From investigating a security breach

to becoming the target of an unseen foe

Someone has been impersonating software engineer Lucy Sutton to steal classified technology secrets, and it’s up to her to figure out who. National Security Agency employee Jordan Harris is the only person she trusts to help her set a trap. But with an unknown enemy watching Lucy’s every move and threatening her life, capturing the culprit becomes an even deadlier task than they expected.

SHERRI SHACKELFORD is an award-winning author of inspirational books featuring ordinary people discovering extraordinary love. A reformed pessimist, Sherri has a passion for storytelling. Her books are fast paced and heartfelt with a generous dose of humor. She loves to hear from readers at sherri@sherrishackelford.com. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com.

Also By Sherri Shackelford

No Safe Place

Killer Amnesia

Stolen Secrets

Return to Cowboy Creek

His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

Montana Courtships

Mail-Order Christmas Baby

Prairie Courtships

The Engagement Bargain

The Rancher’s Christmas Proposal

A Family for the Holidays

A Temporary Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Stolen Secrets

Sherri Shackelford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90640-5

STOLEN SECRETS

© 2020 Sherri Shackelford

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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A great weight pressed into Lucy’s chest, restricting her breathing.

The instant photograph was small, only a few inches square, and the colors were bleached. The two grainy forms in the foreground were barely distinguishable as her and Jordan. Despite the poor quality, there was no mistaking the content. The picture was of the two of them, and had been taken outside her sunroom only moments before.

“I checked the angle. It looks like someone took the picture from your neighbor’s yard. Are you certain you didn’t leave that window open when you left this morning?” Jordan asked.

“Positive.”

Jordan tapped his index finger against the steering wheel. “Whoever planted the listening devices probably left the window open as a bit of insurance for easy access to the house when necessary.”

“Do you think they know we discovered the surveillance?”

“Even if they did, I don’t think they care. They want you to know you’re being monitored. Someone took the picture from the neighboring yard, then slipped it through the open window while we were upstairs. They want you to feel on edge. To feel trapped.”

“It’s working.“

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Stolen Secrets! For this story, I wanted to explore both the grieving process and how life changes after the death of a loved one. While most of us are familiar with the five stages of grief, we often don’t think about what follows the acceptance phase. Lucy and Jordan were both hesitant to move on with their lives. Because of that uncertainty, they were both stuck.

Together they learned that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting or even letting go of the grief entirely. Instead, they each made the decision to invest their love and emotion in healthy, life-affirming relationships.

I love connecting with readers and would love to hear your thoughts on this story! If you’re interested in learning more about this book—or other books and series I have written—I have more information on my website: sherrishackelford.com. I can also be reached by email at sherri@sherrishackelford.com, and snail mail, PO Box 116, Elkhorn, NE, 68022.

Happy Reading!

Sherri Shackelford

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

—John 14:27

To Tina Radcliffe and Stephanie Dees. Thanks for coming to Nebraska to visit me. The weather is always that nice. Really.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Adjusting his tie, Jordan Harris checked his reflection in the mirrored glass window of the coffee shop. His civilian haircut camouflaged the crescent scar looping around his left ear, and the extra volume of his suit jacket concealed his weapon. Satisfied his appearance was squared away, he pushed open the door.

The comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him in a soothing air-conditioned cloud. A half-dozen people were scattered throughout the colorful airy space. Four females, one toddler and three males. Soft perimeter. No credible threats. These days, no place was entirely safe. Not even Omaha, Nebraska.

A woman with white-blond hair sat with her back to the door. A soft breeze ruffled the wavy chin-length strands, revealing vivid blue streaks hidden throughout the layers.

Lucy Sutton.

He stared, mesmerized for a moment, before returning to his senses. Trained in masking his emotions, Jordan worked for the National Security Agency. He was a modern-day spy in a digital world. He was good at his job, but there were times when he felt as though his life was comprised of nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

Lucy turned, and he lifted his hand in greeting. They’d texted. He’d seen her picture plenty of times, and he assumed she’d looked him up on social media. Recognition softened her blue-gray eyes, and she waved him over.

She wore a dark floral-print dress with an enveloping black sweater. By the time he maneuvered through the jumble of mismatched tables and chairs, she’d stood, the top of her head not quite clearing his shoulder. Her expressive storm-colored eyes took up most of the real estate on her pixie face.

“Jordan Harris?” she asked, her voice slightly husky.

“Lucy Sutton, right?” he replied, though he’d have recognized her anywhere.

They exchanged the awkward, cursory greeting of two people who shared nothing beyond a mutual tragedy.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” he said.

A little over a year ago, he’d been assigned to an isolated intelligence recon mission overseas along with Lucy’s fiancé, Brandt Gallagher. During the endless hours of monotonous surveillance, Brandt had shared portions of Lucy’s emails to entertain them. Knowing they were far from home and missing the familiar, she’d transformed even the most mundane daily activities into amusing anecdotes.

As the weeks passed, Jordan had looked forward to her witty observations and keen intelligence. Knowing that nothing would ever come of it, he’d even allowed himself to develop a harmless crush on her.

“Nice to see you, too,” she said, her smile warm. “This must be quite a change of pace after being overseas.”

“Not as much as you’d think.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Brandt. I should have spoken to you earlier, but I couldn’t…”

Lucy held up one hand, her eyes welling with tears. “Don’t apologize. They told me you’d been injured.” She studied his face, as though searching for any lingering signs of the explosion that had permanently altered his hairline. “They didn’t tell me how badly, though.”

“Not bad.” He was heartily sick of the traumatic brain injury protocol, and he’d had enough neurological scans to map out his brain ten times over. “Fully recovered.”

“Brandt promised me the job was rarely dangerous.”

“Normally, it’s not. But we work in hostile places, and there’s always a risk.”

“I miss him.” Her throat worked. “You knew him better than I ever did. You knew him longer. With his parents gone, they gave me his flag. It should have gone to—” Her voice broke.

“I miss him, too.” Jordan took her elbow and guided her toward the table. “You were his fiancée. He’d have wanted you to have it.”

She sank onto her chair. “Thank you.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” he said. “I appreciate you meeting me, considering…”

He’d felt a connection to her even though they’d never met in person before today. Maybe it was because he’d had a childhood friend with the same name. Though she was nothing like the kid he’d known in school, hearing the name Lucy Sutton automatically came with a sense of belonging.

“Every day is different, you know?” Lucy’s smile was overly bright and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. “You were a good friend to him, and that means a lot.”

