“Josh is your son. When I left Chicago, when I thought you were dead, I was pregnant with your son.”

He was a father. He had no solid reason to be proud, but he was…a father. The realization knitted through his consciousness, drawing his fragmented self back together. He accepted her statement without doubt or question. On a cellular level, he must have known. Being a father changed everything. “Eden, why did you pick this moment to tell me?”

“Because I’m afraid.” But her voice sounded strong and defiant. “I thought we might be killed, and you deserve to know before you die.”

“No more negative thoughts.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arm. “We’re going to make it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve got to meet my son.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Yeah, it’s cold outside, but we have just the remedy to heat you up—another fantastic lineup of breathtaking romantic suspense!

Getting things started with even more excitement than usual is Debra Webb with a super spin-off of her popular COLBY AGENCY series. THE SPECIALISTS is a trilogy of ultradaring operatives the likes of which are rarely—if ever—seen. And man, are they sexy! Look for Undercover Wife this month and two more thrillers to follow in February and March. Hang on to your seats.

A triple pack of TOP SECRET BABIES also kicks off the New Year. First out: The Secret She Keeps by Cassie Miles. Can you imagine how you’d feel if you learned the father of your child was back…as were all the old emotions? This one, by a veteran Harlequin Intrigue author, is surely a keeper. Promotional titles by Mallory Kane and Ann Voss Peterson respectively follow in the months to come.

And since Cupid is once again a blip on the radar screen, we thought we’d highlight some special Valentine picks for the holiday. Harper Allen singes the sheets so to speak with McQueen’s Heat and Adrianne Lee is Sentenced To Wed this month. Next month, Amanda Stevens fans the flames with Confessions of the Heart. WARNING: You may need sunblock to read these scorchers.

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Secret She Keeps
Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For most of her life, Cassie Miles has lived in land-locked, beautiful Colorado, which is about a thousand miles from family in Chicago and an equal distance from fun in Las Vegas. She likes to travel, but has never been fond of airplanes. Her favorite way of getting from here to there is the road trip, especially the kind of leisurely ride where you can go off the highway and explore all the historical markers, roadside attractions and local eats.

It’s the very best kind of trip to take with someone you love. Writing The Secret She Keeps was an absolute joy because she had a chance to revisit the great Midwest via car, train and horseback, with a short hop to Vegas in a puddle jumper.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Payne Magnuson—Alias Peter Maggio. The undercover federal agent, supposed to be dead, was on the run, framed for murder and targeted for vengeance.

Eden Miller—Alias Candace Verone and Susan Anthony. The Denver soccer mom escaped her violent crime-family background to protect her son.

Josh Miller—The eleven-year-old son of Eden had no idea about his heritage.

Danny Oliphant—Also known as Danny-O. A traitorous federal agent whose cleverness led to disaster.

Gus Verone—The patriarch of the notorious Verone crime family.

Sophia Verone—Eden’s grandmother and Gus’s wife, she struggled with family loyalty.

Luke Borman, Chuck Sonderberg and Samuels—Federal agents, who were both good guys and bad guys.

Sister Max—A kindly old nun who occasionally worked for the FBI.

For my wise and patient editor, Patience Smith, and Denise O’Sullivan at Harlequin Intrigue.

And, as always, for Rick.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Prologue

Bitter cold inhabited the last days of April like an unwanted guest who didn’t know when to leave. The vestiges of sleet had melted off the streets of Brooklyn, but a veil of ice remained, sparkling in the headlights of slow-moving traffic on the narrow streets. Payne Magnuson turned up the collar on his black overcoat and adjusted the lapels across his shoulder holster.

He seldom wore his gun anymore. A senior agent at Quantico, his regular assignment was in the classroom. Today, he was in New York for a consultation and seminar, teaching other special operation personnel how to go undercover and get out in one piece. Payne had the practical knowledge. Twelve years ago when he was twenty-four, he’d infiltrated the upper echelons of a Chicago crime family and lived among them for eighteen months. His tapes, wire taps and sequestered testimony had taken down seven minor crime bosses and toppled the Verone family. He should have been proud. In certain FBI circles, Payne was considered a legend.

Yet, he never thought of that time without regret. His efforts hadn’t ended corruption in greater Chicago. He’d barely made a dent. When the Verones stepped down, another family arose to take their place. Crime was a many-headed hydra, voracious and unstoppable. Now, a dozen years later, Gus Verone, the old patriarch, had regained supremacy. Except for two men still serving time in federal prison, it was as if Payne’s undercover operation had never happened.

“You’re going to love this restaurant,” his companion said.

“Why’s that, Danny-O?”

“It’s Italian.”

Danny Oliphant, like many of the younger agents, assumed that Payne was of Mediterranean descent. Because of his black hair and dark eyes? A superficial resemblance to Al Pacino? It wasn’t true; Payne wasn’t Italian. His surname, Magnuson, was Scotch, and he’d grown up in Wisconsin where the culinary fare was mainly meat and potatoes. His only association with Italian cooking was during his undercover assignment when he immersed himself in the culture and passed as Pete Maggio.

As a general rule, Payne avoided the Italian scene. He’d met a lot of people in Chicago he couldn’t face again. Not that they’d be expecting to see him. Payne, in his incarnation as Pete Maggio, was supposed to be dead.

Danny Oliphant—a husky redhead with an innocent, snub-nosed face—held open the door to the corner restaurant, Mama Paisan’s. They shook off the cold in the foyer and stepped inside where a pleasant warmth surrounded them. In keeping with the neighborhood location, the decor was casual with red checkered tablecloths and woven Chianti bottles used as flower vases. A long bar traversed one wall. Above the noise of conversation, Payne heard the background music of a tarantella.

Instinctively, he scanned the faces of restaurant patrons, looking for enemies. He recognized one man. Not an enemy. Another agent from today’s seminar.

“Luke Borman.” Payne turned to Danny-O. “I didn’t know we were meeting anyone.”

“Me neither.” Danny-O waved and approached the other man. “Hey, Luke. Good to see you. What are the odds we’d end up at the same place?”

Too high, Payne thought. As he reached across the table to shake hands, Luke’s jacket gaped open and Payne noticed the handle of the gun in his shoulder holster. Not standard FBI issue. This casual dinner was beginning to feel like a setup.

“Join us,” Danny-O offered.

“Thanks, but no,” Luke said. He checked his wristwatch. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend. She’s late, as usual.”

His reason for being at Mama Paisan’s sounded innocent enough. Luke’s presence was nothing more than coincidence, except Payne didn’t believe in random chance. Everything happened for a reason.

He led the way to a table in the middle of the restaurant and sat with his back to the wall. Though he remained alert to potential danger, the comfortable atmosphere soothed him. The mouthwatering fragrance of rich sauces and fresh bread tickled his senses and took him back in time. He remembered a candlelit dinner in his Chicago apartment. Twelve years ago. And he remembered a woman, the woman, Candace Verone. Slender with long coltish legs, she swept through his small one-bedroom apartment with sinuous grace. Wisps of long chestnut hair escaped her ponytail and curled at the edge of her high cheekbones. She wore no makeup, didn’t need any. Her hazel eyes were ringed with thick, black lashes. Her full lips glistened with a soft, natural pink. She was only nineteen but seemed more mature. The constant drama of the Verone crime family would be enough to age anyone, especially a sensitive coed with a strong sense of justice and truth.

Candace Verone. Payne thought of her often. The atmosphere at Mama Paisan’s brought her back to him with unbearable vividness. He remembered her leaning across the table in his apartment, holding out a serving spoon for him to sample the tomato sauce that had been bubbling on the stove for hours. In memory, his tongue tasted the perfect blend of fresh tomatoes, onions, peppers and garlic. In her eyes, the candlelight reflected a winsome glow.

