Wanted:
Bodyguard

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning author who has written more than fifty novels. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Chapter One

Lana Tyler silently crept out of the small bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. Getting almost four-year-old Haley down for a nap was always a bit of a challenge and today had been no different, but finally, after two stories, a backrub and a drink of juice, the little girl had fallen asleep.

Now if Lana were lucky she’d get a couple of hours to herself. As she walked through the living room she eyed the overstuffed hunter green sofa with a touch of longing.

A nap for mommy wasn’t such a bad idea, but she had a big jewelry show coming up in two weeks, and the best time for her to work on her new pieces was when her daughter was either napping or tucked into bed for the night.

A knock on the front door halted her progress from the living room to the kitchen, and she backtracked to see who was at the door.

Two men stood on her porch, both clad in dark suits and wearing matching somber expressions that led her to believe they were either there to save her soul or to serve a warrant. She hadn’t broken any laws that she was aware of, and as far as she was concerned her soul was in pretty good shape.

“Yes? May I help you?” she asked through the screen door.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler. I’m FBI Agent Bill McDonald, and this is Agent Frank Morrel.” He opened a badge holder and held it up so she could see his official identification. “May we come in and speak with you?”

FBI? For a moment a rush of hope filled her, hope that somehow they’d come to tell her the name of her husband’s killer, that finally, after twenty long months, she would have some closure.

She looked carefully at the badges and assured herself they were real, then unlocked the screen door and opened it to allow the two agents into her home. “Is this about Joe? Have you finally caught the person who murdered him?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Tyler, this is about another matter,” Agent McDonald replied.

She frowned. “Another matter?” She gestured them into the living room, where they both sat on the sofa. “If this isn’t about Joe, then what’s it about?”

“We need your help,” Agent Morrel said.

“My help?” Lana sank into the chair facing the two men. What could the FBI possibly want with her? She was just an ordinary single mother working hard to get by.

“We’d like to put an agent in your home for the next week or two. He’d be undercover, and we’d like him to pose as your new husband.”

Lana stared at first one man and then the other. “Excuse me?” She must have misunderstood what he’d said. “Did you say husband?”

Bill McDonald nodded and leaned forward. “We understand that you’re friendly with your neighbor Greg Cary.”

Again a rivulet of surprise swept through Lana. “Yes, we’re friendly,” she agreed. “He’s been a good neighbor over the years and a huge support since my husband was murdered. Why, is he in some kind of trouble?”

“I’m afraid we can’t go into any specific details,” Agent Morrel replied. “All we need from you is the okay to put an agent here in your home to do some surveillance work. We can assure you that there is absolutely no danger to you or your little girl. All we ask of you is that you go along with the charade of a marriage and don’t tell anyone the truth. Not family, not friends. It’s imperative that everyone believe Special Agent Riley Kincaid is your husband.”

“Riley Kincaid?” She felt like a parrot, repeating random words as she tried to make sense of what exactly they wanted from her.

Morrel nodded and looked at his wristwatch. “He’s a good man and has been assigned to this particular piece of the operation. He should be here within the next fifteen minutes or so.”

Lana felt as if things were spinning way out of control. “Fifteen minutes? You certainly aren’t giving me any time to think about all this,” she said with a touch of resentment.

“What’s to think about?” Agent McDonald asked. “We need you and your house, and as the widow of a law-enforcement official, we know you’ll want to help out, to do your civic duty.”

What on earth was going on? What could Greg have done that would warrant FBI interest and an undercover operation? “Is there somebody I can call and speak to about all this?” she asked, reluctant to agree to anything before talking to somebody in authority, somebody not currently sitting on her sofa.

Morrel nodded. “You can call Associate Deputy Director Chris McCall at the Kansas City field office.”

Lana got up out of her chair and grabbed the cordless phone. It took her only minutes to get the phone number for the Kansas City FBI field office from information, dial it and be connected to Chris McCall, who had obviously expected her call.

“Our man Special Agent Kincaid will be as unobtrusive as possible in your home, in your life,” he assured her smoothly. “I understand that this is short notice, and we certainly appreciate your cooperation in allowing us to use your home for the next couple of weeks. Agents Morrel and McDonald will be your contacts should any problems arise.”

He went on to praise her once again for her cooperation and willingness to step up and help. The way Lana saw it, she didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.

She hung up the phone and returned to her seat in the overstuffed beige chair, not thrilled by this crazy turn of events. She’d only recently gotten accustomed to not having a man in the house. She wasn’t exactly excited to welcome in a stranger.