A band of emotion squeezed his chest. She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew the truth of her fiancé’s death. They’d been on the verge of wrapping up their assignment when something—or someone—had blown their cover. A suicide bomber had targeted the hotel where they were conducting their surveillance.

Jordan had survived the blast. Brandt had not. That was all Lucy knew about that day. She didn’t know the suicide bomber had discovered the intelligence equipment Jordan and Brandt had planted earlier. That part was classified.

Her gaze skittered away, and she motioned to a chair. “Sit. Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m good.”

Lucy reached for her coffee. Despite the unusually mild spring weather, she clutched the warm cup. He glanced at her hand, and his breath hitched. His carefully prepared speech shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

She followed his gaze. “I should probably stop wearing the engagement ring. It’s sentimental, I suppose, because of, well, you know…”

“You, uh…” He cleared his throat. “You should do whatever feels right to you.”

According to Brandt, his whirlwind courtship with Lucy had prevented him from proposing with a proper ring. Near the end of their assignment, Brandt had produced a box from a shockingly exclusive jeweler in Islamabad who catered to Saudi princes and Russian oligarchs.

The day of the bombing, Brandt had asked him to hold the ring. Jordan had thought it was lost in the blast until they’d returned it to him last month. Some sort of mix-up had occurred, and the ring had been sitting in storage for months. This morning he’d planned on presenting the ring to Lucy along with an apology for the delay, but she was already wearing an identical piece of jewelry.

Why?

Lucy glanced at the sparkling diamond. “We’d only been dating for six months when he learned he was being sent back into the field. He proposed to me the next day.”

“He was a force of nature,” Jordan said. Brandt was outgoing, irreverent and brash. Standing next to him meant standing in the shadows, like comparing a color photo to the negative. “Once he knew what he wanted, he went after it all the way. There was no one else like him.”

“He was relentless, that’s for sure.” She wriggled her fingers, and the diamond facets caught the sunlight streaming through the windows. “The ring was a compromise. Everything happened so fast. We agreed to a long engagement. I figured if our relationship survived his time in Pakistan, we’d have a chance.”

“I’m glad we could meet in person,” Jordan said, searching for a way to justify his presence because there was no obvious explanation for a duplicate ring. “I hope you weren’t too surprised when I contacted you.”

“I couldn’t have been more pleased.” Her tone was earnestly sincere. “Having heard so much about you from Brandt, I was looking forward to finally meeting you in person.”

“He’d read your emails out loud sometimes. Nothing personal, mind you. Just the silly stories. They kept us going.”

“Don’t look so guilty,” she admonished lightly. “Brandt told me. He couldn’t keep a secret even if he wanted to.”

The door swung open, and Lucy whipped around. The toddler he’d seen earlier waved at them with chubby fingers.

Lucy’s shoulders sagged and his attention sharpened. He wasn’t the only person at this meeting who was searching for credible threats.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Everything is fine.” With trembling fingers, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “I’m jumpy. Too much coffee, I guess.”

His immediate concerns took a back seat to more pressing matters. Lucy was probably good at many things.

Lying wasn’t one of them.

He carefully considered his next words. “The National Security Agency is a family,” Jordan prodded gently. “We look out for each other. We take care of each other. You’re a part of that family now.”

“It’s nothing.” Her gaze darted around the room. “It sounds absurd even to me.”

Fear was an emotion he encountered often in his line of work, and Lucy was terrified.

“I deal with the absurd for a living. Try me.”

“Brandt said you were easy to trust.” She rubbed her knuckles against the worry lines creasing her forehead. “When you contacted me last week, it was like an answer to my prayers. I had this idea that if I said everything out loud, I’d see how perfectly ridiculous I’m being.”

Jordan narrowed his gaze. “Then you haven’t spoken with anyone else about what’s on your mind? A friend? A family member?”

“No.” She blinked rapidly. “I can’t.”

He kept his posture relaxed and easy though his thoughts were troubled. While on a previous assignment, he’d been informed that his stepsister was in a serious car accident. She’d been writing about a prolific serial killer when she’d discovered the murderer’s identity. Instead of seeking Jordan’s help, she’d tried to handle the situation on her own—with near-fatal consequences. He didn’t want Lucy to feel the same way.

He wanted her to trust him. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Leaning forward, she tipped her coffee before quickly righting the cup. “I think someone is trying to frame me for a security breach at work.”

Jordan blinked.

He’d expected her to confess that she was having financial difficulties or something mundane. “You develop software for drone technology, right?”

“Yes.” She took a shaky sip of her coffee. “Drones are coupled with satellites, and I write code to ensure a secure uplink. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but that’s the simple version.”

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stirred. Overseas, drones did a massive amount of heavy lifting. Any disruption risked the safety of American troops.

“How do you think you’re being framed?” he asked.

“I was afraid you’d laugh at me or tell me I’m being paranoid.” She pressed her knuckles against her red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you for taking me seriously. No one else—Never mind. Just…thank you.”

Confessing her worries had released a floodgate of emotion. She was on edge, her distress barely in check. Though he wanted to comfort her, calm was contagious, and if he avoided mirroring her emotions, she was more likely to stay in control.

“Just tell me what happened,” he urged, keeping his tone professional. “And we’ll go from there.”

She took a few deep, fortifying breaths, then nodded.

“There was a data breach in my department while I was on vacation.” She hugged the edges of her sweater together. “Nothing major, but enough to make everyone on the executive floor nervous. I didn’t think much about it until last Thursday. I was working late to catch up when someone on the cleaning crew mentioned that I’d been working after hours a lot. Only I hadn’t been in the office for almost a week.”

“And they were certain it was you?”

“Yes. That’s what caught my attention.” She lifted a strand of her platinum hair. “I don’t exactly blend into a crowd. I might have written it off as a mistake, but the night security guard said something similar.” Casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, she whispered, “I think someone is impersonating me.”

All of that was suspicious but not necessarily proof. “Anything else?”

“A barista at a coffee shop near the building where I work also mentioned seeing me.”

“How well do you know the barista?”

“Not at all. I only stopped there because I was running late that day. It was the first time I’d ever been in that shop.”

Possible explanations buzzed through his head. A doppelgänger was bizarre, yet not necessarily outside the realm of possibilities. Selling classified information was lucrative, but extremely risky for both the buyer and seller. Deflecting the blame created a tactical advantage.

“Have you informed your supervisor?” he asked.

“Informed him of what?” She splayed her hands. “That someone who looks like me parked their car in the lot and entered the building? How do I prove it wasn’t me?”

