“He took something from me.”

His posture was so rigid, Mia thought he would snap. “You don’t have proof my uncle is the man you seek,” she said. Her heart pounded so hard the blood roared in her ears.

“I found the evidence I need.” Linc refused to look at her. “I found what he took from me. No one else had the means to take the one thing that mattered to me.”

His wife. The blood drained to Mia’s feet, leaving hear as cold as death. Her body had never been found… Seven years ago in the explosion… Her own car accident had been seven years ago…

She remembered nothing from that day or from her entire life before. It had been day after day of trying to remember. Night after night of dreaming things that made no sense.

Air would not enter her lungs. The porch shifted and swayed beneath her. Her vision narrowed until it encompassed nothing but his eyes. “You think I’m your wife.”

Then the spinning sucked her into a vortex that grew deeper and deeper until everything else vanished.

Broken
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The loss, pain, challenge and triumph portrayed

by the characters Mia Grant and Lincoln Reece

in this story is very close to my heart. If not for the talented,

patient and compassionate folks in physical and occupational

therapy at SportsMed in Huntsville, Alabama,

I might not have learned to use my right arm and hand again.

Thank you all for caring and for never allowing me to give up.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romantic suspense and action-packed romantic thrillers since. Visit her at www.DebraWebb.com or write to her at P.O. Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Lincoln Reece—He is an Equalizer who has nothing to lose. Everything was lost to him seven years ago the day his wife, Lori, died. When his former LAPD partner tells him his wife is still alive, will Linc dare to hope and risk that emotional devastation a second time?

Mia Grant—She is a simple woman of approximately thirty years of age who began her life a mere seven years ago. When a stranger arrives in her small town claiming she is his wife, her carefully constructed world turns upside down.

Slade Keaton—He is the enigmatic head of the Equalizers, a private investigations firm that ensures justice outside the law as often as inside. Keaton has secrets that even the woman who loves him is afraid to uncover. Those secrets involve the Colby Agency, and Keaton just keeps getting closer and closer.

Vincent Lopez—He is Mia’s godfather. She calls him her uncle. He saved her life and ensured that she received world-class medical care. But is he really a hero?

Gloria Lopez—She is Mia’s adopted aunt. She is a kind, compassionate woman who would do anything for Mia…perhaps even keep secrets that might tear Mia away from her.

Teddy Stewart—He would like Mia for himself, even if he has to use a gun to keep her away from the man he believes to be a dangerous stranger.

Juan Marcos—He was the most wanted drug lord on the West Coast until he was targeted for assassination by a competitor. His assassination cost many lives, including Lori Reece’s.

Jim Colby—He is the son of Victoria Colby-Camp, head of the Colby Agency. He is glad to help out the new owner of his former firm, the Equalizers. But Jim has a hidden agenda. He is certain Slade Keaton has his eye on the Colby Agency. The only question is, why?

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Chicago, Friday, June 24, 10:06 p.m.

One more drink and he was out of here.

Lincoln Reece nodded to the bartender, an unspoken order for another of the same. He exhaled a lungful of relief that his latest assignment was successfully behind him.

There was no greater rush than the one that came with victim vindication. No one should be allowed to get away with taking advantage of little old ladies. Particularly not a man operating under the guise of the Good Book. The three elderly widows on whose behalf Linc had acted had gotten back the deeds to their homes, and the unsavory counterfeit minister who’d done the swindling was behind bars without bail, awaiting the next step toward prosecution.

The bartender left the glass on the counter and moved on to the next patron without missing a beat. Linc took a long swallow as he turned on the barstool to watch the Friday-night crowd. Most nights he was not on assignment he was here. He liked it here at Hazel’s House. The music was low enough for conversation, not that he ever talked to anyone. Best of all he could slide deep into oblivion and walk the three blocks to his rent-by-the-week room. No one cared who you were or what your deal was here in Hazel’s House.

Unless you dogged out the Cubs or the Bulls.

A table overturned on the other side of the room. Shouting broke out as bodies collided and fists swung. Linc leaned back and propped his arms on the counter to watch the show. A woman hollered that she didn’t belong to no man. Ah, the other reason the occasional brawl broke out in Hazel’s House. Jealousy.

Bouncers swaggered over to clear up the debate. Linc rotated the stool, turning his back to the ruckus. He didn’t need any trouble tonight. He was here to chill. The last time he’d let his old cop instincts guide him he’d spent the night in lockup. His boss had gotten the charges dropped within mere hours of Linc’s call.

Slade Keaton, head of the Equalizers, had a seemingly endless supply of resources. Linc downed the rest of his bourbon. Keaton was a decent boss. Linc hadn’t enjoyed anything about a job—and he’d had several—or about life in general for seven years. Working as an Equalizer gave Linc the closest thing to satisfaction he’d experienced in that time. If you could call existing to work a sense of satisfaction.

Linc laughed, the sound little more than a growl in his throat. Not living…just existing. Sad. So sad.

“Thought I’d find you in a place like this.”

Linc recoiled. What the hell? His bleary gaze cleared instantly. But his brain reacted a little more slowly. He blinked to banish what was no doubt an alcohol-induced hallucination.

The man laughed, near loudly enough to drown out the blues melting from the speakers mounted in the joint. “That’s priceless.” He leaned in close. “What’s it been? Five years?”

Linc gave his head a mental shake as he looked at the man with the gray hair, matching scraggly beard and laser-beam blue eyes. Mort Fraley. Enough long-exiled memories abruptly bombarded Linc to leave him shell-shocked.

Anger rammed his gut. “How’d you find me?” Linc hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone from his old life since he’d given up on the idea that she might still be alive. She. He couldn’t even bear to think her name, much less say it out loud.

