and the life she had created for herself after her husband had died. Micah didn’t like knowing he was responsible for taking that away. She swallowed, and his gaze was drawn to her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck.

“If you’re back here to pull the rug from under me like you did last spring…” Her gaze searched his while she paused, then she continued in a whisper. “…That would just about kill me.”

Needing to touch her and hoping she wouldn’t slap his hand away, he brushed a tendril of her fine hair away from her face. “I’m here to help you, Rachel. I promise.”

“But you still have to get your man.”

“Yes, I do.” His hand trembled when he let it drop to his side. Relief she had allowed that much? Fear that he wanted more? He didn’t know.

Rachel held his gaze for a long silent moment, grateful that he hadn’t looked away as he so often did. The depths of his dark-brown eyes seemed kind and compassionate to her, but then, they had last spring, too. She wanted to trust what he was saying. Oh, how she wanted it. But, with the memories came that ever-present fear.

Suddenly aware of how close he was and too tempted to lean into his comforting strength, she stepped away. “I’ll talk to my dad when he gets home.”

“Good.”

“I’m not that keen about taking the kids out of school,” she said. “They’ll fall behind.”

“Are you saying that you’ll agree to go into a safe house?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking as though he belonged here. She remembered thinking so last spring. She’d been a fool then. She could only hope she wasn’t now.

As the memory of Graden’s threats surfaced again, she closed her eyes. Micah hadn’t questioned any of that being real, and that was something, at least. It was the first time anyone had taken her seriously in a while. Finally she nodded.

“Good,” he said, once more. “Now about having someone keep an eye on you—”

“We’ll cross that bridge tomorrow. Since all this happened just this afternoon, Mr. Graden can’t expect that I’ll deliver tonight.”

“If I were him,” Micah said, “I’d be expecting you to run.”

“Where would I go?”

“People who run don’t need a place to go—merely something to run from.”

As unsettling as the suggestion was—especially since she’d had that very thought—Rachel shook her head. “He’s not going to do anything tonight.”

“I’ll stay.” He waited until she looked at him. “Keep a watch out. Allow you to get a full night’s sleep and maybe erase those circles under your eyes.”

“No.” She had circles under her eyes? Disconcerted that she wanted to look good for him, she looked away from his penetrating gaze. With effort, she brought her thoughts back to the topic at hand. Him staying and watching over her and her children. She decided that she had lost her mind since she was far too tempted to take him up on his offer. Too tempted to trust him. Under the circumstances, that was stupid. “We’ll be fine tonight.”

Micah couldn’t blame her for refusing the offer. She had no reason to trust him. He picked up his glass and took a healthy swallow of tea while she watched him, the silence between them just as tense as their conversation had been.

“What’s your schedule tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ve got to be at the motel before six-thirty,” she said with a slight shake to her head. “I’d forgotten all about that. Tomorrow is my first full day on the new job. Six-thirty to two-thirty.”

“And the kids, what do they do until school starts?”

“Dolly Jackson comes over. She’s a sixteen-year-old who lives two doors down. She walks them to school and my dad picks up Andy when kindergarten lets out at noon, except for the days when he’s gone.”

“Like tomorrow?”

“Then Andy goes home with Jeremy Simpson and I pick him up after I get off work.” Rachel was back to her nervous cleaning while she talked. “I guess I should talk to their teachers—let them know the kids will be out of school for a while.”

Micah was glad to hear the kids were still friendly with some of their classmates, since it was clear that Rachel had been shunned by many of her supposed friends.

“I’d rather you didn’t. That would immediately telegraph to Graden that you’re not going to cooperate. Tomorrow, you need to go through your day just as normal, and when the kids get out of school tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have things set up.” When she didn’t look at him or respond, he tacked on, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed with a quick nod.

Micah drained the last of the tea, put on his hat, and headed for the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He went outside and paused at the bottom of the stoop, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the backyard, waiting for her to close and lock the door behind him.

“Micah,” she called from inside the screen.

“Yeah.” He turned around and drank in the sight of her framed by the light above the kitchen table.

“This isn’t going to get all fouled up like the last investigation, is it?”

Making sure that he was looking straight at her, he said, “I’ll do my best to make sure that it doesn’t.” He took off his hat and cleared his throat. “I hate what happened to you, Rachel, and if I had it to do over—I’d do a lot of things different this time.”

She stared at him a long moment before murmuring goodnight and closing the door. He stood motionless until he heard the click of the lock, then headed around the side yard. Deep within the shadow of the big blue spruce between her house and her neighbor’s, he came to a stop, studying the street as far as he could see in both directions. Only a couple of parked cars on the block and they looked empty. No telltale movements or shifting of shadows that indicated Rachel’s house was being watched.

Only then did he head for his car where he began making the calls that would ensure Rachel’s safety.

The next day was the longest ever for Rachel. Her imagination galloped in a dozen different directions. Though Micah had been at the house when she left for work, assuring her that he’d keep an eye on the kids as they went through their day, she worried. And she kept worrying until she picked Andy up from the Simpsons’ house, following the normal routine. Despite Micah’s promise to watch over them, if he was anywhere around, she didn’t see him.

“Jeremy got a basketball hoop for his birthday,” Andy told her the minute his seatbelt was fastened, and they were on their way. “I think we need one. We could put it on the side of the driveway next to the garage.”

“Need, huh?” They’d had the talk several times about the difference between need and want. She had promised both of the kids they would have everything they needed, but for a while they might not have the things they wanted.