She had a point. Depending on the clarity of the cameras and how well the impostor resembled her, there might not be a way to tell the difference.

“What do you know about the data breach?” He shifted directions. “What were they after?”

“I don’t know. No one is talking.” She ducked her head. “I think they’re watching me. There’s a chance my phone has been tapped. I even thought a car was following me today. Anything is possible.”

That was an understatement.

She had no idea the sorts of surveillance that were possible these days, even for civilians. “The car you thought was following you—do you know the make and model?”

“A white sedan. Like a Toyota Corolla or something similar.” She snapped her fingers. “There’s something else. I got a couple of weird texts. They didn’t make any sense, so I figured it was a wrong number.”

“Do you still have them?”

“No. I deleted the thread. Like I said, I thought they were a mistake until the other stuff started happening.”

He didn’t believe in coincidences. Nearly a year ago, he’d lost his friend and colleague to a suicide bomber. This morning he’d discovered Brandt, with no apparent logical motivation, had lied to him about an engagement ring. He’d also learned that Lucy was the possible target of a frame-up.

That was one too many odd occurrences for his peace of mind.

“If what you suspect is true,” Jordan began, “and someone is impersonating you to steal information, then you’re at risk. You need protection.”

He’d promised to look out for Lucy if anything ever happened to Brandt, and he’d already failed in that duty. He should have contacted her sooner, but he’d been a coward.

He’d been avoiding this meeting, hoping his feelings had faded. She’d been through enough already. She was vulnerable, and he wasn’t going to take advantage of her. He owed that much to Brandt. Being near her would be punishing; maybe she was the penance he deserved.

“Never mind.” Lucy twisted around, reaching for the voluminous leather tote hanging on the back of her chair. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure it’s all a mistake anyway.”

Jordan absently touched his breast pocket, then decided against saying anything. He didn’t know what the second ring meant, and there was no reason to upset her. Until he knew otherwise, he was dedicated to preserving Brandt’s memory. He’d be loyal in his actions if not his feelings.

“Lucy—”

His next words froze on the tip of his tongue. Through the coffee shop window, he saw a white sedan appear. The unmistakable glint of a gun barrel caught his attention. Jordan’s training kicked into action, and he launched himself over the table to protect Lucy.

At Jordan’s swift movement, Lucy startled. The glass pane at the front of the shop exploded. Time slowed and Jordan caught hold of her. Shards of glass showered over them, clattering to the floor like a hailstorm. He dragged her down, and they both tumbled over her chair. She braced for a painful landing, but he angled his body at the last minute, taking the worst of the blow. The jolt knocked the air from her lungs.

A woman screamed, and a table crashed near Lucy’s head. Someone was shooting at them.

Voices sounded in panic from all directions, and she struggled to make sense of the commotion. Jordan kept her anchored in place, and she instinctively fought the restriction. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, urging her into fight-or-flight mode.

“I need a better vantage point,” he whispered roughly, retrieving a gun from inside his jacket. “Stay down and out of sight. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to move toward the exit.”

A loud bang was followed by a dusty spray of plaster.

Without giving her a chance to protest, Jordan moved away.

When she reached for him, her fingers closed around air.

Several customers cowered behind tables while others crouched in place. Everyone was frozen in terror. She had to think. She’d gone through active shooter training at work. Human Resources had been relentless in drilling the instructions. Run first, hide if necessary, fight back as a last resort.

A dark-haired woman in a bright yellow shirt crouched near the front of the shop, her hands covering her ears. Another pop sounded, and glass rained over the woman’s head. She screamed and rocked back and forth.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

The words echoed like a mantra through Lucy’s head. Her vision wavered.

Flight.

“Stay low,” Jordan shouted. “Get to the back of the store.”

“This way!” Lucy called to the woman in yellow. She gestured toward the service counter. She’d seen workers entering from the back on numerous occasions. “There’s an exit through the kitchen.”

The woman crawled a few feet, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

The top pane of the front door burst into a thousand tiny shards. Lucy flattened her body and covered her head. Paralyzed by the terror pumping through her veins, her hands tingled.

“Please, God,” Lucy begged, “give me strength.”

In an attempt to contain her fear, she focused on the woman in yellow. “You’re doing great. Keep going. You’re almost there.”

Their eyes locked, and Lucy saw her own horror mirrored in the woman’s gaze. The reality of their situation nearly undid her, and she fought for control.

“Get to the exit!” Jordan shouted.

“What about you?”

“I’m right behind you.”

She peered cautiously from behind her shelter. He’d positioned himself at the front of the store, his gun drawn. Given Brandt’s praise of him, she had no doubt he’d sacrifice his life to prevent the shooter from coming through that door. He was offering himself as a shield to let them escape.

Another bullet ripped over her head, shattering a picture on the back wall. Lucy screamed. Tears blurred her vision. Though she was reluctant to leave Jordan behind, she didn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain. The woman in yellow had reached the relative safety of the service counter. She had a clear path to the exit.

As Lucy belly-crawled in her wake toward the kitchen, she encountered a man in a suit crouched behind the service counter. He jabbed at his phone, his hands trembling wildly. She navigated through the broken glass, her sweat-slicked palms hindering her progress.

“Go,” she ordered. “Run. Get out.”

A bullet blasted a hole in the back wall. Lucy yelped.

“I don’t want to die.” The man’s eyes were wild and unfocused. He gripped her arm in a painful vise, trapping her in place. “Don’t leave me.”

The stranger’s terror sparked a hidden reserve of strength within Lucy, and a precise sort of clarity took hold of her thoughts. Panicking only exacerbated the situation.

Prying the man’s fingers from her arm, she said, “Stay calm and exit the building.”

The words sounded trite considering the situation, but they worked. She touched his shoulder. The contact was like a spark of lightning, and the man jumped.

“Okay,” he said, then scrambled toward freedom.

His movement lifted the stark paralysis of the four remaining customers, who’d been rooted in place. It was as though someone had given them permission to act. In a crowded scramble, they dashed toward the exit. Lucy followed in an awkward, crouching run. Another shot burst through the menu hanging above the counter. She pivoted and twisted her ankle. The next step was agony and she dropped to her knees.

The hanging lamp above her head exploded, and a white-hot flash of pain burst through her cheek. With a startled shriek, she cringed and curled into a ball. Her fear was so sharp she tasted it on her tongue.

She didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“Please, God. Just a few more minutes,” she prayed. “I just need a few more minutes of strength.”