He’d wanted to be honest with her, to explain his undercover work. To do so would have been dangerous. For both of them. He figured that when his assignment ended, he would come back for her. But such solace was not to be. She vanished after the final takedown. Though it seemed impossible, she was gone without a trace, never to be heard from again. Her disappearance was a tribute to the national and international connections of the patriarch, Gus Verone. He’d hidden his granddaughter so effectively that even the FBI couldn’t locate her. Payne had followed every lead, every hint. He would’ve done anything to see her again, to taste her lips, to feel her delicate body cradled tight against his—

“Payne!” Danny-O called him back to reality, nodding toward the waitress. “Should we get wine with dinner?”

“Burgundy,” Payne said. Candace had preferred red wine, full-bodied and rich. “A liter.”

There was no reason to avoid alcohol. He wasn’t on duty. This afternoon’s consultation and seminar on undercover procedure had gone smoothly, and he planned to head back to D.C. tomorrow morning.

Danny-O planted his elbows on the checkered tablecloth and leaned forward. With his red hair and freckles, he looked like Opie grown up. “What was it really like? Being inside?”

Payne shrugged. This wasn’t the place to be discussing undercover ops. “Just a job.”

“Did you ever, you know, get too involved? Did you ever think of dumping the assignment and joining the family?”

What kind of question was that? A test of loyalty? He wondered if Danny-O had an ulterior motive when he volunteered to show Payne the town. “Why do you ask?”

“You got to admit, the families have a certain appeal. Lots of money. Good wine. Great food.” He gestured to the table in front of them where the waitress placed a basket of warm crusty bread. Danny-O winked up at her. “Beautiful women.”

She smiled back at him and moved away. Her graceful hips undulated as she wove through the half-filled tables. It was a decent-sized crowd for a Thursday night when the weather was dismal. Payne watched as the waitress swished through the swinging door into the kitchen. What lay behind that door?

He glanced again at Luke Borman whose girlfriend had not yet arrived. Something about this dinner was wrong. Payne’s instincts, honed from years of ferreting out deceit, warned him to move on. He held up his wristwatch and made an excuse. “Sorry, Danny, I don’t really have time for dinner. I’m meeting someone at ten.”

“Who?” Danny-O challenged.

“Someone.” His tone was clipped, final. He’d say no more. Explanation was unnecessary; a senior agent deserved respect.

“At least have a glass of wine.” Danny-O raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Come on, Payne. You can spare time for one glass, can’t you?”

Was he stalling, trying to buy time to keep Payne at the table? “You sound anxious, Danny-O. Been under stress lately?”

“To tell the truth, I can’t believe I’m here with you. You’re one of my heroes. I want to get into—” He stopped himself before blurting a specific reference to undercover work. “—your field. I’ve read every word of your reports, all the transcripts.”

Those documents were supposed to be sealed, top secret. How had a young agent, like Danny Oliphant, gotten clearance? Payne wanted to know more. He purposely relaxed his features, pretending to be seduced into indiscretion by the flattery. “Which part interested you the most?”

“Had to be the final takedown when you set up Locksmith and the guy they called The Nose.”

Payne capped his suspicions with a false smile, irritated that Danny-O knew the code words which meant he had accessed top secret, sequestered transcripts of testimony. This did not bode well.

The wine bottle was placed on their table, and Payne went through the ritual tasting before pouring a glass of dark crimson liquid, the color of blood. “Who have you been working with on this?”

“Nobody really.”

“You’re being modest,” Payne said. “Somebody had to give you clearance to read those documents.”

“I shouldn’t say this.” Danny-O tried to look sheepish but failed. This baby agent was more like a wolf. “I’m kind of a computer whiz. I hacked into the files.”

Unlikely. Very few amateur computer jockeys possessed the level of skill required to breach FBI security. Something was up, something treacherous.

Payne lifted his wineglass as he gazed toward the door. Three men entered. Two were unfamiliar, but Payne knew the tall man in the black leather jacket. His waist had thickened and his features had hardened. His opaque black eyes absorbed the light, sucked the energy from the cheery restaurant and turned everything dark. He was Eddy Verone. Candace’s brother. The up-and-coming boss in Chicago. Why was he here? What did this mean? No time to think.

Payne reacted instantly. His gun was in his hand. Damn it! He didn’t want a shoot-out in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Danny-O had already pulled his weapon, identical to Payne’s. The young agent fired at Eddy Verone.

With a shove, Payne overturned the table. He focused on Luke Borman. From halfway across the restaurant, the barrel of Luke’s .45 caliber revolver aimed directly at the center of Payne’s chest.

The first shot was Payne’s. Borman went down.

Payne dodged through the tables, through the screaming, terrified patrons. He hit the kitchen door and kept running. Undercover, again. He’d been set up.

Chapter One

Dressed in a black skirt, white blouse, black sweater and the black and white headdress of a novice nun, the woman who had once been known as Candace Verone hurried along the sidewalk outside St. Catherine’s parochial school. Head down, the folds of the wimple obscured her features. She rushed as though late for an important appointment. In the carefully tended soil near the school’s entrance, she noticed the green blades of new dahlias, a harbinger of springtime, a promise of new life. Yet, her mind was consumed by thoughts of death.

She still couldn’t accept her brother’s murder. Eddy was too young to die.

Quickly, she mounted the steps at the arched stone entryway of St. Catherine’s, a school she had once attended a long time ago in another life. Her name was Eden Miller now. She was thirty-one years old, a single mother, currently living in Denver, making an honest living from smart investments and part-time work for a caterer. The key word there was “honest,” a description not often associated with her past in this quiet Chicago suburb.

Inside the school, Eden flattened her back into an alcove beside a plaster statue. Her plan was to sneak through the bowels of the school into the church next door where her brother’s funeral would take place in a few hours.

She had risked everything by coming here. If recognized, twelve years of carefully constructed anonymity would be erased.

Cautiously, she peeked out from behind the Blessed Virgin statue. Had the hallways always been so narrow? Years ago, the school had seemed much more impressive, filled with whispers and laughter. In a rush, she remembered spelling bees and notes passed in class and best friends and boyfriends. But now was not the appropriate moment for nostalgia. She needed to slip through the school undetected. It shouldn’t be too hard. Classes were in session, and no one should be in the halls. The tricky part would be to avoid the nuns and secretaries who worked in the main office.

Before she could make her move, Eden was caught. A large hand clasped her shoulder and spun her around. She faced Sister Maxine who was uncharacteristically dressed in her full regalia—a flowing black habit with a carved rosewood crucifix the size of a baseball bat hanging from wooden beads around her ample waist.

Silently, Eden cursed. She should have remembered that Sister Max had always been able to creep silently and appear out of nowhere. The joke was that, like the Lord, Sister Max “moved in mysterious ways.”

The old nun peered through her rimless eyeglasses. “I don’t believe we’ve met. May I help you?”

Eden hoped Sister couldn’t see her too clearly. From a distance, Eden could pass for a novice nun. Up close, her white blouse was definitely silk, and the sweater showed a stylish cut. “I’m new here,” she said. “A math teacher. I transferred from, um, another parish.”

At the sound of her voice, a smile softened Sister’s stern visage. Gently, she chided, “You were never a good liar, Candace.”

Her arms spread wide like the wings of a wise black bird, and she pulled Eden into a hug. The soft warmth of Sister Max felt like a wonderfully safe haven, and Eden hugged back with all her might.