When she looked at him through the rearview mirror, he grinned. “It’s real cool, Mom, but I guess I don’t need one.”

“Tell me about your day at school.”

“We did all kinds of stuff and then Cindy Mac-Allister threw up and there was a great big mess and, boy, did it stink. Mrs. Wells said that’s ’cause of bacteria. Did you know that, Mom?”

“I’d heard that.” Rachel turned onto their street, her breath catching when she realized the car that had been behind them turned onto the quiet street also. “What else did you do?”

“I don’t remember.”

His not remembering was the usual, and Rachel knew that his day would come out in bits and pieces between now and bedtime.

The Jeep Wrangler that Micah had been driving when he came to the door this morning was in front of her house, the sight familiar, somehow, and reassuring. As always, the doubts immediately surfaced, despite Micah’s looking her straight in the eye, everything about him proclaiming he’d told her the truth.

She’d thought about their conversation for a good part of her sleepless night, eventually deciding he had no reason to lie this time, no reason to be here except for the one he’d told her. Maybe her dad was right. Maybe the first step was to begin trusting again.

She turned into the driveway and pressed the garage opener. Through the open side door, Rachel saw a woman about her own age sitting at the picnic table talking on a cell phone. When she saw Rachel, she waved and stood up.

“Mom, there’s a stranger in our backyard,” Andy announced.

“Yes, there is.” Rachel unfastened her seatbelt and looked back at her son. “Why don’t you sit here for a minute while I find out what she wants.”

“Aw, Mom. I need to get a snack.” He fumbled at his own seatbelt. “Need, Mom. I’m starving.”

“Just give me a minute.” By the time she got out of the car, the woman was halfway across the lawn, a welcoming smile on her face. Not smiling back was impossible.

“I’m Erin Asher,” she said, pulling a wallet from her pocket and extending it to Rachel. “Micah sent me ahead. In fact, he’s right behind you.”

Rachel glanced at the official-looking badge and identification for the DEA before looking toward the street. Micah was getting out of the car that had followed her with another man. The reinforcements Micah had promised had arrived.

For once he’d told her the truth.

The constriction in her chest eased, and she said to Andy, “You can get out of the car now.”

“I bet you didn’t expect to find a stranger in your backyard when you came home.” Erin shook hands with Andy after he came around the car. “You must be Andy.”

“Andrew Chester Neesham,” he said, shaking her hand briskly, “I’m named after my grandfathers.”

“Are you? Now that’s something.”

Just then, Andy caught sight of Micah around the side of the house, and a huge smile lit his face as he ran toward the man. “Sarah said you came back.” He launched himself into Micah’s arms. “I’m really glad to see you.”

“Me, too, buddy.” Micah met Rachel’s gaze over the top of her son’s head before looking back at the boy. “You’ve grown a foot since I last saw you.”

“Are you gonna stay this time, or run away like a rat?” Andy asked.

Rachel felt her color rise since those had been her exact words in describing Micah.

“I plan to stay,” he said, his voice gravelly.

Since his head was bent toward her son, his hat hiding his face, Rachel couldn’t see Micah’s expression.

Andy evidently took that for a promise because he said, “Good.” Wiggling out of Micah’s arms, he headed back toward Rachel. “I want a peanut butter sandwich for my snack. Okay, Mom?”

“Carrots, too?”

He grinned, pressing his tongue against one of his loose front teeth. “Maybe if I bite hard, my tooth will come out sooner.”

“Maybe,” she agreed handing him the keys to the back door, her attention caught by the vivid blue eyes of the man with Micah. Vivid and cold.

“This is Special Agent Flannery Kelmen,” Micah said.

The man stepped forward, his handshake as brisk and no-nonsense as the expression in his eyes. “I met you briefly last spring.”

“I remember.” Everything then about the man’s demeanor had been intimidating. It wasn’t a lot better now.

He glanced back at the street, then nodded toward the back door that Andy was unlocking. “Maybe we could go inside?”

Though voiced as a question, Rachel was positive it was a command. “Of course.”

The next few minutes were taken up with making Andy’s snack and offering tea that they didn’t want to the others. Micah was mostly quiet, his eyes never quite meeting hers, which set Rachel’s nerves on edge. After Erin professed wanting to see a Lego tower that Andy was building, the two of them disappeared upstairs.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Since you all are here, it looks like things are in place for the safe house. What’s next?”

Kelmen met her gaze straight-on. “The primary focus of this mission is to finish the job, and you’re the key to tying together all the evidence we’ve gathered against Simon Graden.”

He paused while Rachel looked from him to Micah, whose dark eyes steadily locked with hers, an expression there she couldn’t define. Then he looked away, and the knots in her stomach began churning.

She replayed what Kelmen had just said. “There’s no safe house, is there?” Her lips felt numb.

Micah shook his head, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes once again not quite meeting hers.

“You’re going to help us take down Simon Graden,” Kelmen said, drawing her attention, his eyes on hers, his tone matter-of-fact. “Given the business he’s in, the half-million dollars he wants from you is small potatoes, but something about it is personal and has made him reckless. So we’re going to take advantage of that.”

“We?” Rachel began to tremble, and a roar echoed in her ears as she looked back at Micah. “You’ve lied to me again, Agent McLeod.” She gestured angrily to the door. “Get out. All of you.”

“Nice bravado.” Kelmen smiled at Rachel, though there wasn’t a single warm thing about the expression. “But we aren’t going anywhere until this case is closed.”

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