Mustering every ounce of fortitude to bolster her courage, she searched for Jordan. He’d sacrificed his own safety to let them escape. Where was he? He should be following them since everyone had exited.

The next instant there was silence. Complete, deafening silence. No gunshots. No voices.

Nothing.

The nothing terrified her more than the gunshots.

TWO

Lucy desperately searched for Jordan. Why had the gunfire stopped? Where was the shooter?

A buzzing sounded in her ears. She started toward the exit, but her muscles rebelled. Her limbs were heavy, and her blood moved sluggishly through her veins. A sticky lethargy dragged her into a dense fog.

“Lucy.” Jordan scrambled toward her, though his voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. “It’s clear. He won’t be back. Not with the police on the way.”

His brief, bone-crushing embrace cleared the haze, and she welcomed the pain.

Sitting back, he tucked two fingers beneath her chin. “You’re hurt.”

She touched the spot and her fingers came away red. “It’s nothing.”

Her hands were shaking, and she stared at them as though they belonged to someone else. The faint wail of sirens sounded in the distance, and she nearly wept with relief.

Jordan stood and crossed to the counter, then returned with a handful of napkins. He pressed the crumpled wad against her cheek, and she winced.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She caught his concerned gaze, and her pulse tripped. Jordan was not the man she’d pictured in her head. The way Brandt had described him, she’d been expecting a doddering computer geek with a pocket protector, a horseshoe of thinning hair and a circle of white tape repairing the bridge of his glasses. The one grainy photo she’d managed to find on the internet had only hinted at the man crouched beside her.

Jordan did not wear glasses, and there was nothing doddering about him.

He was handsome.

Awareness jolted through her, and she shoved the unwelcome feeling aside. After the initial shock and grief of losing Brandt, she’d retreated into numbness. Feeling nothing was better than feeling the pain.

A teeth-rattling shiver traveled the length of her body. “I’m c-cold.”

“Take this.” Jordan shrugged out of his jacket and draped the material around her shoulders. “The paramedics will check if you need stitches. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My ankle, I think.”

“Let me take a look.” He gently touched the slight swelling. “It’s not too bad.”

She glanced at her engagement ring, and her stomach clenched. Brandt had tumbled into her life with all the chaotic enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy. He’d been warm and affectionate, passionate and quick-tempered. She’d been charmed, dazed and knocked for a loop. In her family, affection was reserved, and praise was tempered. With Brandt, everything had been overwhelming and captivating.

Her friends and family didn’t understand her grief for someone she’d dated for only six months. They thought the engagement was rushed. They hadn’t gotten a chance to know him before he traveled overseas. They hadn’t gotten to read his emails and Skype with him. They hadn’t gotten to see the two of them together beyond a few events and a hasty farewell party. But from the moment she’d seen Jordan this morning, she’d sensed he recognized the depth of her loss.

The sirens grew louder, and Jordan grimaced. “When the police get here, it’ll be like someone kicked the ant bed. They’ll swarm us. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Lucy glanced at the clock. Not even two minutes had passed. That first shot had changed the course of so many lives in the blink of an eye.

“O-okay.”

“You’re in shock,” he said, and she focused on his calm reassurance. “Take a few deep breaths. You’ll be okay.”

You’ll be okay.

Such an odd thing to say. Your fiancé is dead, but you’ll be okay. Someone tried to kill you, but you’ll be okay. Your world is falling apart around you, but you’ll be okay.

A deafening cacophony of emergency vehicles sent her head pounding. Tires screeched. Voices called. She was separating from herself, viewing the events from a distance, as though recalling a nightmare instead of living one. For the first time she noticed her cheek was throbbing. She’d been numb to the pain until now.

Her phone buzzed, and she automatically glanced down. A text alert flashed on the screen followed by a photo.

Someone had taken a picture of the shattered coffee shop window from the street.

A sense of horror enveloped her. A part of her had wanted to believe that she was connecting dots that weren’t supposed to be connected. She had a vivid imagination, after all. She always had her head in the clouds.

“You did good back there,” Jordan said, his words barely registering through the cloud of shock. “You didn’t lose your cool.”

Another message appeared. She blinked rapidly and the letters blurred at the edges. This threat was immediate and shockingly real.

Are you ready to meet?

A second photo appeared. The outside of her house. This wasn’t the end.

This was the beginning.

Jordan paced.

The aftermath of the shooting was like watching a film of something exploding, then viewing that same film in reverse. Just as quickly as the gunman had thrown them into chaos, law enforcement had arrived and gathered the pandemonium into a crude sort of order.

Everyone had a task. Everyone had something to do. Everyone but Jordan.

As the time ticked away, he paced. He scowled. He glanced at his phone for the hundredth time.

Playing the role of patient bystander was outside of his skill set.

An older, heavyset cop approached him. “You Jordan Harris?”

“That’s me.”

“You can see your wife now.”

Jordan started. “Lucy?”

The cop frowned. “You got more than one wife?”

“Nope. Uh, lead the way.”

There’d be time enough to sort the details later. Knowing Lucy was in danger had taken a decade off his life.

Perched on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, she had a bandage on her cheek, and the paramedics had wrapped her ankle. To his relief, she appeared exhausted but otherwise not seriously harmed.

The officer glanced between them. “The detective in charge is finishing up with another witness. He’ll speak with you both as soon as he can.”

The older cop turned away.

A black SUV with tinted windows pulled into the parking lot, and Jordan stowed his phone. Local law enforcement wasn’t going to be pleased about having their jurisdiction usurped, but this was a matter of national security.

He reached for Lucy. “Let’s go.”

“Wait… What?” She gestured with her thumb. “Aren’t we supposed to stay?”

“Nope.” He glanced at her ankle. “Can you walk?”

“I, uh… I think so. Maybe.”

He reached for her, letting his hands hover near her shoulders. “This will be easier if I carry you. Are you okay with that?”

“I guess, but I’m too heavy.”

He scooped her into his arms.

At the feel of her, a shock ran through his arms and landed with a sizzle in his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got a Bowflex.”

Lucy chuckled. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m very manly.” Her laughter warmed him, and one edge of his mouth kicked up. “I also chop wood and jog uphill carrying sacks of concrete mix.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

He didn’t mind adding a touch of levity to the moment. No one had been seriously injured. They were alive. Given the past few months, there hadn’t been many light moments for either of them.

As they approached the SUV, the driver’s door swung open. An agent whose name escaped Jordan’s memory unfolded from his seat.