Sister Max had been a comforting presence in the background of her life. When her mother died from natural causes while Eden was in fourth grade, Sister Max had pulled her from class and had given her the news. The same with her murdered father in seventh grade, but Eden hadn’t wept on that occasion. The Verone family tragedies had become too regular, almost expected. Still, she appreciated the solace offered instinctively by Sister Max, and Eden wished she could have stayed in touch. “I’m sorry, Sister. I left without saying goodbye.”

“I understand. Your family… Let’s just say, I understand why you had to depart so abruptly, Candace.”

“Call me Eden. Eden Miller. That’s my name now.”

Sister Max stepped back. With a clean white hanky that had appeared from nowhere, she daubed at the corners of her eyes behind her glasses. “Eden it is. I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” Tension shot through her. Was it so obvious that she’d return for her brother’s funeral? “Why?”

“Come with me.”

Eden balked, fearful of a trap. If Gus Verone sank his talons into her, she’d never escape. “Sister, I can’t see my grandfather.”

“Of course not. I might be a nun, but I’m not an idiot.” Bitterness tinged her voice. Though Sister Max believed judgment was the province of the Lord, she thoroughly disapproved of Verone family activities. “There’s someone else who wants to see you. And I promise you’ll come to no harm.”

“Who is this mysterious person?”

“You’ll see.”

Her grandmother? Eden’s heart leapt. She missed her grandmother, Sophia Verone, so very much. As soon as Eden heard of Eddy’s death, she’d called her grandmother. On the phone, Sophia sounded desolate and weak. She’d outlived both of her own sons, and now she’d lost her only grandson, Eddy. Granddaughter Eden felt guilty to be living so far away; she was as good as gone. She’d left her grandmother alone in a nest of vipers.

Sister Max led her down the stairs, past the cafeteria and into a tunnel that connected with the church. It was the route used by students attending Mass during snowy weather. “I’m sorry for your loss, Candace. I mean, Eden. Your brother chose a dangerous path.”

His life in crime, supposedly serving the family, had killed him. Just as it killed her father and her uncle. And her one true love. His name whispered through her conscience like a forbidden breeze. Peter Maggio. Over the years, Eden had tried not to think of him, to force his presence from her mind. But her senses would never forget his gentle caresses. Her ears always listened for the rich deep timbre of his voice, speaking to her of love, promising he would never leave her. Her eyes were reminded of Peter every single day. Their son, Josh, who was nearly twelve years old, looked more and more like his father as he matured. Sometimes, Josh would cock his head at a certain angle when asking a question, and she would see the reincarnation of Peter in the dark eyes of a son who had never met his family. And never would, Eden swore. Her primary goal in life was to keep Josh safe from the Verones.

In the basement of St. Catherine’s church, Sister Max pushed through one closed door and then another. She paused outside a third door. “This may be difficult for you, Eden. But I believe this meeting is necessary. For what it’s worth, I’ve always known in my heart that he was a good man.”

He? What good man was she talking about? “I don’t understand, Sister.”

“My prayers are with you. Be strong.” Sister Max guided Eden inside and closed the door behind her.

In the smallish room where racks of choir robes and vestments were stored in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, the light came from a single forty-watt bulb. It wasn’t dark, but Eden squinted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

She focused on a rugged man in a worn brown leather bomber jacket. Every detail came into stark clarity. She noticed the shine on his oxblood loafers, the stitching on his jeans, the buttons on his white shirt, the slight bulge of his jacket concealing a shoulder holster. His jaw set hard as granite. His dark eyes shone with unspoken gravity. Lightly etched crow’s feet touched those eyes.

“Peter,” she whispered.

He looked older. His high cheekbones and jawline were more sharply chiseled. A touch of gray streaked his thick black hair.

She must be dreaming. He couldn’t be here. Peter Maggio was dead. He’d been dead for twelve years, the entire life span of their son.

“Candace,” he said.

“Eden,” she corrected automatically. Her heart beat fast, speeded by the pressure of a thousand emotions. It felt like her rib cage would explode. “Candace is dead. Like you. You’re dead.”

“I didn’t want to meet like this. I would have given you time to—”

“Stop!” The music of his voice was overwhelmed by a roaring in her ears. She’d lost her mind. Gone insane. “You’re dead.”

“Touch me.”

When his hand reached toward her, she shied away in horror. This handsome spectre might pull her into the grave beside him where they would rest together for all eternity. Too often she’d dreamed of such peace, being in Peter’s arms one more time. Forever. But she couldn’t leave her son to fend for himself. She had to protect Josh. For his sake, she had to stay alive.

The ghost stepped toward her, leaving the shadows.

“Keep away from me,” she gasped.

“Eden, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

The glow of the forty-watt bulb glistened in his hair. She stared, incapable of absorbing the miracle that stood before her. He was here. Alive! Peter Maggio had returned from the grave. A miracle or a curse, she didn’t know which.

Eden closed her eyes. Her head whirled. Her knees went limp and she felt herself falling, falling into a bottomless abyss.

KNEELING BESIDE HER, Payne cradled her head against his arm. Though he hadn’t intended to shock her into a dead faint, he should have expected her reaction at coming face-to-face with a living, breathing ghost.

He should have asked Sister Max to prepare Candace, but there wasn’t time to gently ease her into acceptance. Too soon, his enemies would arrive for the funeral. Payne was investigating on his own, looking for proof to charge the corrupt agents who had killed Eddy and sabotaged Payne’s career. At the same time, he was on the run. His identity had been revealed to the Verones—the criminals he had secretly prosecuted so long ago. They wanted his blood.

Every minute Payne stayed in this church increased the odds against his survival, but he had desperately needed this time alone with the woman who had haunted his heart for twelve years. Candace Verone was the ghost, the vanished lover, the only woman he had ever truly cared for.

He stared into her face—a perfect oval, framed by the white headpiece of a novice nun. Her black eyebrows arched delicately over thick, sooty lashes. A stubborn jaw and a straight Roman nose lent character to her features. In her teens, she’d been adorable. Now, in the prime of her life, she was a breathtaking beauty.

Her lashes fluttered, her eyelids opened and she gazed dreamily, not yet fully conscious. Her full lips parted as if she were about to smile. He wanted to kiss those lips, to embrace her and pretend the last twelve years had never happened.

Her expression transformed. All gentleness left her face as she snapped, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Twelve years ago, you died.”

“I was shot and in the hospital for a week, but—”

“Basta!” Her hazel eyes flashed. Her beautiful lips compressed in a tight, angry line. “I should kill you myself. With these hands.”

“Candace, I tried—”

“Don’t call me that.” She shoved away from him with a wild flailing of arms and legs. “I’m Eden Miller now.”

“Fair enough.” He had a confession of his own. “And I’m not Peter Maggio. I never was. My real name is Payne Magnuson.”

“Pain?” she said, her voice rising on the single syllable. “Pain! How appropriate!”

She bolted to her feet. For a moment, she wobbled. Her hand rubbed against her forehead and she yanked off the wimple. Her fingers raked through her shoulder-length chestnut hair, streaked with blond highlights. Very sophisticated, Payne thought.

She glared at him. “Why are you smiling?”

“A nun?” That sure as hell wasn’t the way he remembered her.

“A schoolgirl disguise didn’t cut it. The plaid uniform skirt I wore when I was fourteen didn’t fit.”

“You’re the first nun I’ve seen wearing a silk blouse and cashmere sweater.”

She stiffened. “The outfit worked well enough to get me inside the school without being noticed.”

“You look good, Eden.”