Mort slid onto the stool next to Linc. He raised a hand to the bartender, pointed to Linc’s glass and held up two fingers before turning his attention back to Linc. “I can’t believe you asked that question.” His eyebrows reared upward. “I’ve been a cop for thirty years. Besides,” he said as he picked up one of the two glasses the bartender dropped off, “I was your first partner. I taught you everything you know. Finding you was amateur hour, amigo.”

Linc knocked back a long swallow. Didn’t do a thing for the tangle of emotions roiling in his belly. He swiped his mouth and met his mentor’s gaze. “How long’ve you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Since the day you hit I-10 and put the City of Angels in your rearview mirror.”

That too-familiar searing pain roared through Linc’s chest. He decided to cut to the chase. “What do you want?” Linc had moved around a lot the past five years. He’d landed in Chicago just six months ago. Six weeks later he’d hired on with Keaton as an Equalizer. L.A. was a place and time he had no desire to revisit.

Mort contemplated the question for an irritatingly long time before answering. “I retired last year.” He shrugged. “Finally started to travel the way the wife has always wanted.”

A smile attempted to crack Linc’s defensive disposition. “You been driving a motor home around the country like one of those old geezers who retire to Palm Springs every year?”

Mort made a face. “It beats sitting around the house waiting to die of boredom.”

Linc shook off the moment of nostalgia. He didn’t deal with that sentimental stuff anymore. “You two passing through?”

Mort glanced around the crowd, then turned a deadpan expression in Linc’s direction. “Is there someplace quiet we can go?”

That face was another blast from the past Linc could have done without. The impulse to tell his old friend and mentor to get back in his motor home and hit the road pressed against his chest. But Linc knew this man…really knew him. Mort wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to find him if it wasn’t important. And he sure wouldn’t be hiding behind that mask he saved for interrogations.

“You dying or something?” The possibility added another layer of uneasiness to the churning in Linc’s gut.

Mort pushed off his stool and threw a bill on the bar to cover the two drinks. “I saw an all-night diner down the street.”

Linc dropped the cash for his own tab tonight. “I know the place.”

Mort jawed all the way to the diner, catching Linc up on the old narcotics team, whether he wanted to hear it or not. But he’d put that life behind him; he wasn’t going back for anything. As if to defy his determination, Linc’s bum leg ached, adding a noticeable hitch to his gait.

The instant they slid into a booth Mort ordered a round of coffee. Black. This was serious.

“You know the wife always had a thing for country music.” He chuckled before sipping his coffee. “All I’ve heard for thirty years is Nashville, Tennessee. ‘I want to go to the Opry.’”

The coffee was hot and smelled strong enough to have been brewed at breakfast that morning. Linc fingered his cup. “Nothing wrong with having a dream.” He’d had dreams once. Before he’d realized that it was better not to care. A man had nothing to lose if he owned nothing, cared about nothing. Especially dreams.

“Nothing at all,” Mort agreed. “I figure I owe it to her for sticking with a narcotics detective for thirty years.”

The abrupt lure of much-needed caffeine got the better of Linc, and he sucked down a gulp, then gritted his teeth at the bitterness after all that smooth bourbon.

“Last week,” Mort went on, “we drove from Music City to a little Tennessee town named Blossom, of all things, outside the nursery capital of the world.” He harrumphed. “Little village cluttered with antique shops, historic homes and nurseries filled with every sort of blooming bush and tree you can think of. As you can imagine, I was in heaven.”

A deep, guttural laugh burst from Linc’s throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed—a real one, anyway. “I’m surprised you got out alive.”

Mort didn’t meet Linc’s gaze. He stared into the coffee cup, both palms down on the table.

A choke hold tightened around Linc’s throat. Something was definitely wrong here.

“The wife and I took one of those hokey historic tours.” He shrugged. “You know, where they show you the oldest houses in town and whatever it is that puts the place on the map. Like the oldest Holly tree in the country. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places, by the way. But none of that got my attention.”

His instincts thumping like the subwoofers in a drug-dealing pimp’s newest ride, Linc braced. Whispers, images from seven years ago seeped past the wall he’d built to block those memories.

Mort looked directly at Linc. “It was at the pink antebellum house, the Dowe house, that I saw her.”

The urge to run hit Linc hard. He shook his head. “I don’t want to hear this.” He held up his hands. They shook. “I gotta go.”

Mort grabbed him by the arm before he could slide from the booth. “Sit.” He nodded to the seat. “Listen.”

When Linc hesitated, Mort pressed, “You know me.” He searched Linc’s eyes, winced at what he no doubt saw reflected there. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure.”

Linc jerked free of Mort’s hold and dropped back into the booth. He leaned across the table. “My wife is dead. You’re the one who forced me to accept that fact!”

Mort heaved a heavy breath. “I can’t argue with the truth.” He nailed Linc with an unwavering stare. “But I know what I saw and heard.”

Her body was never found. But then neither were the remains of most of the others who died that day. Only two survived. A thug. And Linc. Not a day had gone by since when Linc didn’t wish he’d died, too. If he weren’t such a damned coward he would have pulled the trigger one of those mornings when he’d stuck the muzzle of a gun in his mouth instead of coffee.

“Her face is a little different.”

Linc scrubbed at his jaw, stroking the scar that slashed across his left cheek. “Then you could be wrong.” Not could be. He was wrong. She was dead. Linc’s wife was dead. It had taken two years for him to face that fact. Then he’d spent the next five running from the reality.

Mort shook his head. “It’s her. The voice was hers. The way she moved. She goes by Mia Grant. The folks I talked to said she’s lived there for about six years. The whole town loves her. But not one of them could say where she’d come from. I checked out the name. There was no Mia Grant matching her description prior to six years ago.”

Linc couldn’t do this. “I appreciate that you went to all this trouble to let me know.” He was done here. If he sat here a second longer he would explode.

“I watched her restoring plaster molding in one of the houses on the tour.”

Every single cell in Linc’s body ceased to function.

“Her hands. The way she held the tools.” Mort moved his head side to side again. “It’s her.”