“Agent Harris, we met once before.” The man opened the rear door. “I’m Luke Westover.”

Jordan mentally snapped his fingers. Westover had the sort of Midwestern captain-of-the-football-team good looks that guaranteed a “swipe right” on the dating apps. They’d met during a briefing in Pakistan the previous year.

The agent leaned toward Lucy and handed her an ice pack. “From the EMT.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a shy smile.

Jordan cast a sharp glance at her, but she appeared oblivious to the agent’s appeal. Not that it was any of his business. Lucy could admire whomever she pleased. Jordan was protective of her, that was all. As a friend. While Westover was a good agent, he also had all the sensitivity of a toddler in a ball pit. She deserved better, that was all.

“Let’s get out of here before the press descends,” said a familiar voice from behind him.

Howard Karp slipped into the passenger seat, leaving Jordan to take the spot next to Lucy.

Karp was in his late fifties with graying hair and the kind of trustworthy face that sold reverse mortgages on late-night TV. He had five identical suits in his closet, one for each day of the week.

He stared at them over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his bulbous nose, then stuck out his hand and introduced himself to Lucy. “Apologies in advance. We need to get ahead of this thing quickly.” His gaze dipped to her leg and the ice pack she was pressing against her ankle. “Consider yourself in protective custody.”

Lucy swallowed. “Okay.”

“We’ll keep your name out of the press. The next few days are going to be busy. Is there anyone you need to call? Parents? Friends?”

“Uh, no. Not if it’s only a few days. But I need to call my work.”

“I’ll take care of that. We’ll send an agent by your house to pick up a few things.”

“No.” Lucy vigorously shook her head. “I need to go myself.”

“Not a good idea,” Jordan said. “We can’t risk exposure. Someone followed you this morning. There’s a chance they’re watching your house.”

“I need to go home,” Lucy said with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “They had a chance to kill me today and they didn’t. They can’t afford to. They need something from me.”

Jordan exchanged a glance with Karp.

She was smart—he couldn’t fault her for that. “Okay. We’ll separate into two vehicles, and only one of us will accompany you inside.”

“I got this one,” Westover announced from the front seat. “I’ll take her.”

“No.” A fierce possessiveness gripped Jordan. “This one is mine.”

He clenched his back teeth together. A stand-up guy didn’t let himself have feelings for his friend’s girl. There were unwritten rules. Jordan was alive because one of the hotel’s stone pillars had deflected the worst of the shrapnel. He was here with Lucy when Brandt should have been. Lucy needed a friend and a protector. This was about loyalty, not about his personal feelings.

“We’ll swing by your house, then.” Karp adjusted his glasses. “Can I get a look at the messages you received following the shooting?”

Lucy handed her phone over the seat.

“It’s from a burner account, I’m guessing.” Karp stared at the screen. “But we’ll check it out anyway. Local police are pulling all the surveillance footage from nearby businesses. If that doesn’t pan out, we’ll widen the net and canvass for doorbell cameras.”

“Even if you find something, it’s going to be useless,” Jordan said. “This guy was icy. Seven shots, fifteen seconds apart. All aimed above sight line.”

“A warning?”

“An order,” Jordan replied grimly, recalling the information he’d gathered. “We need to learn everything we can about the person who tried to access the information from Lucy’s employer, Consolidated Unlimited. I’ll contact her supervisor and see what they were after. I’ll also pull the security footage. Sounds like someone tried to impersonate her.”

Lucy stifled a yawn.

She caught his gaze and her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m exhausted all of a sudden.”

“It’s the shock,” Jordan said. “If you can, close your eyes. It helps.”

“That seems impolite, somehow.” Her eyelids drooped and she rubbed her cheeks. “It’s like the adrenaline wore off and took all my energy with it.”

“It’s a common feeling.” Jordan gave a rueful laugh. “You were shot at this morning—you don’t have to worry about being rude.”

There was no way to predict how the brain might react to stress. People generally responded to shock in one of two ways—either they became jumpy and hyper, or exhausted and drained.

Lucy covered her mouth, her nostrils flaring as she stifled another yawn. “I used to get carsick as a kid. The medicine my parents gave me knocked me out. It’s like I’m conditioned to fall asleep when I’m in the back seat.”

The ice pack forgotten, she turned slightly, curled her uninjured leg beneath her and rested her cheek against the back of the seat. Jordan shifted. He was too cramped to get comfortable. Westover had jammed the driver’s seat as far back as the vehicle allowed, crowding Jordan’s knees.

Road construction had narrowed the highway to one lane, and a mile of headlights extended into the distance. Jordan angled his body to buy himself some leg room and stretched his arm across the seat.

Slowed to a crawl, Westover made annoyed noises and slapped his palm against the steering wheel. Karp kept his attention focused on a sheaf of papers in his lap. The minutes stretched out in silence and the hum of the engine was strangely soothing after what they’d been through that morning.

Soon Lucy’s breathing grew deep and even. Jordan wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, she was nestled into the crook of his arm. Conscious of his audience, he stiffened, but there was nowhere to go. Instead, he forced himself not to notice the soft brush of her hair against his skin or the way her head nestled perfectly in the nape of his neck. He ignored the jolt of awareness when she splayed her hand against his chest.

Karp swiveled in his seat. “Let her sleep. She’s still got a long day ahead of her.”

Westover’s curious gaze appeared in the rearview mirror. “Anyone else think it’s odd that her fiancé was killed and now someone is taking potshots at her?”

“Yeah.” Jordan’s gut twisted. “It’s worth a second look.”

The day of the bombing had started like any other. They were about to wrap up their surveillance, and Jordan was restless. Sometimes that happened at the end of a job. Sitting in the same room day after day, week after week, didn’t bother him until he knew it was almost over. That was when the walls started closing in around him.

Brandt had understood. He’d urged Jordan to visit the local market. It was their third assignment together, and he knew that Jordan always picked up something for his dad before going home.

Grab a silk scarf for me, will you? Jordan recalled the last words Brandt had said to him. Something with embroidery. Lucy’s favorite color is blue. Wanting to select the perfect shade, Jordan had lingered over the task.

“Everything about this is odd,” he muttered into the heavy silence. “Why target Lucy in the first place?”

Seven years on the job and not one of his installations had ever been discovered. Not until that day. And Brandt had paid with his life. What had they done wrong?

“Was there anything odd before the bombing?” Karp asked. “Anything that might be connected?”