“So do you,” she said grudgingly. She hated the way he looked. His body was hard and strong. His face had grown even more attractive with age. Damn him! In a righteous world, he would’ve been physically punished for deserting her while she was pregnant, even though he hadn’t known about her condition. He should’ve guessed. He should’ve gotten word to her. Instead, he abandoned her! Even worse, he lied about his name…and what else? What other lies? Peter, or Payne, should be forced to wear his deceptions and cruelty on his face. He should be hideous.

After all she’d been through, she would never forgive him. She’d given birth alone, a frightened nineteen-year-old in a strange city. And she’d raised their son. Alone.

Rage sluiced hotly through her veins as she paced back and forth in the small vestment room, slapping at the plastic garment bags, seething. “You let me think you were dead! You deserted me!”

“I couldn’t find you.” He stood and casually brushed the dust from his Levi’s. He looked classy, even in jeans and a beat-up bomber jacket. “I searched every damn computer file, every record. I followed slim leads all around the country. I even went to Sicily.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Give me a break, Eden. Nobody could find you. Not even your grandfather. You pulled off the disappearing act of the century.”

She’d done too good a job. When Candace fled, she withdrew all the money from her accounts. With insurance pay-outs for both her mother and father and college funds, it had been a considerable amount. Not knowing where to go, she turned to her grandmother who referred her to friends in Denver. However, after the initial contact, Candace buried herself more deeply. She changed her name, her vital records, her identity. No one could find her. She was completely alone. “I had to do it. I had to break away from them.”

“I understand,” he said.

She stalked away from him and stood, staring at the corner of the room where the walls met the ceiling in mathematical ninety degree angles. She yearned for logic. Seeing Payne had turned her world upside-down. Nothing made sense.

She didn’t dare to turn and confront him directly, not while she could still feel his intense magnetism. If she gazed full into his eyes, she’d be helplessly drawn to him, unable to resist.

Eden tossed her head. “If you really wanted to find me, you could have. All you had to do was talk to Grandmother Sophia. I had a post office box where she could contact me.”

“You’re right. I should have paid more attention to Sophia.” Twelve years ago, he’d concentrated his search on associates of Gus Verone, but he hadn’t ignored Grandmother Sophia. Undercover, in disguise, he kept her under surveillance as she puttered in the marketplace or sat in the front pew at Mass. He wire-tapped her private telephone. He’d intercepted much of her correspondence to no avail. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t approach Sophia with a direct inquiry from Peter Maggio who was, as you pointed out, supposed to be dead.”

“You’re a coward,” Eden muttered, “too afraid to return from the dead and face the Verone family.”

He shrugged. Undercover work was no place for heroes. The job required stealth, not macho bravery. It was time for another confession. “I was undercover, Eden. I’m a senior agent for the FBI.”

As she whirled to face him, her hazel eyes narrowed. “Another lie. You were never honest with me.”

He might have defended himself, might have told her that every syllable he’d uttered in praise of her beauty, intelligence and wit had been truth. The language of his emotions had been pure.

But she had a right to her anger.

And she unleashed her rage, full-force. Eden rattled through a barrage of Italian invective before facing him directly, fists on hips. “So you’re a fed. It was your work to bring down my family.”

He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him. She’d been raised to put family above all else, and Payne had betrayed the Verones.

Instead, she gave a curt nod. “Good. At least you had the right idea, saving the family from crime.”

“But it didn’t work,” he said.

“Not for Eddy.” Her jaw tightened as she struggled to maintain her tough attitude. “Eddy used bad judgment. And he paid for it.”

The sorrow in her eyes belied her harsh judgment. No matter what she said, he knew that Eden considered her brother’s death to be a tragedy. Palpable grief surrounded her. Payne had known that she couldn’t stay away from her family at this terrible time. He’d counted on her need to be with them. Hoping to console her, he reached out and touched her arm.

She yanked away from him. “Don’t.”

Somehow, in the back of his mind, he’d always imagined that when he saw her again, she would melt into his arms and allow herself to be carried away on clouds of bliss. Apparently, he’d been wrong. In the vernacular, he could forgeddabouddit.

“Okay, Eden, here’s the story.” Payne opted for facts. This time, there would be no lies between them. “I’m undercover, again. This time, it’s more complicated than before. I was framed by another agent. Inside the Bureau, I’m considered a renegade. They’re looking for me, want to take me into custody. Plus, your family knows I’m alive.”

“So, you’re wanted by the Verones and the feds?”

“Essentially.”

“Nice work,” she said sarcastically.

“I didn’t see the double-cross until it was too late.”

“What double-cross? I want more explanation,” she demanded. “And don’t even think about lying to me.”

“The setup happened at a restaurant in Brooklyn. I saw your brother shot.”

She gasped. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. She whispered, “Who killed him?”

“An agent. His name is Danny Oliphant. That snub-nosed, redheaded bastard shot Eddy in cold blood.” He wanted her to hear this information from his lips. “No matter what anyone tells you, I didn’t kill your brother.”

“Why would people say such a thing, if it wasn’t true?”

“Part of the setup. Danny-O delivered me to the meet in Brooklyn. I suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t understand until I saw Eddy walk through the door. Danny-O drew and fired.” Payne had since learned that Danny-O had used an exact duplicate of his own weapon, right down to the serial numbers. “His gun was identical to mine.”

“So it would be assumed you were the shooter,” Eden said. “And what were you doing while this Danny-O person killed my brother?”

“There was another agent in the restaurant. Luke Borman. He was aiming at me. My guess is that his gun was a match for Eddy’s. When the ballistics people analyzed the crime scene, they’d assume that I shot Eddy and he shot me.”

“But there were witnesses,” she said.

“Parents and kids having dinner. When the bullets started flying, they dove for cover. They were scared, hysterical. I doubt any of them could say exactly what happened.” Especially not when Danny-O was directing the investigation. “Here’s how it’s going down. I’m accused of killing your brother and shooting Agent Borman.”

“Did you?” she asked. “Did you shoot the other agent?”

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“Alive and recovering,” Payne said. “He’s a hero.”

“And you’re the goat.”

She leaned her back against the wall and regarded him steadily as if she were weighing his words against her standard of truth. He trusted her instincts. Though raised in an atmosphere of base treachery, Eden had a finely tuned moral compass.

“If you had met my brother on the street,” she said, “and he recognized you, would you have killed him?”

“If it came down to him or me,” Payne said, “I’d shoot.”

She frowned, considering. Then she glanced at her wristwatch. They were both aware of the ticking clock. Soon, the Verone family would gather for the funeral in the upstairs sanctuary. “Why did you come here, Payne?”

“I wanted to see you.”

She brushed away his comment. “I’ve never heard of a fed who was so sentimental. There must be another reason.”

“Surveillance.” By observing those who attended the funeral, he might be able to connect the dots and figure out the connections that led to Danny-O. “Your brother was killed for a reason. I want to know why.”

“Why does this make a difference to you?”

“Until I have proof to implicate Danny-O and Luke Borman, I’m out in the cold.”

“Because the feds think you’re the corrupt agent who’s working with the Verones.”

“Eden, we don’t have time to talk about this. Not right now. I want you to meet me after the funeral. I’ll be at this motel.” He handed her a card. “I’ll wait until four o’clock.”

“Before four o’clock,” she repeated. “At this motel.”

Eden glanced at the card, aware that he was literally trusting her with his life. If she betrayed him by giving his location to her grandfather, Payne would be trapped in a motel room with no escape. The Verone family would take their revenge without mercy.

It was what he deserved for deserting her. A slow and horrible death. But she knew, in her heart, that she would never cause him to suffer. Besides which, he might have another motive in revealing his location. What if Payne expected her to pass on the name of his motel? He might be arranging a sting to catch the Verone assassins. Or, if she came alone, he might be plotting to kidnap her, using her for leverage against her family.