“Why does he have to pretend to be my husband?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t all of your neighbors find it odd for you to suddenly have a man living here?” Agent Morrel asked. “How could you explain the presence of our man to Greg Cary? I doubt if he’d believe that Special Agent Kincaid was your brother.”

“I’m not sure he’ll believe that I have a new husband,” she replied.

Agent McDonald held her gaze intently. “It’s important that you make him believe.” There was a sudden harshness in his tone and a darkness in his eyes that caused a ripple of apprehension to waltz up Lana’s spine. Again she wondered what they thought Greg had done.

“We’re putting a lot of manpower and resources into this operation. We just don’t want things to get screwed up.” Agent Morrel offered her a tight smile, but the friendly gesture didn’t quite reach the winter gray of his eyes.

At that moment there was a loud knock on the door and then it whooshed open. “Honey, I’m home,” a deep voice called from the foyer. Lana stiffened.

He stepped into the living room and it was as if he sucked all the oxygen right out of the room. Tall, with curly dark hair and a face that had the bone structure of a model, he wore a pair of jeans that hugged his slim hips and a white T-shirt that tugged across impossibly broad shoulders.

He was definitely hot and exuded bold male sexuality, and as his vivid green eyes met hers, then slowly slid down the length of her, she felt a blush heat her cheeks and had the irrational desire to kick them all out of her house and quickly lock the door behind them.

He approached where she sat and held out his hand. “Riley Kincaid, and you must be my lovely bride, Lana.”

Lana didn’t take his hand, but she did stand, not wanting him to hover over her. “I can tell you right now, Mr. Kincaid, I’m not real happy about this,” she said with a cool tone.

“Please, call me Riley, or better yet, call me honey,” he replied with a slow, sexy grin. “And I promise you this won’t be too painful. In fact most women I know would love to be my bride, pretend or otherwise.”

“Then I guess I’m not like most of the women you know,” she replied stiffly.

Agent Morrel cleared his throat. “We’ll just get out of here and let you two work out all the details,” he said. “Again, we appreciate your help,” he said to Lana as he and his partner headed for the front door.

It had all happened so fast. One minute she’d been a simple, average widowed mother of a young daughter and the next she was part of a covert FBI operation with a man too sexy for his shirt looking at her expectantly.

Special Agent Riley Kincaid wasn’t thrilled about the way this particular operation was going down, but he was definitely eager to get Greg Cary and his accomplice behind bars.

He’d been worried that this mock marriage thing could be awkward. After all, Riley was a healthy male, and being cooped up with a hot woman for a couple of weeks could definitely prove tempting, but thankfully Lana Tyler wasn’t his type at all.

She had that girl-next-door, fresh-scrubbed look that had never attracted him. He preferred his women a little exotic, a lot sexy and definitely without happily-ever-after shining from their eyes. Although he had to admit that Lana’s blue eyes were rather pretty.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, obviously ill at ease.

“I go get my things from the car and then we sit down and figure out our cover story.” He headed for the door and then paused and turned back to her. “Oh, and for future purposes, as my new wife you should know that I love a big breakfast in the morning, I take my coffee black, and I sure wouldn’t turn down a nice shoulder and back massage at the end of a long day.”

She narrowed her blue eyes into a steely gaze. “Then I guess it’s important for you to know, as my new hubby, that I do as little cooking as possible, I drink hot tea, not coffee, and if you really think I’m going to offer you a massage at the end of the day, then you’re not only the most unprofessional FBI agent I’ve ever met, but also completely delusional.”

Riley nodded in amused satisfaction. Good, she wasn’t a total pushover. Beneath that long sandy-blond hair and those charming freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose was a touch of sass and a strong will. It was probably going to take both to get through this ordeal.

As Riley left the house and headed to his car in the driveway, he glanced next door where Greg Cary lived. These homes were small ranch houses, with little yard between them.

By setting up a camera with a telescopic lens in Lana’s spare bedroom he would be able to see not only who came and went from Greg’s home but also see into the man’s living room. He was their initial target, but they suspected he had an accomplice and that’s who they wanted to identify. Hopefully, within a couple of weeks they could get them both under arrest.

Greg Cary’s house was painted white with traditional black shutters and a row of summer flowers lining the walkway that led to his front porch. It looked neat and respectable.

Nobody ever wanted to believe that the guy next door was a criminal. Whenever it was on the news that one of these creeps had been arrested, there were always interviews of stunned neighbors exclaiming that they never would have guessed that the quiet man next door was a maniac.

He fought against a small wave of irritation. This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He was too impatient to be stuck on surveillance, but as he lifted the two suitcases from the trunk of the car he felt the painful twinge in his shoulder that had kept him on light duty for the last three months.