A faded scene tugged at the edges of Jordan’s memory. The night before, he’d seen Brandt speaking with a woman in the hotel lobby. When he’d interrupted them, Brandt had said she was visiting from out of town and needed some advice on where to eat. Except something hadn’t rung true about the story.

Jordan shook his head to clear the memory. Was he reading into the chance encounter to assuage his own guilt?

“Maybe,” he said with a glance at Lucy. “I’m not sure if it means anything. We can talk more later.”

Karp adjusted his seat belt. “Here’s our working theory based on what little we know so far. Someone impersonating Lucy made a deal and didn’t deliver. Only the person on the other end of the deal—we’ll call him the buyer—doesn’t know he’s been double-crossed. Which means he’s pressuring the real Lucy to come through. Chances are, the fake Lucy has gone underground. Which means we have the perfect opportunity to set a trap.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jordan said, unease skittering down his spine. Setting a trap meant leaving bait. “Not an option.”

The duplicate engagement ring weighed heavily in his pocket. A second Lucy. A second ring. What other secrets were in store for them?

“It’s the only way,” Karp said quietly. “Either you’re with us, or I’ll find someone else to take your place.”

Lucy’s platinum hair shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and her subtle jasmine scent surrounded Jordan.

His head throbbed. “You know my answer.”

He didn’t like it—but there was no way he’d abandon her.

Because the only bait they had was Lucy.

THREE

Lucy stared at her kitchen counter. Something wasn’t right.

She’d purchased the hundred-year-old house in a diverse area of town the year after she’d paid off her student loans. The compact two-story featured a living room, kitchen and sunporch on the first floor, along with two dormered bedrooms on the second floor. Real estate was an investment, or so she’d told herself. In truth, apartment living was claustrophobic, and she enjoyed gardening.

Jordan appeared in the doorway. “We don’t have much time. Take only the essentials.”

She hadn’t been able to look him fully in the eye since waking in the car. What sort of person fell asleep in front of strangers? He’d handled the whole awkward encounter with brisk efficiency, but she hadn’t felt such an acute sense of embarrassment since junior high.

The other agent, Westover, had tossed her a speculative glance—which she’d ignored. He was probably wondering what Brandt had seen in someone like her.

She pictured the spouses at the NSA Christmas party as perfect carbon copies of each other—thin, expertly coiffed women with honey-blond hair, designer cocktail dresses and seats on the hospital fund-raising board. The kind of women Lucy’s mom wanted her to emulate. When she’d said as much to Brandt, he’d laughed and said they didn’t have an office Christmas party.

Pulling her attention back to the present, she concentrated on the black-and-white-checked tile of her kitchen floor. “I’ll be quick.”

Only a few hours had passed, but it might as well be an eternity. Everything was the same, yet everything felt different. Probably she was letting her imagination run away with her. Who could blame her after this morning?

The agents had taken great pains to ensure everything appeared normal. They’d retrieved her car from near the coffee shop, and Jordan had driven her here. Karp and Westover were parked around the corner in case someone was watching the house. Given the photo she’d received, they were right to be cautious.

Though she tried to convince herself otherwise, the sense of unease lingered.

“Something isn’t right,” she said, her gaze fixed on the far end of the room. “But I can’t put my finger on what’s out of place.”

Jordan’s posture changed ever so slightly. There was a sharpness to his gaze and his shoulders stiffened.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said casually, too casually for his shift in stance. “It’s the stress. Messes with your head. You’ve been through a lot this morning.”

Feeling as though she’d gotten the wrong notes for an important meeting, Lucy frowned. “Yeah. Stress.”

Jordan stepped closer. “No place is safe these days.”

She murmured something innocuous that was meant to signal her agreement.

If he was trying to warn her, there was no need. After this morning, she was well aware of the danger.

Hypervigilant now, she searched for the source of her unease.

With Jordan close behind her, she cautiously opened a kitchen drawer. “This isn’t how I left things.”

Reaching around her, he carefully pushed the drawer shut.

“I was just trying to help,” he said, the heat of his body close against her back. “Your system of organization is too complicated.”

Instantly flustered, she struggled to make sense of his words. Jordan had never even been to her house, and he’d certainly never put away her dishes.

He held his index finger before his lips, then tapped his ear. Her breath caught. He thought someone was listening to them. Why hadn’t the possibility occurred to her sooner? Because I was a normal person before this morning, that’s why, she mentally reassured herself.

Jordan hoisted an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to tell me why your system of organization makes perfect sense?”

He appeared to be running the conversation on autopilot, his attention clearly distracted.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Her heart pounded against her ribs. “You’re supposed to organize by categories.”

Backing away, he tilted his head. Though the ceilings were tall, he easily reached the smoke detector.

Using his fingertips, he gently unscrewed the cover. “How do you organize by categories?”

“It’s really s-simple,” she squeaked. Not only was Jordan searching for listening devices—he was finding them. “You start by putting everything from your kitchen into one big pile. Then you hold each item and decide if it makes you happy.”

He tugged on a few wires and stepped back. “How do you know if something makes you happy?”

A tiny, round disk dangled from the plastic case. Her mouth went dry and she swayed, clutching the counter for balance. She was being monitored.

The past few weeks came into sharp focus, and nausea rose in the back of her throat. All the days and evenings she’d thought she was alone, someone had been with her. Someone had been shadowing her every move in the house.

What had she said? What had they heard?

Though she wanted to shout into the tiny microphone, she held herself in check. “You just know if something makes you happy, I guess.”

As she recalled snippets of her inane chatter and off-key singing, hysterical laughter bubbled in the back of her throat. She sincerely hoped they’d been tortured by her screeching renditions of show tunes.

Jordan snatched a piece of paper from the kitchen island, and she scrambled to locate a pen.

“That sounds like quite a project,” he said, then scribbled, Just go along with whatever I say.

The laughter died in the back of her throat. This was serious. Someone had followed her this morning. Shot at her. They knew where she lived. What else did they know about her?

Gazing in revulsion at the listening device, Lucy nodded her understanding of his instructions.

Jordan crossed into the living room and studied her bookshelf, then did a half circle. The walls were teal blue and plastered with colorful paintings she’d purchased at local art fairs over the years. Oriental rugs in deep shades of garnet and orange covered scratches in the ancient wood flooring. An original ornate chandelier dangled its crystal beads, and the sofa was covered in bright floral throws.

Her mom loathed this room. She claimed the mix of patterns exacerbated her migraines, and she was forever nudging the furniture into right angles.