With sudden alarm, she realized that Payne’s apparent trust might have something to do with Josh. Did he even know about their son? His son? Though he hadn’t mentioned Josh, this might be part of a plot to steal her child. So many devious possibilities lay beneath the surface. As a daughter of the Verone family, she had learned to navigate the Byzantine twists and turns of the criminal mind. She must always beware of murky deceptions.

And yet, as she had stated, Candace Verone was dead. She was Eden Miller, a law-abiding citizen who expected honesty.

She looked up at Payne again. Frankly, she demanded, “Why should I come to this motel? Why should I believe a single word you’ve told me?”

An infinitesimal twitch at the corner of his left eye was the only warning before Payne closed the space between them with a few quick strides. His arms surrounded her. His mouth slanted across hers.

Furiously, she fought his kiss. She twisted her body, but his strength was too great. He held her even more tightly. Her breasts crushed against his chest.

Eden wrenched back her head and prepared to scream.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

His dark eyes shone with mesmerizing light. He was the man she had dreamed about, night after lonely night, the only man who had ever touched her soul. God help her, she wanted his kiss. With every fiber of her being, she yearned for him.

He held her nape gently. His lips pressed against hers.

Her resistance ebbed, swift as the retreating surf across smooth, shimmering sands. Her eyelids closed in a swoon. Lifted beyond reality into a netherworld, she welcomed the flow of passion through her veins, awakening dormant sensation. Her arms clung to him. She kissed back, releasing years of longing.

He was alive and in her arms. She treasured this precious moment.

He ended their kiss and stepped away from her. Silent as a shadow, he went through the door and closed it behind him.

Eden was left wondering if this meeting had really happened. Her fingertips touched her moist lips where the taste of Payne still lingered. She had to see him again. Slipping the card with the name of the motel into her bra, she went to the door and prepared herself to face her brother’s funeral.

Outside, at the end of the first hallway, Sister Max stood waiting, fidgeting with her rosary. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Eden nodded. “How did you come to be friendly with Payne Magnuson?”

“Like you, I first knew him as Peter Maggio. When you two started seeing each other, he came to me for advice.”

“Why?” What sort of man sought dating advice from a nun?

“Well, he couldn’t very well talk to your grandfather. Gus Verone had let it be known that you were off-limits.”

Eden was well aware of her grandfather’s decree. Most men ran in terror when they learned her name was Verone. But not Payne. He hadn’t pursued her, but he certainly hadn’t pushed her away. “He told you about our relationship?”

“Remember, my dear child, that you were very young. Only nineteen. Only a year out of high school. And he was a grown man of twenty-four. He didn’t want to take advantage.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth,” said Sister Max. “You had to grow up more quickly than most girls. In your nineteen years, you’d experienced more than your share of sorrow and responsibility. I assured him that you were capable of making your own decisions and taking care of yourself.”

“You were correct.”

Sometimes, Eden thought she’d been born an adult. She’d met Peter, now known as Payne, with her eyes wide open and would never regret their earth-shaking nights of passion. She wasn’t sorry for moments that felt so right, lovemaking that brought her a son, Josh, the light of her life.

“Now, you have another decision,” Sister Max said. Her tone was brisk, almost businesslike. For a woman of the Church, she seemed far too comfortable with all this undercover subterfuge. “Your grandmother is here. She’s alone in an anteroom off the sanctuary with the coffin. Do you want to go there?”

“Yes.” She answered without hesitation. Eden owed her escape to Grandmother Sophia.

Once again, Sister Max showed her to a closed door and stationed herself outside. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Eden stepped inside. The air was redolent with the mysterious scents of the church and a blanket of white flowers that covered the lower half of an ebony coffin fitted with gold trim. Beside the casket sat a tiny gray-haired woman wearing a neat black pillbox hat. Her head drooped. Her eyes closed. With a small withered hand, she caressed the gleaming coffin.

“Grandmother,” Eden said.

Sophia rose slowly to her feet. Though she looked not a day older than when Eden had last seen her twelve years ago, sorrow kept the smile from her grandmother’s face. Despite her diminutive size, she held herself erect. A proud woman, much stronger than anyone expected, Sophia had learned to cope with tragedy. “Come.”

Eden stepped forward. There would be no embrace. No show of emotion. The women of the Verone family accepted their fate without weeping.

Sophia took both of Eden’s hands and squeezed hard before nodding toward the coffin. “Say goodbye to your brother.”

Drawing from her grandmother’s dignified example, Eden straightened her shoulders. Woodenly, she moved to the open top of the coffin. Eddy’s eyes were closed. His cheeks, sunken. His skin was colored by an unnatural pallor. Eden barely recognized the grown man. Instead, she saw a dark-haired boy, her older brother, who had defended her on the asphalt playground outside St. Catherine’s after their mother passed away. The other kids had taunted that her mother deserved to die, that all Verones were poison, especially her. Poison Candace. Poison Candy. With his fists and hot temper, Eddy made it clear that anybody who messed with his sister would face his wrath.

Not that Eddy had always acted as her protector. She remembered his sly, teasing grin when he yanked her ponytail or chased her with a bleeding hunk of liver when she proclaimed herself to be a vegetarian for two months. A typical big brother, Eddy loved to torment her. But when she needed him, he was there for her…except at the very end of their time together when she left the family to have her baby. Eddy would never have understood why she needed to escape the clutches of the Verones. Family was everything to him. Above all, he was loyal, and that loyalty had killed him.

Eden fought the hot tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and moisten Eddy’s crisp white shirt. Her skin felt hot, flushed with the effort of self-control. Oh, Eddy, you could have been so much more.

She placed a final kiss on his cold cheek and stepped away from the coffin to face her grandmother.

“He had no children,” Sophia said. “His wife was barren.”

Eden nodded. In infrequent letters from Sophia delivered to the anonymous post office box, her grandmother had made clear her disappointment with Eddy’s wife, a beautiful but annoying twit who was not worthy of the family name. Secretly, Eden suspected that Eddy’s wife was infertile by choice and not ready to give up the flashy night-life for the role of motherhood.

She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out two snapshots, her latest pictures of Josh. “These are for you.”

As she gazed at the photographs, Sophia’s lips almost smiled. “Such a handsome boy.”

“And he’s doing well in school. All A’s and B’s on his report card.”

“What about sports?”

“He plays soccer and baseball. He’s a shortstop.” She glanced back at the coffin. “Like Eddy.”

“You’ve done a good job,” her grandmother said. “You were right to leave Chicago, to protect your child. But now, things have changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eddy is dead,” she said simply. “Your son, Josh, is the only male heir.”

“Heir to what?” A shiver chased down Eden’s spine. Apprehensively, she watched the hint of a smile fall from her grandmother’s face. “What are you telling me?”

Sophia said, “I’m sorry.”

A small rear door swung open. Gus Verone strode into the anteroom. Though in his early seventies, his fierce strength remained undiminished. With broad shoulders thrown back, he looked like he could wrestle a lion. His thick white mane bristled with energy. He stood before her, blocking any chance of escape.

He didn’t bother to say hello or welcome back. His mouth barely moved as he issued his implacable proclamation.

“I want the boy.”

Chapter Two

Betrayed! Eden’s last thread of trust—the bond she’d shared with Grandmother Sophia—was severed. Eden had no allies, no support, nowhere to turn. All alone, she stood at the foot of her brother’s coffin and faced her grandfather, the patriarch of the Verone family.

Her gaze locked with his. She would never allow him to take her son. Never!