Lori had been a tough cop. A narcotics detective. One who’d skipped her way to detective because she had uncanny instincts and an amazing ability to fall into character instantly. In her off time she loved driving around looking for old homes. She’d searched for months to find the perfect historic home before they’d decided to buy. A real fixer-upper. They’d hit a wall when it came to restoring the plaster. Hiring it out would have cost a small fortune. Lori had set out to master the skill of restoring plaster and she’d done it so well, her work had made a California home-builders’ magazine.

A dash of hope combined with the agony that was churning deep inside Linc. He shook his head. What Mort was suggesting was impossible. “She’s dead,” Linc said. If she had survived she would have found a way to come home. No way would she be hiding out in some small Southern town. She had loved Linc. She wouldn’t do that. His mentor was clearly growing senile or suffering from dementia.

Mort was the one to throw up his hands this time. “Believe what you will, but know that I watched and analyzed her for days before I came here.”

Linc wanted to shake him. The man was pulling out all the stops. “Mort, I—”

“It’s her.”

Linc shook his head. “Why would she do this?”

The resolution in Mort’s eyes held steady. “If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself. What’ve you got to lose?”

Nothing. The agonizing truth sank deeper into Linc’s bones. He had lost everything seven years ago. The day his wife died trying to bring down a major West Coast scumbag, Linc had, for all intents and purposes, died with her.

“Just go,” Mort urged. “Lori’s alive.”

Chapter Two

Blossom, Tennessee, Monday, June 27, 11:30 a.m.

“That guy is back.”

Mia Grant smoothed the plaster she’d just spread with her trowel before turning to her friend. “What guy?” She knew perfectly well what guy Tina Marie meant, but Mia had learned quickly to defuse the teenage girl’s fancies and suspicions or suffer the consequences.

Tina Marie made an impatient sound. “You know, the one who’s taken the tour twice already this morning.” Tina Marie crowded closer. “He watches your every move, Mia.” The girl’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s kind of cute.” She glanced toward the guy in question. “Like a character from a Brontë novel.”

Mia smiled. Tina Marie had been hooked on Wuthering Heights since her freshman year of high school.

Mia watched the man wander around the parlor as if he hadn’t seen it twice already. He was handsome in a brooding sort of way. Tall, with dark shaggy hair, a beard-shadowed jaw. The jeans and black shirt he wore fit like they were designed just for him. Nothing like the off-the-shelf jeans guys around here wore, but then there were no fancy stores in Blossom. Even the slight limp and the scar marring his jaw were attractive in a forbidden sort of way.

He turned toward her as if he felt her staring at him. Tina Marie gasped and rushed over to actually do her job at the souvenir counter. Mia held the stranger’s stare. If he wanted something, now was as good a time as any to find out what. No need for him to pay the ten bucks for a third tour.

She stepped down from the ladder, swiped her hands on her apron and walked right up to him. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

His eyes were blue. Deep, dark blue. She couldn’t help noticing, since he continued blatantly staring so intently at her. That old scar trailed up from the corner of his mouth to just beneath his eye on the right cheek. Mia suppressed a wince at how close he’d obviously come to losing that eye and forced her attention back to his gaze. He still watched her.

“Mia Grant?”

She blinked, surprised, not that he knew her name but at the deep, gravelly sound of his voice. It provoked a tiny shiver. Strange. “That’s right.” She extended her hand. “And you are…?”

His stare dropped to her outstretched hand. “Reece.” He lifted those fierce blues back to hers. “Lincoln Reece.”

He folded his hand over hers and squeezed firmly before letting go. His hand was wide, strong, long fingered. An unexpected shock rippled through her, and she pushed away the silly reaction. “How can I help you, Mr. Reece?”

“The house on Magnolia.”

Mia nodded. “The nineteen-ten folk Victorian. The Reid house.” She knew the one. Once upon a time it had been a grand place. That neglected beauty had been empty for nearly two years.

“Yeah, right. That one.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “How much do you know about the house, Miss Grant?”

The man was nervous. Really nervous. Quite odd. “It’s a lovely old home.” She lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug. The house was for sale. Maybe he was interested. “Needs some TLC. But it wouldn’t be that difficult to bring her back.”

“I was told you do restorative work.” He glanced at the ladder a few feet away.

That explained why he’d been watching her. “Some. I specialize in restoring plasterwork.” As foolish as it sounded she was a little let down that he was interested in her work and not her. She shouldn’t be surprised, though. There hadn’t been so much as a movie invitation in the last year. She would have to work hard to recall her last real date. That was the trouble with small-town life. Everyone knew everyone else. Labels were stamped quickly. No one would dare risk hurting poor Mia’s feelings…or crossing her powerful uncle.

The hands came out of Mr. Reece’s pockets and he seemed to relax. “I’m considering buying the place and I wanted an estimate on the restoration work.” His gaze traveled down to her sneakered feet and noticeably slowed moving up her jeans-clad legs and over her apron and T-shirt. That he lingered on her breasts prompted another shiver.

Flustered, Mia hesitated. The first hint of uneasiness slithered down her spine. “I’ll have to check my calendar. This time of year folks are focused on taking care of things around the house.” That wasn’t exactly true, beyond exterior maintenance and upgrades—none of which were her specialty—but this man was a stranger. A girl couldn’t be too careful.

“Chandra Green suggested I speak to you.”

Had he read her mind and provided a reference? In any case she relaxed a little. Mia would be calling Chandra. It wasn’t unusual for real estate agents to recommend local contractors. Not that she was a real contractor. More a handywoman who’d marketed the only skills she possessed. “Chandra knows my work.”

Mr. Reece pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and offered it to her. “I’ll be in town for a few days. If possible, I’d like to make a decision on the house before I leave.”