Nothing like a bullet to the shoulder to slow you down, he thought. He supposed he was lucky not to be on desk duty. He supposed he was lucky to be alive.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to sharing his personal space with a woman. As far as he was concerned women were good for a few hours, maybe a night of pleasure, but before dawn broke he wanted them out of his bed and out of his life.

As he reached Lana’s porch he shot one more glance next door. Nothing stirred and nobody was in sight. By the end of the day he wouldn’t be the only person keeping an eye on Greg Cary. There were at least half a dozen agents ready to rotate shifts to make sure that Cary didn’t burp without somebody knowing about it.

Lana stood in the living room, her arms crossed and her features unreadable. “I don’t really understand why you’re here or exactly what it is you need.”

“The first thing I need is your guest bedroom. Why don’t I get unpacked and settled in and then we can talk about how this is all going to go down.”

At that moment Lana’s daughter cried out from down the hall. “Mama! I’m up!”

“You go take care of the kid. I’ll unpack and we’ll meet in the kitchen in half an hour or so,” he said.

He followed her down the hallway and couldn’t help but notice that her butt looked damn good in the tight jeans she wore. Her sleeveless pale-blue blouse exposed slender arms that held the faint blush of a summer tan. Most of the women he dated had that fake-bake tan, but Lana’s looked all-natural.

She stopped at the first doorway on the left. “This is Haley’s room. The guest room is that one.” She pointed to the second doorway on the right, then disappeared into Haley’s room and closed the door behind her.

She definitely was more than a little bit uptight, he thought. He sighed. That would only make his job here more intolerable.

He carried his suitcases into the guest bedroom, a small room with uninspired navy bedding and a generic landscape painting on the wall. It would do for as long as he was here.

The first thing he did was store his gun in the top dresser drawer, where it was out of the reach of a toddler who might get curious.

Then he focused on getting the two cameras set up and pointed in the right direction. They were high-tech stuff, infrared for night shots and with an option that would signal an alert if any movement was detected and he wasn’t standing right there.

He angled one toward the front of the house, where it would capture shots of anyone approaching Cary’s front door, and then focused the other toward the living room window.

At the moment there was nothing to see, no movement of any kind, nothing to indicate that anyone was in the room. But he knew Greg was home and probably plotting his next move.

A flash of an ancient memory exploded in Ri-ley’s head. The scent of baking cookies, a familiar body crumpled on the kitchen floor and blood everywhere.

His chest tightened at the memory and for a moment he felt as if he couldn’t draw enough oxygen. Breathe. Breathe, dammit, a voice whispered in the back of his brain.

It wasn’t until he consciously willed the vision away that he could draw air into his lungs again.

He didn’t store the clothes he’d brought with him in the dresser drawers or the closet. He’d live out of his suitcase for the next week or two. Hopefully, this particular assignment wouldn’t go on any longer than that.

With his equipment all in place, he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he could hear the sounds of Lana talking with her little girl.

As he entered the kitchen he instantly spied the toddler in her booster seat at the table, a streak of strawberry jelly across one plump cheek and a tumble of blond curls on top of her head. Even though Riley wasn’t into kids, this one was definitely a little doll.

“Hi, kid,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Her name is Haley,” Lana said. “Haley, this man is Riley. Can you say Riley?”

Haley nodded. “Daddy,” she repeated, and clapped her hands together in happiness.

Lana leaned with one hip against the counter. “I don’t know why she’s doing that,” she said, obviously irritated.

“Do I look like your husband did?” he asked.

Lana shook her head. “Not at all. Joe was blond, and he was a smaller man than you are.”

“Her calling me daddy works well with the little make-believe world we have to build quickly.” He sat down at the table. “Is that coffee I smell?”

She nodded, her shoulder-length hair shining in the sunlight that streaked through the windows. “I decided to brew a pot to show you that I intend to cooperate, but in return I want you to tell me everything that’s going on and exactly why you’re here.”

She poured him a cup, then sat at the table opposite him. He took a moment to study her features. She had a cute upturned nose and full Cupid-bow lips that looked as if they were just begging for a kiss. He frowned, irritated by his own wayward thoughts.

“Basically, I’ll be staying in your guest room, although I’ve got extra backup at night so I can catch a couple hours of sleep. During the day I’ll be manning a camera and watching what goes on next door at the Cary house, taking down license plate numbers and trying to identify anyone who comes to visit him. Everyone you know, especially Greg Cary, has to believe that I’m your new husband.”

“That’s the part I’m having trouble with,” she said. “How am I supposed to explain the sudden appearance of a husband in my life?”