“Where is he?” Gus Verone asked.

“With friends back in Denver.” Eden glanced toward her grandmother. Not even Sophia knew the identities of these friends. For the moment, at least, Josh would be safe.

“Contact them,” her grandfather said.

“I can’t,” Eden said. “They’ve gone camping in the mountains. There’s no way to reach them.”

“On a schoolday?” her grandfather questioned. “You allow your son to miss school for a camping trip?”

“Not usually.” She didn’t have to defend her mothering skills to him. “But this was a special occasion. A birthday.”

“After the funeral, you will help me find these friends. I wish to speak to my grandson.”

Never! “I’ll try,” she lied.

Though willing to fight to the death, Eden knew that obvious resistance was useless. To defeat her grandfather, she must outsmart him, to be even more sly and crafty than Gus Verone. She was forced to lie. And she would, gladly and successfully. If it meant saving her son, she’d wage a war of duplicity. She could do this! Verone blood flowed through her veins. Deception was her birthright. She’d use every necessary untruth to hide her anger and her fear. There was no other choice.

Eden took the photographs of Josh from her Grandmother Sophia. With a false smile, she presented them to her grandfather. “This is my son, Josh.”

As he looked at the snapshots, the blaze in his eyes diminished. Gus Verone studied both pictures with obvious pleasure. For a moment, she thought her ferocious grandfather was on the verge of sentiment. “He looks like your father. And your brother.”

Both dead. Eden steeled herself against her natural affection toward this man who had held her as a child and taken her to the zoo and told her bedtime stories. She could not allow herself to love him.

When Gus raised his head, his lower lip quivered. He held his arms wide. “My prodigal granddaughter, come to me.”

She stepped into his arms, aware that she was dancing with the devil. Yet, she felt comforted by his acceptance. A strange warmth spread through her. This was where she belonged. This was her heritage, preordained by centuries of tragic Verones.

He whispered, “When I heard Eddy was killed, I thought I would die myself.”

“I know.” She’d felt the same way. Despite her loathing for her grandfather and all he represented, her natural grief rose up and joined with his. Tears swelled at the corners of her eyes, and she longed to give vent to her intense sorrow, to weep hysterically, to tear her clothes and beat her breasts in a primitive ritual of mourning.

She fought for control, needing to keep her wits about her. More important than her sadness was her son’s future. In order to insure he had a future, she had to escape the clutches of Gus Verone.

He held her at arm’s length, searching her face for signs of acquiescence. “Things are different now with the Verones.”

She didn’t believe him. If “things” were different, there would have been no reason for Eddy’s murder.

“You’ll see,” Gus said. “We have legitimate businesses. An accountant. I’ve opened a wine shop.”

“A liquor store,” Sophia corrected sharply.

He shot her a hard glance. “I provide all the wine for the church. Free of charge.”

“As if a few bottles of wine will buy God’s forgiveness,” Sophia said.

He turned back to Eden. “Your grandmother is a hard woman. But you’ll understand. You’ll see. Your son will be safe with us.”

Like Eddy? Through gritted teeth, she lied, “It’s good to be home.”

“That’s my girl!” He clapped her shoulders and beamed. His attitude reminded her of a beast toying with his prey before he tore limb from limb and devoured his hapless victim. “Come with me.”

“Of course.” There was no other option. All doors would be guarded by her grandfather’s foot soldiers. She must time her escape carefully.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he guided her toward the exit from the anteroom. With every appearance of innocence, Gus said, “I have more unfortunate news.”

She braced herself. “Yes?”

“You once were fond of Pete Maggio. You remember?”

Had Payne been caught in the basement? Was he dead? Though she felt a burst of alarm, Eden showed no sign of apprehension. “I remember him.”

“We thought he’d been killed, but it wasn’t true. It was Pete Maggio who murdered your brother.”

Payne had warned her that this would be the accepted story, and she was more inclined to believe him than her grandfather. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Why would Peter Maggio shoot Eddy?”

“I don’t yet know.”

Liar! Surely, her grandfather knew that Peter Maggio was really Payne Magnuson, a federal agent.

He continued, “But I’ll find out why. And I will have my revenge. Pete Maggio will pay with his life.”

Eden could hold back no longer. “Two minutes ago, you said things were different. Now you’re talking about another murder. Which is it, Gus? Are you a legitimate wine merchant or a crime boss?”

“I take care of my family.”

That was always the reason, the excuse for inexcusable crime. Locked in her grandfather’s iron grasp, she went through the door into a corridor, leaving Grandmother Sophia alone with the coffin to mourn. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.

As she and Gus walked slowly along the side aisle through St. Catherine’s magnificent sanctuary, Eden searched for a way out. Beneath the vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows, men in dark suits stood guard beside the marble statues of saints with hollow, sightless eyes. Awaiting her grandfather’s orders, his men sat stoically in polished oak pews. Their presence—obscene in this cathedral—emphasized the futility of any attempted flight. As Eden passed a shrine of votives, she offered a silent prayer. Help me. Keep my son safe.

Her grandfather escorted her down a flight of stairs to a room near the front of the church where a bride might make final preparations for her ultimate walk down the aisle. It was also where the immediate family waited before a funeral. Several people had gathered. Their nervous chatter ceased when Gus Verone entered. Furtive silence ensued. Every gaze slid toward Eden and her grandfather.

Gus spoke without raising his voice. “Into every dark sorrow comes a ray of light. My granddaughter, Candace Verone, returns to the family.”

He nodded for her to speak to this gathering of strangers who were all too familiar. Distant cousins, aunts and uncles—all ages and sizes—ranged before her like a family portrait come to life. She couldn’t hate them, but she would never willingly take her place among the Verones.

What should she say? Only the truth. “I loved my brother, Eddy, and I regret the years we’ve been apart. He should not have died so young. On this day, I share my grief with all of you.”

A stoop-shouldered woman with silver hair piled high beneath a black lace mantilla took Eden’s hands and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome,” she said.

Then came another and another in a bizarre ritual, bringing her back to the fold. The prodigal granddaughter had returned; it was time to slaughter the fatted calf and celebrate. Each greeting piled on another heavy layer of remorse, suffocating her lungs, killing her gently with their forgiveness.

Fifteen minutes before the funeral was scheduled to begin, she found herself talking to her cousin, Robert Ciari, who had been only a year ahead of her at St. Catherine’s. A former football player, Robert’s muscle had gone to fat. His hair thinned, he looked much older than thirty-two.

Eden would’ve expected Robert to be next in line after her grandfather, but he wasn’t being treated with the deference reserved for a boss.

“What have you been up to?” Eden asked.

“This and that,” he said. “Went to college. Busted up my knee real bad so I couldn’t play football anymore. Got married.”

“Kids?”

“Three daughters.” He shrugged. “I guess I got lucky because they take after their mother. They’re real smart. My oldest wants to be a lawyer.”

They were joined by a statuesque, raven-haired woman in a snug black jersey dress. She had a figure to die for. Angela Benedict, another cousin, was probably ten years older than Eden. “Little Candace,” she said in a husky voice. “I used to baby-sit for you and Eddy. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Angela had been the coolest teenager in the neighborhood. A cheerleader. The star of the high school play. “I idolized you, Angela. I wanted to be you when I grew up.”

“Things change.” An edge of bitterness marred her precise beauty. Eden remembered that Angela’s husband had spent six years in prison after the shoot-out when she thought Peter, now Payne, had died.

“Where have you been?” Angela asked.

“Out west.” Eden didn’t want to give particulars that made her easier to find. “I work for a caterer.”