Mia studied the card. Only his name and number were printed there, not one other detail. “I’ll call you this afternoon.” No point making the man wait too long. If Chandra gave him a thumbs-up, Mia would jump on the job. She could use the work. There weren’t that many historic homes left in town in need of her particular restoration speciality.

“That’s perfect. Thank you.” He stared at her another moment, then turned and walked away.

Very strange, Mia thought. She tucked the card into her apron pocket and walked to the window to watch Lincoln Reece stroll down the sidewalk toward the town square. Where was he from? He possessed no discernible accent. There was nothing to glean from the way he dressed. And certainly not from his card.

As if he’d once again sensed her thoughts, he stopped and turned back. Mia eased to one side of the window to prevent being spotted. He studied the Dowe house for at least half a minute before resuming his trek toward the center of town.

As she watched him blend into the pedestrians strolling on the tree-lined walk, she winced at her reflection in the glass. She looked a mess. Wisps of hair had fallen loose from her ponytail. She had plaster smeared on her T-shirt and jeans, despite the apron. Not exactly a professional presentation.

“So? Who is he?” Tina Marie demanded as she peeked over Mia’s shoulder.

Mia jumped. “His name is Lincoln. He’s looking at the Reid house. Chandra suggested he check with me about the plaster repairs.”

Tina Marie chattered on, but Mia didn’t get a word she said. The funny shock she’d experienced when she and the stranger had shaken hands still puzzled her. Spending so much time in these old homes, she met lots of strangers, tourists mostly. She’d never had one do that to her with a bear hug, much less a brief brushing of palms. And Reece was by no means the only handsome or enigmatic man she’d encountered, on or off the job.

“I’m taking a break,” Mia said, interrupting her friend’s lengthy supposition about the stranger. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

Mia skirted the dozen or so tourists oohing and ahhing over the dining room and cut through the kitchen to reach the back gardens. She moved away from the house to avoid interruptions by those wandering the blooming paths of the gardens, slid her cell phone from her pocket and called Chandra.

According to Chandra, Reece was a serious potential buyer.

“So this guy is legit?” Mia asked.

“Definitely,” Chandra assured her. “He’s ready to buy and he doesn’t need financing. The man absolutely insisted I show him all three of the historic homes in town that are for sale. On Sunday no less.”

Another surprise. He hadn’t looked like the type with that kind of money or that sort of determination. “He picked the Reid house over the others?” It was by far in the worst condition.

“He preferred a fixer-upper,” Chandra explained. “Wants to get his hands dirty.”

Actually he wanted to get Mia’s hands dirty. “I guess I could call him.”

“Be sure you do, Mia,” Chandra urged. “You know how slow the housing market has been. I could really use the sale.”

Things were tough all over town. “You can count on me.” That was what folks did here in Blossom. They helped each other out.

After Chandra finished her drawn-out monologue about how handsome and mysterious Reece was, Mia grabbed the opportunity to end the call. Mr. Reece had better watch himself. Chandra had been divorced for three years. She had bemoaned the slim pickings hereabouts for that same time. Reece fit the Realtor’s image of the perfect man—hot and loaded.

Mia would call Reece. But not for a couple of hours. She could use the work but she didn’t want to appear desperate. Fair pay wasn’t too much to ask, even in this economy. If he pegged her as desperate he’d start trying to negotiate her prices in the wrong direction.

She propped her hands on her hips. This could be a godsend. Maybe she’d get that new stained-glass window for her bathroom after all. Not to mention a little cushion in her bank account.

Her uncle had offered to replace the window ten times. But Mia was a grown woman. She could support herself. Her uncle had done far too much for her already.

The journey had been long and arduous but Mia Grant was fully capable of standing on her own two feet. She smiled. That had not been the case just a few years ago. Funny how a person’s darkest hours could seem so far away and not so bad after all when looking from well on the other side of tragedy.

Mia liked this view a whole lot better.

Chapter Three

1:00 p.m.

It was her.

Linc braced his hands on the bathroom wall and peered into the mirror. It was Lori.

Her face was different, the nose mainly, like Mort had said. But Linc had watched her move. Every move. The way her hands stroked the plaster. The way she arched her back. It was her.

The eyes…Lori’s eyes. Pale brown, almost gold. She wore her shiny brown hair the same. Long, silky. He’d know that mussed ponytail anywhere. While they’d talked he had studied her face. The cheekbones were so much like Lori’s, with only the subtlest changes. The brow area was different, but the lips were exactly the same.

He was certain it was her. But she hadn’t recognized him.

His gut clenched. He’d watched for the faintest flare of recognition in her eyes. Nothing. But when their hands had touched, her pupils had flared. That alone couldn’t be attributed to recognition. He was a stranger. For all he knew this Mia Grant might respond to all strangers, especially males, in that manner. According to one of the guides at the Dowe home where she’d been working, guys were wasting their time setting their sites on Mia. She was untouchable. Of course, the guide was young, twenty-one or twenty-two maybe. Lori—Mia—had turned thirty this year, though she looked closer to twenty and always had. The youthful image had worked to her advantage in undercover work.

Doubt nagged him and Linc pushed it away. It was her.

How was that possible? Everyone on that damned yacht had died except Linc and one of Juan Marcos’s thugs. No one else had survived. They had searched for survivors and bodies for days. Only a few who’d been on board had been found. They had been so deep at sea it was impossible to even hope to find them all.

When the recovery efforts were halted, Linc had lain in the hospital counting the hours and days until he was released. Then, with the help of a private team, he’d searched the water for days more. He’d gone to every hospital and clinic in a hundred-mile radius. Nothing. Not a single other survivor had been treated in the area.

Eventually he’d given up.

Linc stared at his weary reflection. Maybe he’d lost his mind. No. If that were the case, then Mort was crazy, too. Mort was sure this woman was Lori.

But Mia didn’t remember Linc.