Lucy squared her shoulders and studied Jordan’s expression for any signs of judgment, then caught herself. She didn’t care what he thought of her decorating. He didn’t live here—she did.

Running his fingers along the top of her bookcase, he asked, “What happens if something doesn’t make you happy?”

Her mind went blank. What on earth was he talking about? Organizing. They were talking about organizing. She’d make a terrible spy. Even as her perceptions of her safe, monotonous world were fragmenting around her, her thoughts drifted to the mundane.

Jordan dusted his hand against his pant leg, and Lucy cringed. “If something doesn’t make you happy, then you get rid of it.”

He moved several knickknacks, frowning at each one in turn. Why hadn’t she curated her collection of bedazzled elephant figurines when she was organizing the kitchen? No, she was proud of her flamboyant style. It wasn’t for everyone, sure, and maybe she wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but she wasn’t a hoarder or anything awful like that.

Jordan removed and replaced each book. “What about me? Do I make you happy? Because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me. Especially after what happened today.”

He splayed his arms, urging her to agree.

“Absolutely you make me happy.” This time she didn’t hesitate. “You may stay.”

If only putting the rest of her life in order was as simple as organizing the linen closet. What else might she excise that didn’t make her happy? She’d start with traffic jams and finish with the person who was impersonating her.

“Excellent.” Jordan stepped closer and spoke close to her ear. “Almost done. You’re doing great.” He raised his voice. “As usual, there’s nothing to eat here. Why don’t we go out?”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, her stomach churning.

Food was the last thing on her mind. Momentarily at a loss, she took a few halting steps. The events of the day were starting to catch up with her, and she was having trouble focusing. A list of tasks bounced through her head. She needed to find someone to water her plants. She needed to check the locks. She needed…to feel safe again.

As though sensing her distress, Jordan’s expression softened.

“Sit,” he ordered gently. “Rest your ankle.”

“It’s better already.” Her nerves were raw, and the pain was the furthest thing from her mind. “Hardly a twinge.”

“I know you’ve had a long day, but I think it’s better if we go out to eat. You could use a change of scenery.”

“That would be nice,” she replied with a nod to their invisible audience. She felt as though she was a marionette being coaxed into speaking. “I can walk as long as you go slow.”

“Don’t forget to grab your things. You shouldn’t be here alone tonight.”

Lucy widened her eyes. “Do we want people to know I’m leaving?”

If someone was listening, how much should they give away?

“You’ll only be gone a few days.” Jordan shrugged. “Just until the excitement dies down.”

Her pulse hadn’t returned to normal since she’d learned someone was listening to them. Even gathering an overnight bag seemed like an overwhelming task.

Lucy knotted her index finger in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Sorry about the mess.”

Seeing her house through Jordan’s eyes increased the tension. There were always stacks of books on the coffee table, and papers seemed to breed and multiply the moment she turned her back. There were a few dishes in the sink and more set to dry on the counter. Judging by the smudge on Jordan’s pant leg, the whole place needed a good dusting.

“I like your place.” He tweaked a patchwork throw on the back of a chair. “It’s exotic. Like a Moroccan market.”

She assumed he was merely being polite. What else was he going to say? It looks like a circus clown threw up in your living room. Then again, if this was how conversations played out when people were listening, she was tempted to tell her mom about the surveillance equipment. Maybe an audience would coax a compliment out of her. Lucy snorted. Not likely.

Jordan tilted his head. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

His concern sent melting warmth through her chest before she caught herself. Having him here brought back a torrent of emotion.

Jordan reminded her of a future she’d finally given up on. She missed Brandt. She missed his larger-than-life personality. She missed his understanding. She even missed his terrible taste in movies.

Lately she’d felt his memory slipping away, and letting go had felt like losing Brandt all over again. That was why it was easier to be numb. Except Jordan invoked a confusing mix of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face.

“I’m fine.” Her head throbbed. “Still a little dazed, I guess. I’ll get the rest of my things from upstairs.”

Jordan reached for the paper and wrote, Let me go first, just in case.

Unable to speak, she nodded. Even going upstairs felt like an irrationally enormous undertaking.

The stairs were tight in the turn-of-the-century house, and Jordan had to duck his head.

Once upstairs, she relaxed a little. Her bedroom walls were a deep shade of salmon. A Turkish rug in a mix of magenta, orange and yellow covered the floor. Keyhole-patterned curtains blocked the late-afternoon sunlight.

She was running out of adrenaline, energy and outrage. There was no way to go back and pay attention to the niggling unease that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks. Someone had been in her house. Someone had been watching her. All she could do was move forward with a solemn promise to be more vigilant in the future.

Jordan hovered politely outside the door while she gathered her belongings, and his calm, steady presence gave her the strength to continue.

She tossed a few items onto her patterned bedspread and paused. When had she started doubting her own taste? She enjoyed the blue streaks in her hair and her quirky wardrobe. She enjoyed standing out in a crowd. Yet, when she was alone with herself, the walls of her private life were a dull gray.

She sometimes wondered if she’d made herself unique by default because there was nothing inherently special about her. She sometimes wondered if Brandt would have gotten bored with her once the newness of their relationship had worn off.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and she quickened her pace. Without giving herself too much time to think, she stuffed clothing and toiletries into her overnight bag. The agents hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about how long she was going to be away.

Jordan indicated the second room. “Is this your office?”

She pushed open the door and grimaced. “Yes.”

Bookcases lined the room and her rolltop desk was layered with papers, pencils and various office supplies.

He riffled through the top layer. “Do you ever bring work home?”

“No. Never. We’re not allowed.”

He lifted a stack of manuals. “What’s all this?”

“I’m teaching myself a new programming platform in my free time. It’s a hobby.”

Admiration widened Jordan’s eyes. “This is a hobby?”

“I can’t seem to stick with one thing for long,” she mumbled. “I have a short attention span.”

“You sound like my stepsister. Smart people bore easily.”

“You should explain that to my mom,” Lucy quipped beneath her breath.

According to Vicky Sutton, smart people did not hop from subject to subject like hyperactive bunny rabbits.

“What was that about your mom?” Jordan asked, glancing up from his study of her egg-shaped digital personal assistant.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

He thumbed through her latest manual. “You have complicated hobbies.”

“I haven’t mastered it or anything,” she babbled. His praise made her uneasy. For some reason, it was important he understood the truth about her from the beginning. “I’ve learned enough to know I need to learn a lot more.”