“You always loved cooking,” Angela said. “Is there a husband?”

“Not yet,” Eden said. “Tell me about your kids.”

“My boys are nearly grown. Both in college.” She linked arms with Eden, sweeping her away from Robert Ciari. “Come with me to the ladies’ room. We need some girl talk.”

There was nothing girlish about this strong, well-dressed, attractive woman. Power radiated from Angela Benedict. If she’d been born male, Angela would certainly have been ruling the family roost.

The plain, three-stall bathroom was empty, and Angela wasted no words. “Peter Maggio has come back from the dead. He was your lover, wasn’t he?”

“Angela, that’s ancient history.”

“He gave you a child.” Her dark eyes bored hard into Eden’s face. “A son.”

“I have a son,” Eden said, careful not to acknowledge that Payne was the father.

“An heir to the Verone family name. Your grandfather wants the boy here.”

“I don’t understand why,” Eden said. “It’s not like we’re royalty or anything. If my grandfather wants to groom an heir, why not look to Robert Ciari. He has—”

“Female children,” Angela said harshly. “We call Robert the girl-maker. He’s not a leader.”

She turned away and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She placed her black leather purse on the counter beside the sink and removed a tube of lipstick. As she prepared to reapply her makeup, she avoided Eden’s gaze. Cousin Angela was hiding something. A clenching in her jaw betrayed her tension. What did she want? Power and wealth, Eden deduced, because Angela was not the sort of woman who cared much about loving or being loved. She wanted her boys to rise to power in the family.

The thought disgusted Eden. She couldn’t imagine thrusting Josh into this arena. Any woman who would sacrifice her children was a frightening creature.

Quietly, Eden asked, “What about you? You could run the family.”

“I didn’t marry the right man,” Angela said. “Gus doesn’t like Nicky. No one can doubt his loyalty, but my husband is difficult. Angry. Brooding. After prison, he was never quite the same.”

As Angela applied blood-red lipstick with an unshaking hand, Eden had the impression that this woman was strong enough for both herself and her husband—ferocious enough to lead an army into battle, taking no prisoners.

The question was: Why had Angela made a point of seeking her out? Her intention in bringing Eden into the bathroom was certainly not for girl talk. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?”

“I want to stay in touch.” She removed a small gold case from her purse and took out a business card. “This is my personal cell phone. Call me any time.”

Though Eden slipped the card inside her skirt pocket, she couldn’t imagine they’d ever be friends. “I appreciate the gesture, Angela.”

“But you really don’t plan to stick around, do you? You don’t care for the family business. Twelve years ago, when it came time for us to stand together, you ran.” Her alto voice resonated with disdain. “I suspect you don’t want your son to be involved with the Verones.”

“Very perceptive,” Eden said coolly.

“I suspect,” Angela said, “that you would run away again if given a chance.”

As she replaced her lipstick in her purse, she removed a set of keys which she left on the countertop. “It’s the black Corvette in the first row of the church parking lot.”

Turning on her heel, she left the ladies’ room.

Eden snatched the keys. She turned toward the garden level casement window. It’d be easy to climb out and escape. Almost too easy.

No doubt, Angela was setting her up. If Eden ran, she’d be out of favor with her grandfather. She would also be beyond his protection. Whoever had killed Eddy might come after her.

But if she stayed, Eden was trapped. Josh would be brought here. He’d be indoctrinated into the family business.

She had to take this chance.

INSIDE THE MOTEL ROOM, Payne stood at the edge of the window, peering through the slit between the nubby brown curtain and the stucco wall. The Riverside Inn was a two-story structure with rooms on both sides. He’d chosen a spot on the first floor near the end of the building. From this vantage point, he could see the motel office and the asphalt parking lot. His own rental car was parked on the opposite side of the building, ready for a quick escape if Candace, who now called herself Eden, chose to reveal his location to her family.

Arranging a meeting with her had violated every principle of undercover work. Payne had allowed his emotions to overwhelm common sense. He’d revealed too much. Like a rookie, he’d risked his entire operation for a few moments of gratification. For one kiss.

But what a kiss! He didn’t honestly regret one second of the time he’d spent with her in St. Catherine’s basement. She was everything he remembered and more. Strong, principled and vivacious, she was even more lovely than when she was a nineteen-year-old virgin who gave her love so sweetly to him. He treasured that indelible memory. Their first night together had become a fantasy. If he closed his eyes, Payne could remember the feel of her satin skin. He could see her surprised look of arousal. Her hazel eyes widened. She gasped. And then came her soft cries of delight.

His dream woman. She stirred his blood. The mere thought of her excited him.

He stared at the motel parking lot. Once again, he was violating the dictates of undercover work. He had trusted a potential enemy and left himself vulnerable, but he didn’t care. Candace Verone was worth the risk.

Not Candace, he reminded himself. She was Eden. A strange name. Did she identify with Eve who was too smart to stay in a supposed Paradise? Maybe she’d picked Eden because the name reminded her of Eddy. Poor guy! In that Brooklyn restaurant, he never stood a chance. Danny-O had been lying in wait. But why?

That discovery was Payne’s mission—a job not sanctioned by the FBI or anybody else. Other law enforcement people were involved. Other agents. And members of the Verone family. Who were they? And why, damn it, why had the Verones arranged a hit on Eddy?

He checked his wristwatch. Two forty-five. He’d promised to stay here until four. In the next hour and fifteen minutes, the course of his future might be determined. Either she would come to him or not. He hardly dared to hope. If she came to him…

A black Corvette with temporary tags roared into the parking lot and squealed to a stop outside his window. Eden bolted from the car. Her confused gaze darted. She didn’t know which room was his.

A well-trained undercover agent would’ve stayed inside, not revealing himself with anything more than a subtle gesture. He would’ve exerted caution and patience. But Payne wasn’t thinking like a federal agent. He was only a man.

He flung open the door to his room and strode toward her. His arms enveloped her. He inhaled the clean fragrance of her hair. My God, she was everything he’d ever wanted.

“Back off!” she ordered.

“You came to me.” Ignoring her protest, he embraced her more tightly, hanging onto a dream that just might come true. “You’re here.”

“Well, duh!” Forcibly, she shoved free. “Listen, Payne. Or whoever you are. We’ve got to move. Now.”

“Damn, you’re beautiful.” Her chestnut hair was mussed. Her white silk blouse had come partially untucked from the black skirt. Her breath came in gasps. Her cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

She wanted him. He knew she wanted him.

“Payne!” she shouted. “Did you hear me?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak without bursting into a sonnet to describe her melodious voice and fantastic—

“We gotta go,” she said. “My grandfather’s men could be here any minute.”

“Why?”

Eden rolled her eyes. “Because I escaped from the funeral. I snuck through the bathroom window and stole a car.”

“Nice wheels,” he noted.

“But a little obvious,” she said. “Somebody could have followed me.”

He doubted her logic. If she’d picked up a tail, they’d be here by now.

And there they were. Two full-sized sedans rounded the motel office and tore across the motel parking lot, aiming directly for them. Payne snapped a mental Polaroid, memorizing make, model and license plate number for future reference. Then, he grabbed Eden’s hand and dove into his motel room.

“I told you so,” she said.

“Yes, you did.” And it was a little grating for her to mention that fact. He didn’t need to be reminded of his tactical errors.

Crossing the motel room, Payne went through the door into a hallway that ran the length of the building. Pulling Eden along with him, he used his key on a room at the opposite side of the hall which he had also reserved. They entered a room that was a mirror image of the one they’d just left, except it opened onto a rear parking lot where his rental car awaited. “We go out this way.”

“Got it,” she said.