Amnesia? Chances were she had sustained a head injury in the accident. If the amnesia had been merely traumatic or only partial, she’d be past that now. Was it possible that all she needed was the right mental nudges? He needed to talk to a specialist. He had no idea what the ramifications of a memory loss so profound and long-lasting could be.

The other screaming question was how she had gotten here.

This was nuts.

Linc wrenched the faucet handles, letting the water flow from the tap. He bent down and washed his face. Think! How can this be?

He grabbed a towel and scrubbed it over his face. If she would take the job he’d offered her, he could buy some time to figure this out. For the past seven years he hadn’t given one damn about material possessions. His paychecks had gone into the bank. He’d lived on bourbon and the occasional sandwich. Buying the Reid house wouldn’t be a hardship. Staying here for as long as necessary wouldn’t be, either.

His cell vibrated. He snagged it by two fingers and slid it from his front pocket. The number on the screen told him it was the boss. “Reece.”

“Have you made contact?” Keaton asked.

Slade Keaton ran a tight ship at the Equalizers. He cared that his investigators were good to go professionally as well as personally. But he never stepped over the line. In recent weeks, though, his personal involvement with his staff had changed considerably. When Linc had first come on board, Keaton had been all but anonymous.

“I spoke to her briefly.” Linc forked the fingers of his free hand through his hair as he moved to the bed and plopped down. “It’s her.” The words echoed over and over in his brain.

“The dental records were faxed to my office. I’m loading them into a PDF. I’ll send them to you shortly.”

“Thanks.” Not that he had a clue how he would accomplish the comparison just yet.

“You’re certain there are no living family members?”

“None. Both her parents passed away when she was in college, and she’s an only child.” Linc wished like hell he could go the DNA route, but there was no comparison sample. Fingerprints would have been the simplest method, but the gas leak explosion at the L.A. Hall of Records a year after the accident that had taken her life—or so he’d thought—had decimated all official files, including the DMV files. The obliterated files hadn’t meant anything at the time, but now he couldn’t help wondering if the two incidents had been related.

“No prints, no DNA.” Keaton made a sound that reflected his own skepticism. “Sounds almost like a well-thought-out plan.”

Anger stirred in Linc. “She wouldn’t have done that.” No way in hell Lori would have set up her own death to get away from her life…from Linc.

“That wasn’t an accusation,” Keaton assured him. “Only a statement of fact.”

Linc rubbed his weary eyes. His chest tightened to the point of restricting any possibility of a breath. “Point taken.”

How the hell was he going to do this?

There was no quick and easy method. He needed time and access.

“If you require any other of my available resources—”

“I’ll call.” Linc hesitated. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “This is…crazy.”

“Maybe,” Keaton agreed, “but there’s only one way to find out.”

That was the bottom line. “If I were working this as a case, I’d be looking into any Marcos connections in the area.” Even though Juan Marcos was dead. Like Lori. “If this is my wife, Marcos had something to do with it.” No damned question. Marcos had been the biggest drug lord on the West Coast. Many had tried, but no one had been able to get close to him, much less bring him down, until Linc and Lori infiltrated his organization.

“I’m on it,” Keaton guaranteed. “I have the details you provided as well as headlines I pulled up on the Net. I’ll reach out to my contacts.”

Linc cleared his throat of the emotion clogged there. “Appreciate it.”

He closed his cell and tossed it onto the bed. He’d been here thirty-some-odd hours and he had already hit a brick wall. Every part of him believed this woman was Lori. Yet he had no way to prove it.

He closed his eyes and allowed the memories to invade his mind. Lori had come to the LAPD straight from college. Linc had just made detective. They were married within three months. A year later she was on the narco team with him. They’d been assigned to the Marcos operation because they fit the necessary profile—young and attractive. Marcos surrounded himself with youth and beauty. It was the only way into his exclusive, lethal club.

Just nine weeks later Linc and Lori had moved into the inner sanctum. Many weeks later, a celebration on the Marcos yacht was the prelude to his takedown. All his major players were to be there. But a competitor had seized the opportunity to take out all the real competition in one fell swoop.

It had worked.

Agony swelled inside Linc. He’d lost her and nothing else had mattered since.

He reached for his phone. Might as well walk around town and see what he could dig up in the way of info on Mia Grant. Hanging around the town’s only hotel, an ancient house that had been converted into a bed-and-breakfast, would have him climbing the walls.

He stuffed his shirt back into his jeans and left. Downstairs the lady who’d registered him as a guest looked up from the paperback book she was reading and smiled. She hadn’t been at her desk when he’d returned half an hour ago.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Reece. Did you have lunch? I can warm you up a plate. Our guests are welcome to all meals prepared.”

“Thanks, but I’m on my way out.” He flashed her a halfhearted smile.

“I hear you’re going to buy the Reid house.”

The small-town grapevine was obviously alive and well. “I’m considering it.” He continued toward the door. Adding to the rumor mill wasn’t on his agenda. Slowing for additional conversation would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.

“Mia will make that place look like the day it was built.” Her face gleamed with pride. “She’s just amazing.”

Linc changed course and headed for the desk where the chatty lady sat. Either she was guessing or Mia had already discussed taking the job with someone on the gossip loop. “Are her prices reasonable?” Seemed like a safe lead-in.

“Never heard nobody complain.” She pursed her lips and lifted her chin triumphantly.

“Mrs. Crist, you sound like a big fan of Miss Grant’s. I’m not sure you’re objective.” Mrs. Crist, the owner of the bed-and-breakfast, was seventy if she was a day, but her eyes were as keen as a seventeen-year-old’s.

“I’m a fan rightly enough,” she confessed. “But the girl’s got a magic touch with plaster. That’s the God’s truth.”

“Do she and her husband work together?”

Mrs. Crist puckered her face with a combination of humor and confusion. “Where in the world did you hear she had a husband?” Her gaze narrowed. “You been talking to that Teddy Stewart down at the Gas and Go? That young fella is just trying to ward off any suitors. Mia’s not married. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She’s too busy for such.” She raised her eyebrows at Linc. “Or so she says.”