He took a sip of the coffee, then explained. “We’ve got a cover story already in place. You and I met online about six months ago, one of those dot-com dating services, and of course the minute you saw my photo it was love at first sight.”

She laughed and it lit up her face, making her look prettier than she had moments before. “Full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just a little,” he replied agreeably. “Anyway, we met online. I’m from Arizona, and we talked on the phone and e-mailed each other for the last six months. We got together twice, once in Santa Fe and another time in Denver. The FBI knows that over the last six months you’ve traveled to jewelry shows in both those cities. We realized how much in love we were, and so last weekend we tied the knot in Vegas.”

“Because you know I was at a jewelry show in Vegas last weekend.” Her smile fell away and her eyes grew guarded. “What else do you know about me?”

“Lana Tyler, twenty-nine years old. Widow of Joe Tyler, fallen police officer shot at a convenience store while buying a gallon of milk. Your daughter was a cesarean birth, and since your husband’s death you’ve been trying to build a line of jewelry that expresses your love of nature. You like to take your daughter for walks in the park and to feed the ducks, and you sometimes still sleep in one of your husband’s old shirts.”

He’d guessed at the last part but realized he’d hit the nail on the head when she gasped and shook her head, obviously appalled by how much they knew about her, about her life.

He could almost feel sorry for her, the way they’d barged into her life with no warning. But as far as he was concerned, the end justified the means.

“Lana, we checked you out thoroughly before deciding to use you. We had to know that we could trust you, that you were smart enough to be able to pull off a fake marriage with me so I could get close to your neighbor.”

“But why? What do you think Greg is guilty of?”

He realized her eyes weren’t an ordinary shade of blue, but rather with a touch of purple like a periwinkle. He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to decide if he should tell her the truth or not.

As the wife of a cop she would have had to be strong to cope with the stresses of her husband’s work. As the wife of a murdered cop she had to use that core of strength to deal with her grief and still function as a single parent.

Lana Tyler was stronger than she looked, and he had a feeling she could take the truth, would demand it before truly offering her full cooperation.

“We believe Greg Cary has killed four women in the last four months and that within the next ten days he’ll claim his fifth victim,” Riley said. “Your neighbor, Lana, is a serial killer.”

Chapter Two

Lana stared at him as if he’d suddenly begun to speak Martian. “Is this some kind of a joke? Am I being punked?”

He wrapped his long fingers around his coffee cup and shook his head. “I wish it were a joke, but to the family of his victims it’s damn-straight not funny.”

“If you all believe that he’s killed these women, then why isn’t he already under arrest?” she asked, struggling to make sense of everything.

“Lack of any real evidence,” he replied.

She stared at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. If you don’t have any evidence against him, what makes you think he committed the murders?”

“Right now our case against him is strictly circumstantial. He knew all the victims. They all worked out at the gym where he works. He fits our profile, but unfortunately he has a solid alibi for one of the murders, and that has complicated things.”

“I read about this in the paper, along with a warning that women should be careful about whom they work out with in the local gyms. But if you don’t have anything but circumstantial evidence, maybe he isn’t guilty after all,” she replied, still unable to believe that the man who had helped her light her pilot light on her furnace when it had gone out last fall, the man who had fixed her garbage disposal when it had gone on the fritz, could possibly be a cold-blooded killer.

“He’s guilty all right. We all know it, and it’s just a matter of time before he’s arrested. But we think he’s working with a partner.” Riley lifted his coffee cup to his lips, and when he lowered it, he cast her a brash grin. “Now let’s talk about our honeymoon plans. I’m thinking maybe a beach setting. I love a girl in a bikini.”

Lana didn’t like him. He was cocky and arrogant and wasn’t even trying to make this as painless as possible for her. She broke eye contact with him and instead looked at Haley, who was smearing the last of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich across her plate.

She got up from the table, grabbed a dishrag and quickly cleaned up the mess, then got a box of cookies out and gave her daughter one of the wafers.

Haley smiled and held it out to Riley. “Daddy, you want a cookie?”

“No, thanks, kid,” he replied.

Lana threw the dishrag into the sink and then turned to face him once again, her lips thinned with displeasure. “Haley, her name is Haley, not kid. Apparently you don’t like children?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Kids are okay. As long as they’re other people’s kids.”

She really didn’t like him. “Is it too early to ask for a divorce?”

He grinned. God, the man had the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. Despite her dislike of him, it created a wave of heat that swept over her and undulated in her stomach. “Ah, don’t be like that. I promise I’ll grow on you.”