He went first. He could already hear gunfire from the opposite side of the Riverside Inn. Payne yanked his pistol from the holster attached to his belt.

At his car, he signalled to Eden. “Get in the passenger side and duck down.”

She quickly obeyed.

He slid behind the wheel of a midsize rental car with just enough juice for decent acceleration. If the fates were with them, their assailants would be busy on the other side and wouldn’t realize they’d fled until they were on their way.

No such luck! A bullet pinged against the side of the car. He lowered the window and fired back, then glanced at Eden who was crouched on the floor under the dashboard.

“Give me your gun,” she said. “I’ll return fire.”

He’d prefer if she stayed in a more protected position. “No.”

“Give me the damn gun!”

Another bullet. He handed over the pistol. While he drove, she poked the gun through the open window and fired blindly in the direction of their attackers.

Payne raced to the end of the parking lot and merged into a steady flow of traffic. Less than a mile from here was the entry ramp to a major interstate highway. Dodging from lane to lane, barely squeaking through every amber light before it turned red, he drove past the interstate. “Are they tailing us?”

Eden craned her neck to see through the rear window. “I don’t think so. Where are we going?”

He’d studied the maps but hadn’t made firm plans. They approached the intersection of two routes, offering three possible directions for their escape. He made his decision and turned left. “We’re headed south.”

The four lane road stretched past strip malls and gas stations before narrowing to a two-lane. Payne pulled into a cafe parking lot to watch the flow of traffic.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m making sure they’re not coming this way.” None of the passing cars matched the description he’d memorized. Though their flight had been sloppy, it had worked. His advance planning had paid off. “I think we’re okay on this route. Give me my gun back.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

He took his eyes off the road and stared into her beautiful but determined hazel eyes. What the hell was going on? “Give the gun back. Now.”

“It doesn’t make sense for you to have the gun. You need to concentrate on driving. I’m riding shotgun. That’s what the passenger seat is called, you know. Riding shotgun.”

“Cute.” But she wasn’t an agent. Eden was the woman of his dreams. “Are you a marksman?”

“That’s not the point,” she said. “And shouldn’t we be moving on?”

He couldn’t believe that she was questioning his authority and trying to call the shots. However, she was correct. He ought to be on the road, putting distance between them and the Verones.

Silently, he put the car in gear, exited the cafe parking lot and headed south, unsure of their final destination. For now, he needed to stay in the Chicago area to pursue his investigation. Tomorrow, he planned to pick up the surveillance cameras he had placed at St. Catherine’s to find out who had attended Eddy’s funeral. He wondered if Danny-O had the guts to show up, to stand beside the coffin of the man he’d murdered. If Danny-O was there, who was with him? Who were the other agents who allied themselves with the Verones?

As he drove, he became aware of Eden staring at him. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’m trying to decide if I can trust you.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been in law enforcement all my adult life. I’m a senior agent. I teach classes at Quantico.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy,” she said. “Twelve years ago, you were good enough at deception to fool my whole family. And me.”

“That was my job.”

“And now? What’s your current assignment?”

“This time, it’s personal,” he said. “I need to find out why your brother was murdered.”

“I see.” Eden hadn’t expected that response. She’d thought he was, once again, working on an elaborate takedown of the Verones.

She leaned back in her seat and stared through the windshield. Though she didn’t believe in her grandfather’s brand of vengeance, she was strangely touched that Payne was concerned about finding justice for her brother. “I didn’t think you even liked Eddy.”

“He was your brother.” Payne shrugged. “That made him important to me.”

And how would he feel when he learned he had a son? Eden wasn’t sure she should tell him. Josh was her child, her baby. She’d raised him all by herself and had done a fine job for a single mother who showed up pregnant in Denver, not knowing a soul. Introducing a brand-new father would be traumatic to say the least.

She looked down at her lap. Her hands curled around the handle of the black automatic pistol. Her fingers were visibly trembling. She willed herself to stop but couldn’t. Detached, she observed this strange quaking in her hands. Was she in shock? Her breath caught in her lungs and came in shallow little gasps. She forced herself to sigh. Exhale. Inhale. Get a grip!

This was a belated reaction to having her life threatened. When they were escaping from the motel, she hadn’t acknowledged her fear, didn’t allow herself to imagine that she could’ve been shot or killed. The reality sank in. My God, she could be dead right now. Like Eddy. Cold in his coffin. Dead like all the other Verones. The tremors marched up her arm, and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” Payne asked.

“A little scared.” Defensively, she added, “Just a little.”

“I never would’ve guessed. You handled yourself like a pro.”

“A professional agent or a criminal? Do I remind you of someone who regularly engages in gun battles? Who goes for high-speed chases in stolen Corvettes?” She hadn’t intended to snap at him, but she welcomed the outburst of anger that stifled her fear. “I am a Verone, you know.”

“As if I could forget.”

The tone of his voice cooled by several degrees, and she could feel him pulling away from her. Good! She didn’t need Payne Magnuson, no matter what his mission. “I’ll always be a Verone.”

“I meant to compliment you,” he said. “When those guys were coming after us, you were smart and quick.”

That wasn’t how she felt right now. She wanted to scream hysterically at the top of her lungs and give vent to the unbearable tension building inside her. Her nerves stretched tight as the head of a snare drum. Her pulse beat a sharp rat-a-tat-tat. She was nervous for her own safety and terrified for Josh. “I need to go to the airport.”

“Not possible.”

“Do I need to remind you that I’m the one with a gun in my hand?”

“There’s no way you can catch a flight from O’Hare without someone noticing,” he said. “We’re being pursued by two different factions. Your grandfather’s men. And a group of FBI agents who have convinced the Bureau that I’m the renegade. They’ll want to bring you in for questioning.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” she protested.

“Life ain’t fair.”

Implacably, he continued to drive along the southern route leading to nowhere. His hand on the wheel was steady. No tremors there. Payne was accustomed to danger. With his dark eyes trained on the road, he drove at a sane, responsible speed. His calm manner reassured her. Payne seemed like a man who could handle any crisis. He radiated a masculine aura of capability.

Eden ordered her lungs to exhale again, slowly. Her panic had begun to wane. Studying Payne soothed her. His features were sharply chiseled and his deep-set eyes held a lifetime of unspoken expression. She could see a strong resemblance to her son. Not a bad thing. She wouldn’t mind if Josh grew up to look like his father with broad shoulders and strong wrists.

Eden wished she could simply ride along and admire the scenery, but she had important things to do. “I have to get back to Denver.”

“How?”

“Airport,” she repeated, exasperated by his unwillingness to comprehend. “O’Hare.”

“I told you before. The FBI is looking for you. That means you can’t take any form of public transportation. With the current level of airport security and surveillance, you wouldn’t make it to the ticket counter before somebody picked you up.” He glanced toward her. “The best way to get across country is to drive.”

“It’ll take forever,” she said. There wasn’t that much time. Her grandfather would track down the friends Josh was staying with. The Verones would grab her son before she could rescue him. “Isn’t there a faster way? Maybe I could charter a plane.”

He shook his head. “Surveillance, again.”

How could she keep Josh safe? She had to find a way. “I need to be in Denver.”

“What’s the big rush, anyway? Your job? A boyfriend?”

There was no way to convince him of the urgency of her situation without inventing a stinky bouquet of lies. She had to tell him the truth.

At least, mostly the truth. She wouldn’t reveal to Payne that he was the father of her son. Instead of saying that Josh was almost twelve, she’d subtract a year from his age. Payne would never guess the truth.

She stared at Payne’s handsome profile and said, “The reason I need to hurry back to Denver is that…I have a son.”

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