Linc chuckled. “If we come to an agreeable price, I plan to keep her busy for a while.”

Crist grinned. “I see she’s already turned your head.”

His tone as he’d made the statement reverberated in his ears, then kicked him square between the eyes. He’d sounded exactly like a man interested in more than a woman’s professional skills. Not a good thing. He needed time with Mia Grant, not to scare her off. He needed to be sure.

“Only for her talent with plaster.” He gave the lady a nod and headed for the door before he stuck his foot any deeper down his throat.

Outside he rounded the corner of the Victorian bed-and-breakfast and reached for his keys. He’d considered using an alias while he was here, but he wanted Mia to know his name. To hear it. To say it.

Linc wanted whoever had brought her here to know he had arrived. He was here for his wife.

His cell vibrated.

He hit the remote and unlocked the SUV as he tugged the phone from his pocket.

Unknown number with a Tennessee area code. Tension rushed through his veins, escalating his already too-fast respiration. “Reece.”

“Mr. Reece, this is Mia Grant.”

“You found time in your schedule?” He held his breath in anticipation of her answer.

“Yes.”

The air seeped from his lungs.

“I’d like to meet at the house and see what you have in mind.”

The sound of her voice made his knees rubbery. “Name the time.” Damn. They needed to include the real estate agent. He’d have to call her immediately. The sooner he could see this Mia Grant again the sooner he would find the answers he needed.

“I’ll pick up the key from Chandra and meet you there in fifteen minutes,” she said.

Even better. “I’ll be there.”

She said goodbye and ended the call.

Linc leaned against his SUV and closed his eyes. Her voice…Lori’s voice.

His wife was alive.

Chapter Four

The house looked as bad as Mia remembered. The plaster was a real mess, more the walls than the molding. The ceilings had some bad areas, but fortunately the original wood floors were in considerably better condition. The windows and doors looked salvageable. Surprisingly, the two baths and the kitchen were in better condition than any other room, which was good considering they could suck up major bucks in a renovation.

“I can work with this,” she announced.

Reece nodded. “When can you start?”

Mia laughed. “Don’t you want to know my price first?” He’d followed her from room to room for the last half hour. He hadn’t said a word since the initial hello.

Surprise flashed across his face, but he quickly schooled the expression. “Mrs. Crist tells me your prices are fair.”

“Maybe so.” Mia didn’t know this man. She wanted no miscommunications between them. “But I’d feel more comfortable if we agreed upon a price first.”

He nodded his head. “Understandable.”

Mia chewed the inside of her cheek. Perhaps the price she’d mentally calculated was too low. No, it was fair. She wouldn’t jack up her price simply because he appeared prepared to pay whatever she named. This man was from out of town and clearly money was no issue, that was true. Still, right was right. She stated her price and prepared for his reaction.

“Sounds reasonable,” Reece said without hesitation or detectable reluctance.

“It’ll take some time,” she warned. “I have a couple of days left at the Dowe house.” Day and a half maybe. Better to give herself sufficient time than to risk not meeting a stated target date. “I’ll need at least two weeks here.”

Some aspect of her answer didn’t appear to sit well with him. A frown furrowed his brow. “Is it possible to work a couple of hours here each day while you finish up there?”

A frown of her own worried her forehead. “Are you on a deadline, Mr. Reece?”

“Linc.”

“Linc,” she echoed. His stare turned so intense that she suddenly felt uncomfortable alone with him. Knock it off, Mia. She squared her shoulders against the uneasiness. “You should call me Mia.”

“Mia.”

Silence thickened in the room as her senses absorbed the sound of her name on his lips. What was it about this man that made her feel so…restless?

“You…you have a deadline?” He hadn’t answered her question.

He crossed the parlor to the expanse of windows looking out over the well-manicured lawn. The city council required that properties in town, whether inhabited or not, be maintained on the outside. Overgrown and littered yards were bad for tourism as well as community pride.

“Time isn’t an issue,” he said, his back still turned to her. “I’m merely anxious to get started.”

That was true of most folks when they got their hearts set on a project. “I could maybe get a couple hours in tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick up enough material to get started.”

He nodded. She noticed only because she was watching for a response. Her initial analysis of him had been right. Brooding. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow.” Tucking her notepad into her apron pocket, she started for the entry hall.

“Are you available for dinner this evening?”

Startled by the request, Mia paused. He was watching her. That was it, she realized. He didn’t really look at her. He watched her. Analyzed her. And it made her restless. “Dinner?”

“I’d like to discuss any recommendations you might have for the other work.”

She nodded. “Plumbing and electrical. And the floors.”

“Is that a yes to dinner?”

He moved closer, his posture oddly rigid. That restlessness she’d been experiencing picked up its pace, making her pulse quicken. Was he trying to intimidate her or was this just his way?

“Blossom Café?” she proposed. It was a safe choice. She knew the folks who ran the café and she would know all the patrons. Her little bungalow was only a couple of blocks away. It was perfect.

“Eight?”

He was definitely from the city, she thought. “Around here we call it supper and it’s around six.”

Why did he stare at her that way? Every response came after a considerable delay.

“Six, then.”

More of that breath-stealing silence followed.

Suppressing that danged uneasiness, she tacked a smile into place. “See you then.”

Mia turned toward her original destination. This time he didn’t stop her. She walked out the door and straight to her old truck. The safety and familiarity of it felt like a balm to her frayed nerves. More than forty years old and a little beat-up, the truck served her purposes just fine. A handy toolbox was mounted in the back and a smaller, handheld version waited in the cab. She liked her truck and she liked her life.

Feeling out of sorts wasn’t the norm for her, at least not in a really long time. Back during her recovery there had been a lot of days filled with pain and uncertainty. Feelings of loss that she hadn’t been able to fully measure or articulate. But those days were long gone.