“Like fungus?” she retorted. “I don’t like you, Agent Kincaid, but I realize it’s important that I do my civic duty. I would appreciate it if you would get on with whatever you need to do and be as unobtrusive in my life as possible.”

He eyed her with open amusement and got up from the table. “I just want to let you know that you’ll miss me when I’m gone.” With that he picked up his coffee cup and ambled out of her kitchen.

“Bye-bye, Daddy,” Haley said. “See ya later.”

“Not Daddy,” Lana retorted a bit crossly. She returned to the table and wrapped her hands around her cup, trying to digest everything that had happened in the last thirty minutes.

Greg Cary a serial murderer? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. There had to be some sort of a mistake. He’d been her neighbor for the last six years. He’d been a bowling buddy of her husband’s, a man who participated in the neighborhood watch program. Everyone in the neighborhood liked and respected Greg.

Surely if he were a criminal Joe would have known. Her husband might have been many things, but he’d been a terrific cop.

Thoughts of Joe brought with them a sliver of residual grief. He’d been her childhood sweetheart, the only boy she’d dated through high school, the only man she’d ever been intimate with. When they had married she’d thought they’d be together forever. She’d never foreseen the rocky road ahead and his untimely death.

His life insurance policy had been enough to pay off the house and put a little nest egg away. For the last year Lana had managed to eke out a simple living with the sale of her handcrafted jewelry.

“Mommy, I want down.” Haley raised her arms to get out of the booster seat.

So much for getting any work done today, she thought as she lifted Haley to the floor. The rest of the afternoon would consist of her chasing Haley and making sure she didn’t get into Riley’s way.

Thankfully, for the remainder of the afternoon Riley stayed in the guest bedroom with the door closed and Lana alternated playing with Haley and preparing the evening meal. She’d decided to do hamburgers out on the grill. That and a bag of chips was all Mr. Hot FBI Agent was going to get.

At six o’clock she took Haley to the backyard and sat her in the shaded sandbox where she loved to play, then cranked up the grill.

As she waited for it to get to the right temperature, her gaze drifted to the house next door. Was it possible that beneath Gary’s affable, pleasant outward personality lay the dark soul of a killer?

Despite the warm July air, a chill snaked up her spine. How many times had she read about serial killers and how their neighbors were stunned and appalled to discover that the good old boy next door was actually a crazed murderer?

She supposed there was no danger as long as Gary didn’t suspect the truth—that she was cooperating with the FBI to bring him down. Even though she didn’t like it, she understood how important the pretend marriage was in this scenario.

Gary would never have believed that she’d allow a boyfriend to move in with her and Haley. She had been quite vocal about the fact that she wasn’t going to be one of those single mothers who paraded men through their daughters’ lives. Although she realized she was close to being ready to entertain the thought of dating, of maybe finding somebody who would be special in their lives.

Gary also knew she didn’t have any brothers or male family members. He knew that other than a sister who was often out of the country, she was pretty much alone in the world, except for Haley.

Her parents had been wonderful people who had loved travel and adventure. Unfortunately, four years ago they had decided to take a sightseeing helicopter ride over one of the Hawaiian volcanoes, and engine trouble had resulted in a tragic wreck. Both her parents and the pilot had perished.

Her older sister, Rachel, had married a very wealthy man who loved to travel and had homes in France and on the Mediterranean, and the two of them spent most of their time overseas.

As much as she hated to admit it, the mock marriage was the only way she could explain Riley’s presence in her home.

As Haley played in the sand, Lana put the patties on the grill and closed the lid, then sat at the umbrella table on the patio.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. Surely he would spend all his time with his camera at the window in the guest room, and at night he would have to sleep. Maybe she wouldn’t really have to interact with him much at all while he was in her home.

As if to prove her thoughts wrong, he opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio. Instantly every muscle in her body tensed. He filled the immediate area with his energy and a simmering sexuality as he walked with a loose-hipped gait toward the table where she sat.

“Steaks?” he asked, and pointed to the smoking grill.

“Burgers,” she replied.

He slid into the chair next to hers, and his gaze shot across the short green hedge that separated her lawn from Gary’s.

“Shouldn’t you be surveilling or making notes or something?” she asked, unable to keep her irritation out of her voice.

“I never miss a meal,” he replied with an easy smile. “Besides, the camera is still running and will catch anything I need to see. We’ve got men in the area also watching his house. I can’t stay at the camera 24/7. It’s also important that I maintain the aura of a normal relationship with you.”

He smelled good, like clean male mixed with an expensive cologne. “What exactly is it that you’re hoping to see?” She got up from the table and walked to the grill to flip the burgers and to get away from that provocative scent of him.