He surveyed the room with a critical eye, and her skin felt as though she’d brushed through cobwebs. A stranger had rifled through her personal belongings. They wouldn’t have discovered anything beyond her utility bills and programming homework, but that didn’t make her feel any less violated.

Jordan took the overnight bag from her stiff fingers and waved her forward. “We’d better get going. I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” she answered woodenly.

The full weight of her new circumstances settled over her, and she stumbled blindly after him. Had it not been for this morning, she doubted she’d have noticed anything out of place. She’d have continued along, blissfully ignorant that someone was listening to her, maybe even watching her. If this experience had taught her anything, it was that safety was an illusion.

On the first level once more, a scuttling sounded from the opposite end of the house.

Jordan shoved her behind him and drew his gun.

Her pulse spiked, and horror clouded her vision in a red haze.

She lunged before him. “Stop!”

Trapped between Lucy and a threat, Jordan’s extensive training fought a losing battle with his instincts. He jerked his weapon safely to one side.

“Lucy!” he whispered harshly. “Get out of the way.”

Her hair was a wild, pale halo framing her fierce expression, and she positioned herself like a miniature warrior before him.

“It’s not what you think,” she whispered loudly.

Jordan stuck out his hand. “I don’t know what to think yet.”

He was larger and stronger, but something kept him from forcibly moving her out of the way. If there was someone else in the house, there’d been ample opportunity to ambush them before now.

“It’s just Mr. Nibbles,” she declared.

Wavering, Jordan struggled to connect a logical meaning in her words. “Come again?”

“My guinea pig.” Lucy indicated the smoke detector to remind him of their audience. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, you’ll have to get better acquainted with Mr. Nibbles.”

He stowed his gun, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Your guinea pig is in the other room?”

“Yes.”

Rather than reveal how ridiculous he felt, Jordan maintained a stoic expression.

“He’s in the sunroom.” Lucy crossed the distance. “He’s the sweetest little thing in the world, but he gets nervous around strangers. That’s why I have to fetch him myself.”

“I see,” he replied, even though he didn’t.

He certainly didn’t need instinct or training to recognize he was walking into some sort of trap. People tended to overestimate their pets’ appeal to others. When someone followed the phrase he’s really the sweetest little thing with a qualifying but, there was reason to be worried.

Willing his blood to cool, he followed her through the kitchen and into a cheery yellow sunroom.

There, perched on a low wooden table, was an enormous cage connected with clear plastic tubing to a smaller cage. Inside, a white guinea pig with brown markings contentedly gnawed on a half-eaten chunk of carrot. The animal’s nose twitched, and if Jordan didn’t know better, he’d have thought the furry little troublemaker was smirking at him.

“Oh, sweetie, are you all right?” Lucy cooed, lifting the animal from its cage.

Tired, hungry and ready for this day to be over, Jordan grumbled. Mr. Nibbles was annoyingly calm, considering Jordan had drawn his gun.

Lucy bent and rooted around in the cage. “He’ll have to come with us. I can’t leave him here alone.” She crossed to Jordan and whispered in his ear, raising goose bumps along his skin. “Especially if someone’s been in the house. It’s dangerous.”

He seriously doubted international spies were a threat to a rodent, but he kept his opinions to himself.

Lucy nuzzled Mr. Nibbles’s cheek, and an unexpected twinge of jealousy surprised him. Had that little rat just winked at him? No. It must be a trick of the light. No sane person was jealous of a guinea pig. That was ridiculous.

Still, he should have known she’d never have something as common as a cat or a dog as a pet. Her home, much like Lucy herself, was eclectic, warm and mischievous. The mix of colors and patterns was charming. He’d never gone beyond beige in choosing a wall shade, but he didn’t mind the startling teal blue Lucy had chosen. Still, had he seen a color swatch, he’d have balked.

Did opposites really attract? Brandt had summed up Jordan’s personality as “brunch.” He wasn’t too early and he wasn’t too late—he was someone everyone could agree on. Despite their differences, they’d made a good team. Jordan had tempered Brandt’s impulsive tendencies, while Brandt had forced Jordan to take more risks.

Jordan glanced at a watercolor of a woman in a sequined leotard reclining beneath the raised foot of an elephant. The past few months had stripped all the whimsy from his life. His soft edges had been sharpened, and the only humor he had left was dark. Since the bombing, something inside him had changed. There was a restless longing that hadn’t been there before.

“Here.” Without waiting for an answer, Lucy thrust Mr. Nibbles into his outstretched hands. “Can you hold him for a sec?”

“Wait,” Jordan protested. “I don’t think this is—”

“I’ll be right back.” She waved her index finger playfully. “Don’t you two get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Leaving Jordan sputtering, she disappeared up the stairs once more.

He stared at the rodent. After a tense moment, Mr. Nibbles blinked.

“Let’s get something straight. I’m not a guinea pig person.” Jordan assumed his sternest expression—the expression that parted crowds and ensured that his subordinates didn’t turn into insubordinates. Right then, he didn’t care who was listening. “We’re not going to be pals, so don’t get any ideas.”

The message must have landed, because Mr. Nibbles promptly bit him.

“Ouch.” Holding the squirming rodent away from his body, Jordan wrestled open the lid to the cage. “That’s no way to make a friend.”

Gingerly he replaced the guinea pig and stepped back. Mr. Nibbles scurried to the corner, scuffed in his bedding and promptly began to gnaw on something. Jordan leaned closer.

“No biting,” he warned.

Carefully brushing the shaved wood chip bedding aside, Jordan discovered a small, square photograph from an instant camera. As he squinted at the grainy picture, his adrenaline spiked.

He slid his hand into his jacket and closed his fingers around the barrel of his weapon. For a long moment, he stayed very still, his senses attuned to any disturbance. The only sounds were Lucy’s footsteps overhead and the gentle scuffing of Mr. Nibbles. The air stirred, and a sheer curtain fluttered in the gentle breeze. He glanced at the photograph once more.

Someone must have slipped it through the open window only moments before. A rare moment of indecision plagued him. Too much time had passed. There was no point in giving chase, and he didn’t want to leave Lucy alone.

She returned from upstairs and he pivoted. “We need to go. Quickly.”

“Not without Mr. Nibbles.”

“Oh, fine,” he muttered, returning for the cage. He stared the guinea pig in the eye. “You owe me for coming back for you.”

He kept his tone light to avoid further worrying Lucy, then caught himself. If he was distracted by his feelings, he was liable to walk them both right into a trap.

Someone out there was watching them. Waiting for them.

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