As Mia slid behind the wheel of her trusty truck she caught a glimpse of Mr. Reece watching her from the broad parlor window.

Doubt slipped up on her. Maybe she’d made a mistake agreeing to work for him. There was something very odd about Lincoln Reece. He exhumed frailties she hadn’t suffered in years.

Mia shook her head. You’re making too much of this, girl. She laughed. This was Blossom. Bad things never happened here. That was just another reason why she loved it so very much. It was also why her uncle had brought her here after her release from those long, long months of rehabilitation.

This was home now.

Safe. Reliable. Calm.

LINC COULDN’T MOVE.

He’d made that mistake when he’d asked her about dinner. The closer he’d gotten to her the more his control had dwindled. He’d wanted to grab her and shake her. To demand that she admit that Mia Grant was not her name.

She was Lori…his wife.

Relief, elation and anticipation infused his blood with yearning. He felt it all the way to the core of his being.

The junker of a pickup eased away from the curb. When it had disappeared down the tree-lined street, Linc left the window and surveyed the parlor. There was a lot of work to be done. That would buy him some time. But there were other pressing issues to be considered.

How had Lori gotten here?

Who had rescued her after the explosion on the yacht? More importantly, how had she been rescued? Not that Linc wasn’t grateful, but this was no act of a Good Samaritan. Her rescue had sinister origins. Otherwise her identity would have been tracked down and her next of kin—her husband—contacted.

As right as finding her felt, the circumstances were wrong, way wrong.

Blossom Café, 6:00 p.m.

SHE WAITED AT A TABLE in the center of the small café. For a minute or so Linc studied her. He’d already done a lot of that. It wasn’t smart to risk her catching him yet again. He sensed she was suspicious already, but he couldn’t help himself. From a distance, he could look with the knowledge that this was his wife. The only woman he had ever loved. The woman with whom he had shared every aspect of his life. Back when he’d had a life.

Seven years. At first he had plunged into an oblivion of pain and despair. He had prayed his way back, believing that there had to be a mistake…that she had to be alive. All he had to do was find her. Then defeat had conquered him and he had stopped feeling at all. Inside, he had broken. Given up.

Yet, there she was. The minimal outside changes didn’t matter. It was the inside, the voice, the mannerisms that told him his heart could dare to beat again.

This was his wife and she was alive.

Linc pulled open the door, causing the overhead bell to jingle, and stepped inside. The smell of home cooking made the air thick and damp. Though clearly deep in conversation, most of the patrons glanced his way. Some turned back to their supper companions while others visually followed him to Lori’s table. Mia’s table. He had to remember that.

A smile stretched her lips—lips he had kissed a thousand times. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” The twinkle in her eyes told him she understood that was impossible since this was the only café on the town square open past three in the afternoon.

“I was delayed by a call.” He dragged out the chair opposite her and took a seat.

She passed him a menu. “I already know what I want. The meatloaf is awesome.”

He didn’t bother looking at the menu. “Meatloaf it is, then.”

“Good call.” She held up her glass. “Sweet tea?”

What he really needed was a fifth of bourbon. “Absolutely.”

Linc was vaguely aware that a waitress had strolled up to their table, but he couldn’t shift his focus from the eyes, the mouth he’d cherished for a few short months and then had hungered for during the better part of a decade that had felt more like an eternity.

Mia placed their orders. When the chatty waitress had moved away, Mia pulled out her notepad. “I have a couple of names for you. Jesse Steele is the best plumber anywhere around here.” She pointed to the next name she’d jotted down. “Same goes for Patrick Nunley. He’s an electrician.” She tapped the final name on her handwritten list. “I’ve worked with Jerry Brooks plenty of times. He’s the best carpenter I know. He can handle anything else you need.”

That her lips had stopped moving told him she was waiting for a response from him.

“I’ll need estimates.” He gave himself a mental kick. He needed to focus.

“I can have these guys call you,” she suggested. “Or when I’m at the house they can come by and do their estimates.”

“Either way works for me.” He wanted to get past talk of the house.

“I’ll make the calls.” She tore the page free of the pad and thrust it at him. “You can keep this, so you don’t forget the names.”

He accepted the list and studied the names written there. A knot formed in his chest. This was not her handwriting. The J’s were different. And the way she crossed her J’s. Too neat, not the sweeping strokes Lori had made.

“Here you go.” The waitress placed their orders on the table, heaping plates, then filled-to-the-rim glasses garnished with lemon wedges. “Anything else?”

Mia looked to him. Still in a daze of harsh reality, Linc shook his head.

“That’s good for now, Louise. Thanks,” Mia said.

She smiled that broad, familiar smile that was all Lori as she dismissed the waitress. The scent of buttered potatoes and richly seasoned meat turned his stomach. Linc had no appetite, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Fear climbed up his dry throat and coagulated. What if he was wrong?

“Mmm.” Mia closed her eyes as she savored a bite of meatloaf.

The question he’d intended to ask to shift the conversation stuck on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t manage to spit it out. Not with his throat clogged with something he couldn’t name and her making those sounds.

“You have to taste this.” She gestured to his plate. “Eat!”

He wrapped his fingers around the fork, his movements mechanical, and followed her order. Whatever kept her here and talking to him. That was all that mattered…until he knew for sure. He ate a forkful. “You’re right. The best I’ve ever tasted.” An old memory slammed into his brain. “Except maybe that little place in Encino.” He and Lori had eaten there several times because she had loved the down-home atmosphere. How had he forgotten that? “They served a pretty amazing meatloaf.” He couldn’t remember if they did or not, but they had served Southern-style cuisine.

She blinked. For one second he was certain she remembered. Then she said, “Encino? Is that where you’re from?”

Another wave of defeat slammed into him. “L.A.” He carefully placed the fork on the table. “My wife and I used to go to a little place in Encino. She loved the meatloaf.” An ache broke open his chest. There was no trace of recognition on her face or in her eyes.