“Anything that looks suspicious. Anyone who comes to visit him.”

She turned her back to face the grill and heard him release a deep grunt of surprise. She whirled back around to see a sandy, smiling Haley attempting to crawl up on his lap.

“Pick me up!” Haley demanded.

Riley looked at Lana and she thought she saw a moment of sheer panic on his face. It flashed for only an instant and then was replaced with that irritating cool amusement as he picked Haley up and deposited her on his lap.

She clapped her hands and squealed with happiness. “I told you I had a way with women,” he said to Lana.

“She’s too young to know any better,” Lana retorted. She turned back to her burgers.

Oh, she knew his type all right. Handsome as sin and probably with little moral code, he would be accustomed to women making fools of themselves over him. He’d probably never heard the word no from any female. Well, he was in for a rude awakening if he thought she was just going to be another in a long line of conquests for him.

She smiled as she thought of the sand that was probably falling off Haley and into the cracks and crevices of Riley’s jeans. Hopefully, some of that abrasive sand would end up in his briefs.

She was acutely aware of Riley’s gaze on her as she took up the burgers. Haley had climbed back off his lap and returned to the sandbox, where she was digging with a plastic shovel.

“Come on, baby. It’s time to eat,” Lana said as she carried the burgers toward the back door.

“Thanks, sweetheart, I’m right behind you,” Riley replied, as if she’d been talking to him. He got up from the chair and then bent down and swooped Haley up in his arms. She squealed in delight as he carried her into the kitchen.

He plopped her into the booster seat and then sprawled in a chair at the table.

“There are cold sodas in the fridge,” Lana said. “Why don’t you grab a couple, and while you’re at it get out the mustard and ketchup or whatever you might want on your hamburger.” She wasn’t about to allow him to just sit and be waited on.

While he rummaged in the fridge she wiped down Haley’s hands and then put the burgers on buns and poured the chips into a serving bowl. She placed the food in the center of the table and sat down, then cut up a burger for Haley.

Riley joined her, and instantly she was inundated with sensory overload. His scent seemed to surround her, and she imagined she could feel the heat from his body reaching out to warm her.

Get a grip, she told herself. Granted, it had been a long time since she’d been around any man, but if the world held only Riley Kincaid she absolutely, positively wouldn’t be interested.

“I love hamburgers,” Haley exclaimed.

“Me, too,” Riley agreed with an easy smile at the child. “And I love potato chips.”

“Me, too,” Haley exclaimed with a giggle, and popped a chip into her mouth.

He could even charm the girls that young, Lana thought. Oh yes, she knew his type very well. All charm and no substance.

“I forgot something earlier,” he said, and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a lovely gold wedding band and laid it on the table in front of her. “I believe this is yours, Mrs. Kincaid.”

She stared at the ring, oddly reluctant to pick it up and put it on. It had only been a month ago that she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring from Joe. That ring had come to represent heartache each time she’d looked at it.

It’s just pretend, she reminded herself as she finally picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. It felt cold and alien against her skin.

“I think we should plan a little celebration,” he said.

She looked at him warily. “What kind of a celebration?”

“A gathering to announce our marriage to your neighbors and friends.” He grabbed a handful of chips and smiled at her, seemingly unconcerned that what he was asking of her was to invite a potential serial killer over for cake and punch.

Riley stood and stretched with his arms overhead, wincing slightly as the muscles in his wounded shoulder groaned silently in protest.

It was almost nine. He’d been sitting at the cameras since he’d left the dinner table. Throughout the evening he hadn’t seen anybody going in or out of the house next door, nor had the camera caught Greg performing any incriminating act.

Lana had agreed to set up something four nights from now, on Friday, to introduce Riley to her neighbors. He could tell she didn’t like the idea, would have preferred not lying to her friends and neighbors, would prefer that Riley simply go away.

But Riley was eager to meet Greg Cary up close and personal. He had a nose for killers, and he wanted to look into Greg’s eyes, get a reading on the man he believed was responsible for four women’s deaths.

The house was quiet as he left the guest room. About an hour earlier he’d heard Lana putting Haley to bed. As Lana had read the little girl a bedtime story, Riley had closed his eyes and listened to her voice.

She had a nice voice, low and with just a touch of something sexy. She amused him. His easy charm held no power over her. She appeared determined to dislike him, and that definitely intrigued him.

He walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, where the light was still on, and found her seated at the table working on her jewelry. She didn’t appear to notice his presence as she worked with a soldering iron.

He remained in the doorway, taking the opportunity to study her. She was pretty in an unassuming way. If she wore makeup it was subtle, not screaming like many of the women that he usually dated wore. She had a slamming figure, full breasts and a tiny waist and shapely hips that could definitely turn a man’s head.

“Is there something you need, Agent Kincaid?” she asked, not taking her gaze off her work.

“The first thing I need is for you to call me Riley,” he replied and walked over to the table. “Calling me Agent Kincaid could ruin this entire operation.”

He sat in the chair across from her and looked at the items she had strewn across the top of the table. Pieces of metal and semiprecious stones battled for space with tiny tools, spools of wire and velvet boxes displaying finished products.

“You do nice work,” he said as he looked at the necklaces and bracelets she’d completed.

She set the soldering iron down and finally looked at him. “Thanks. I enjoy it.”

“What are you working on now?”

“A necklace that will be part of my winter collection.”

He wanted to keep the conversation flowing, not only enjoying the sound of her voice but also the momentary respite from the tension. “What’s the difference between a winter collection and a summer collection?”

She leaned back in her chair and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Mostly color. My summer collection is filled with bold, chunky, brightly colored jewelry, and the winter one has the more traditional colors. There’s a big show here in town in two weeks and I want to make sure I have plenty of pieces to sell.”

“You make a living at this?”

“I do okay, although I’m certainly not getting rich,” she replied. “Most women can’t resist a beautiful piece of jewelry at an affordable price. I’m steadily building up a clientele that’s respectable. My goal over the next couple of years is to get my jewelry into some of the upscale stores not only here in town but around the country.”

“You sell it on the Internet?”

She nodded. “Right now most of my sales come in through my Web page, Designs by Lana. Speaking of jobs, as my husband, what exactly is it that you do?” She unplugged the soldering iron and leaned back in her chair once again.

He liked that she had a directness to her gaze, that there was nothing flirtatious or simpering about her. “I’m an investment broker. I do most of my work at home.”

“Where’s all your furniture and personal belongings?”

It was apparent that she was thinking, working all the elements of their subterfuge around in her head. He couldn’t help but admire the intelligence that shone from her eyes.

“Right now it’s all in storage,” he replied. “I couldn’t wait to get out here to be with my bride, so I stored everything and decided that once I got out here I’d figure out what to do with my stuff.”

“Where exactly did we get married? We need details if we’re going to make it sound real.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “We got married by Elvis at one of those little white chapels.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not the type and all of my friends would find that odd. A little white chapel is fine, but Elvis, as much as I loved his music, is definitely out.”

For the next few minutes they discussed their wedding, deciding the name of the preacher and making up those little details that would make their story ring true.

Twice he made her laugh with his silly suggestions, and he was stunned by how much he liked the sound of her laughter. It did amazing things to her face, lighting her eyes and making the freckles dance across the bridge of her nose.

“It must be tough being a single parent,” he said when they’d sobered and felt as if they’d solidified their story.

She shrugged and began to pack her jewelry items into the drawers of a large tote on wheels. “Sometimes it’s rough,” she replied. “Being alone is the worst part, but I imagine you don’t have to worry about that much.” She cast him a sly, knowing gaze.

“When I want company, I can usually find it.” It wasn’t a boast; it was merely a statement of fact.

“Finding company is different than finding somebody to share things with,” she countered.

“I gather from that statement that you don’t intend to be alone forever, that you will probably eventually remarry?”

“I would be open to the possibility. There were a lot of things about being married that I loved.” She glanced down at the table but not before he saw a whispered pain darken her blue eyes.

An uncharacteristic softness swept through him. He knew what it was like to grieve, to miss somebody so badly you almost lost the will to live. “You got a bad deal,” he said gruffly.

She looked at him once again and this time there was a steely strength shining from her eyes. “I’m not the only woman in the world to lose a husband. Bad stuff happens and you just have to deal with it. What about you, Riley? Ever been married?”

“Nope, and I have no interest in getting married. Footloose and fancy-free, that’s the way I like my life.”

“Sounds lonely to me.”

He grinned. “Trust me, I’m never lonely.”

“It’s a good thing this marriage is just pretend, otherwise I have a feeling we wouldn’t last together a month.”

“A two-week marriage, that I can probably handle,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself with anything more lasting.” She got up from the table. “And now it’s time for me to say good night. Fresh towels are in the bathroom closet along with anything else you might need.”

He stood as well. “No good-night kiss from my bride?”

“In your dreams,” she replied with a wry grin. “Good night, Riley.”

He watched as she left the room and then he walked over to the kitchen window and peered outside to the house next door.