“You’re married?” She looked surprised. Or was she disappointed?

He shook his head. “She died a long time ago.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry.” She set her fork aside. “I shouldn’t have asked, but it’s unusual for a wife not to be involved with purchasing and remodeling a house. That’s why I was surprised when you mentioned a wife.” Her cheeks were a little pink. She’d always blushed like that whenever she felt she’d said the wrong thing.

“Sure.” He swallowed back the disappointment that she had a logical reason for asking if he was married. Doubt and defeat were battling it out for top billing in his brain. The handwriting was wrong…the smile was right… Could she possibly be Lori or was he kidding himself? He’d given up hope a damned long time ago. How had it taken root again so deeply and swiftly?

Ten seconds turned into twenty. She picked at her meatloaf as if she were at a loss for words. He would have the advantage now. A change of subject would be a relief. He blanked his mind of those churning emotions he hadn’t felt in so long. “Did you grow up in Blossom?”

Her gaze met his. “No. I’m from Colorado. I moved here about six years ago.”

“You have family here?” He stopped breathing.

“My aunt.” She chewed on another bite of her entrée. “My uncle visits often but he doesn’t live here.”

That was totally impossible. He bit the words back. Lori couldn’t have family here. She had no living relatives anywhere. She’d been born and raised in California. Her parents had both been Californians. She had never spoken of any other relatives. After the accident, he’d attempted to track down any distant relatives, but there were none.

“Where did you learn about plasterwork?” He couldn’t wait to hear the answer to that one. The fury that abruptly lit in his gut was irrational. He shouldn’t feel any of this.

She laughed. “That’s kind of a funny story.” She sipped her tea, then licked her lips. “My aunt wanted to repair a hole in the plaster wall of her home. A plumbing repair had left a bit of a mess. I attempted to help her.” She shrugged. “I figured it couldn’t be that hard. I made the mess worse. But I wouldn’t give up. After a while it was like I was a natural at it. Like I’d been an artisan of plaster in another life.”

Because she had been. “And you’ve been doing it ever since?”

She nodded. “When I’m not helping out at the Pet Stop.”

“Pet Stop?” He surely misunderstood her meaning.

“I help my aunt with her dog-grooming business. She’s getting up there in years and she just can’t keep up. I go over a couple of afternoons a week and lend a hand.” Her lips curled into that crooked but sexy-as-hell grin that was all Lori. “But I don’t mind. I love dogs. I’d have one of my own if I was ever home.” She shrugged. “Maybe one of these days.”

Her words hit him like a sucker punch to his gut. Could he be that wrong?

The voice, the eyes, the way she moved… He had been certain she was Lori.

But his wife had been seriously allergic to cats and dogs. She couldn’t even live in an apartment where pets had lived before her.

His gaze fixed on the eyes and the lips that he knew so intimately and that had helped to convince him that this woman was his wife.

He should have known the whole concept of Lori being alive was too good to be true.

He’d made a mistake coming here.

Chapter Five

“It’s him.”

“You’re certain?”

Ted Stewart checked the screen of his smartphone a third time, then glanced across the room to the table where Mia sat with the stranger who’d been hanging around watching her for two days. “I’m certain,” he muttered under his breath. “And I checked the register at the bed-and-breakfast. It’s him. Lincoln Reece.”

Ted kept an eye on Mia as the man on the other line silently contemplated the news. This stranger was trouble. Ted couldn’t ever recall Mr. Lopez calling three times in twenty-four hours about a situation involving Mia. He watched out for that girl as if she were his own daughter. Of course, she was his goddaughter. She called him her uncle but he wasn’t really. He’d made a promise to his best friend on his deathbed that he would see that she was protected and cared for the rest of her life.

In Ted’s opinion, Lopez went a little overboard. Even a straight-up guy like Ted couldn’t get close to Mia. Old man Lopez guarded her like she was some kind of saint that no mere mortal was allowed to go near, much less touch.

“Keep an eye on him,” Lopez ordered, dragging Ted back to the here and now. “I’m out of the country and I won’t be able to get there for a few days. I want to know every move he makes.”

Ted gave Reece a long, thorough look, something else he’d already done several times. “Who is this guy?” Ted asked quietly. The hum of conversation was plenty loud enough to cover his voice but he wasn’t taking any chances. One of these days, if Ted had his way, Mia would belong to him. In small towns like Blossom a guy had to stake his claim early on. Most men his age moved to Nashville or Murfreesboro for better jobs. Not many stayed in this one-horse town where fabrication and industry were frowned upon. Green and all-natural were the only buzzwords these folks understood.

“An old enemy of Mia’s father. He must be watched closely.”

“Is this dude dangerous?” Apprehension nudged Ted. He’d never carried a pistol. He owned a shotgun but it hung on the rack inside his truck. Other than the time he’d had to run off that coyote, the rack was where the shotgun stayed.

“Suffice it to say, he’s potential trouble.”

“All right.” Teddy tossed back a swig of his iced tea. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” He could use the extra bucks. Lopez always paid well. Not to mention he liked that the old man trusted him. Besides, spending time watching Mia was no hardship, and Ted had a feeling that keeping up with Reece’s comings and goings would probably include seeing a lot of Mia.

“Do not underestimate Reece,” Lopez warned. “He is not your average Joe.”

Enough already. “Got it. I’ll use extra caution.”

“Contact me if anything changes.” With that, Lopez severed the connection.

Ted tucked the phone into his pocket and dug into his supper. The gravy on his chicken-fried steak had turned cold but he wasn’t wasting good money or good food. It ticked him off that Lopez had harped on just how special Reece was. Lopez should know by now that Ted knew how to handle himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of unwanted attention on Mia’s behalf.

He could handle this. Easy as the cherry pie he was going to have for dessert.

Lincoln Reece had better watch himself.

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