It was dark and silent, as if Greg had already turned in for the night. All the FBI agents had assured Lana that there was no danger to her, but Riley knew that no operation was without danger.

Certainly he couldn’t foresee what Greg’s reaction might be if he discovered Lana was working with them to put the man on death row, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a positive thing.

He sighed and turned away from the window, his thoughts returning to the woman whose life he’d interrupted.

He’d been relieved to realize she had a sense of humor. That would certainly make things easier for both of them. And he was surprised to realize that he liked her.

Not that it mattered. Even though he was flirting with her, he wouldn’t lose sight of the fact that he had a job to do here and that his time with her was strictly temporary.

Stifling a yawn, he turned out the kitchen lights and headed for the guest room. Haley’s door was open and on impulse he stopped in her doorway and gazed at her.

He didn’t want a wife and he certainly had never considered having a family, but he had to admit that Haley was one of the cutest kids he’d ever seen.

He left her doorway and glanced down the hall to Lana’s door. He’d only guessed that she occasionally wore an old shirt of her dead husband’s to bed. He’d heard somewhere about widows doing things like that. On the nights she didn’t wear that to bed he guessed she was probably a nightshirt or pajama kind of woman.

He frowned, wondering what in the hell he was doing even speculating on what she wore to bed. He went into the guest room, and after checking the cameras to make sure everything was on autopilot, he shucked his clothes and got into bed.

His day had begun at the crack of dawn with a meeting in the field office to get this all set up. Now, even though it was just after ten, he was exhausted. He knew that part of it was because his body was still healing from the bullet that had slammed into his shoulder three months ago.

He’d grab a couple of hours of sleep, knowing that the agents in the neighborhood would cover Greg’s house. He rubbed his aching shoulder as he tried to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed.

Who knew that the creep he’d gone to interview would suddenly pull a gun and start firing? If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of Agent Morrel, Riley wouldn’t be alive.

Fortunately, the near-death experience hadn’t changed his views on life or love. He hadn’t had a sudden epiphany that made him want to jump into a relationship or make babies to ensure the survival of his lineage.

He closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep and began to dream and in his dream, he was back in that place and time where the nightmare resided and horror called to him.

He watched himself enter the house and immediately smell something odd, something underneath the faint scent of baked cookies. The unusual smell caused his stomach muscles to knot. Bad. He knew something bad had happened. He called out to her, and when she didn’t answer the anxiety inside him grew stronger.

Even when he saw the bloody handprint on the wall next to the kitchen it didn’t make sense, and he had no warning of what he was about to experience.

He walked into the kitchen and the first thing that struck him was the blood. It was everywhere. Splashed on the walls, streaked across the floor. His brain began to scream at that moment.

He found her on the other side of the kitchen island, sprawled on her back on the floor, her eyes staring unseeing and a knife protruding from her stomach. It was only then that the scream that had been trapped inside him released.

“Riley! Wake up!”

He jerked awake and winced against the hall light that spilled into the room.

Lana stood next to his bed. “You were having a nightmare.”

He sat up as embarrassment washed over him. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. You just scared me. You were yelling.”

He raked a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. “Did I wake up Haley?”

“No. Thankfully, she sleeps like a log.”

As his eyes adjusted to the light in the room, he got his first good look at her. A pleasant surprise coupled with a faint heat filled him as he saw that contrary to his initial speculation she didn’t wear pajamas to bed but rather wore a sexy black silk nightgown that skimmed her lush curves.

She must have seen something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable, for she backed away from his bed and to the doorway. “Good night,” she said, and then fled from his view.

A moment later the hall light went out. Knowing that sleep would be difficult to achieve immediately, he got out of bed and walked to the window. He checked the cameras to make sure everything was working properly and then stared out at the darkened house next door, but his thoughts weren’t on Greg Cary. Rather, he was thinking about Lana in her hot black nightgown.

Contrary to the impression he had given her, he hadn’t been with any woman for a long time. Before the shooting he’d been working long hours, and after the shooting he’d discovered that most of the women he knew weren’t particularly interested in hanging out with an invalid.

His initial impression had been that Lana was more than a little bit uptight, but that sexy nightgown had made him think there might be something more to her.

He got back into bed and closed his eyes, willing away the vision of her. It would be the height of unprofessionalism for him to get involved in any way with her. More than that, it would be completely unfair to her.

She’d already told him that she wanted to remarry, and he would never let anyone close enough for him to want that kind of a relationship.

As he remembered the nightmare that had brought her into his room, a knot fisted tight in his chest. He might welcome her into his bed if given the chance, but there was no way in hell he would ever welcome any woman into his heart.

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