“I can’t lose you,” he muttered

“Damn it, I can’t. You are the sky to me, Alexa. No matter what, you are still my sky.”

She froze.

His words. She recognized them. So long ago—

With a sob, Alexa pulled back as much as she could, with his body still, unyieldingly, on hers. She tried, in the darkness of the boathouse, to see deep into eyes that were both familiar and unfamiliar.

“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered hoarsely, tears cascading down her cheeks. “You are Cole.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Harlequin Intrigue has four new stories to blast you out of the winter doldrums. Look what we’ve got heating up for you this month.

Sylvie Kurtz brings you the first in her two-book miniseries FLESH AND BLOOD. Fifteen years ago, a burst of anger by the banks of the raging Red Thunder River changed the lives of two brothers forever. In Remembering Red Thunder, Sheriff Chance Conover struggles to regain the memory of his life, his wife and their unborn baby before a man out for revenge silences him permanently.

You can also look for the second book in the four-book continuity series MORIAH’S LANDING—Howling in the Darkness by B.J. Daniels. Jonah Ries has always sensed something was wrong in Moriah’s Landing, but when he accidentally crashes Kat Ridgemont’s online blind date, he realizes the tough yet fragile beauty has more to fear than even the town’s superstitions.

In Operation: Reunited by Linda O. Johnston, Alexa Kenner is on the verge of marriage when she meets John O’Rourke, a man who eerily resembles her dead lover, Cole Rappaport, who died in a terrible explosion. Could they be one and the same?

And finally this month, one by one government witnesses who put away a mob associate have been killed, with only Tara Ford remaining. U.S. Deputy Marshal Brad Harrison vows to protect Tara by placing her In His Safekeeping—by Shawna Delacorte.

We hope you enjoy these books, and remember to come back next month for more selections from MORIAH’S LANDING and FLESH AND BLOOD!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Operation: Reunited
Linda O. Johnston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my agent Paige Wheeler, because of her excellence,

her guidance and her friendship. To my editor

Allison Lyons, because of her thoroughness and

thoughtfulness, and because it’s fun to work with her.

To Marcy Elias Rothman, because of her kindness,

her friendship and her helpful suggestions.

And to Fred, just because.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Linda O. Johnston’s first published fiction appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for “Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year.” Now, several published short stories and novels later, Linda is recognized for her outstanding work in the romance genre.

A practicing attorney, Linda juggles her busy schedule between mornings of writing briefs, contracts and other legalese, and afternoons of creating memorable tales of paranormal, time travel, mystery, contemporary and romantic suspense. Armed with an undergraduate degree in journalism with an advertising emphasis from Pennsylvania State University, Linda began her versatile writing career running a small newspaper, then working in advertising and public relations, and later obtaining her J.D. degree from Duquesne University School of Law in Pittsburgh.

Linda belongs to Sisters in Crime and is actively involved with Romance Writers of America, participating in the Los Angeles, Orange County and Western Pennsylvania chapters. She lives near Universal Studios, Hollywood, with her husband, two sons and two cavalier King Charles spaniels.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Alexa Kenner—She became engaged to her business partner out of gratitude for his support after she lost the only man she ever loved. But has fear of her fiancé and his terrorist plot made her delusional…or is the handsome new guest at her inn really her dead lover?

Cole Rappaport—Saved after a bomb blast two years earlier, he was determined to remain out of Alexa’s life to protect her. But has she been involved in the terrorist plot all along? He can only find out by paying her a visit…incognito. Enter John O’Rourke, home improvements salesman extraordinaire.

Vane Walters—A protégé of Cole’s father, Vane had been like a brother to him. A very deadly brother…who is now engaged to the woman Cole loves.

Minos Flaherty—Vane’s subordinate and handyman has an agenda of his own.

Forbes Bowman—Cole’s gruff superior officer and friend, who saved his life.

Ed and Jill Fuller—Vane’s guests at the inn claim to be from Bolivia, but their accents suggest somewhere farther away, and a lot less friendly.

Jessie Bradford—An officer in Cole’s counterterrorist unit; his backup is necessary…and potentially lethal.

Allen Maygran—Jessie’s equally deadly partner.

Dear Reader,

Books take a long time to write, longer yet to edit and publish.

Operation: Reunited was in process before the terrible events of September 11, 2001. When I began it, the idea of terrorist infiltration of the United States was unthinkable, a figment of my own imagination.

Now I know my imaginings were not so wild.

Operation: Reunited is a story of good overcoming evil and love conquering all—platitudes, yes, but ones that provide hope. We all know romances have happy endings despite the muddle in the middle. And we all need happy endings now and then.

I hope you enjoy Operation: Reunited for what it is intended to be—a romance, a respite and, hopefully, an enjoyable read.

Please visit me at my Web site: www.LindaO.Johnston.net.

Regards,

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

As Alexa Kenner picked up the glass container of Chapultapec red cayenne pepper, she glanced down the aisle toward the front of the gourmet food store. A dark-haired man in a deep green shirt strode by. He had the limber, confident gait of someone with no doubt about the world’s need for what he would lend it. A familiar stride. A familiar man?

“Cole,” Alexa whispered as her heartbeat accelerated. The pepper dropped from her shaking fingers, hitting the tile floor with a crash. Instantly, a fine crimson dust erupted everywhere, coating the aisle. Alexa felt it float into her sandals and between her toes. Her nose tickled, but she refused to sneeze.

Tears welled in her eyes that had nothing to do with the spilled spice.

They had everything to do with sorrow. Loss.

Desperation.

“Are you all right, miss? I’ll have someone clean this up in a jiffy, don’t you worry.”

The words sounded distorted to Alexa, as if they had been murmured down a long tube. She didn’t even turn to see if the person talking was male or female, an employee or a customer. Instead, she hurried down the aisle toward where she had seen the man.

Of course he hadn’t been Cole. But she nevertheless felt drawn, as if entangled by a rope caught in a pulley. She had to take another look, just to show her jangled senses that there was no resemblance at all.

When she reached the end of the row of condiments and spices aligned on tall shelves, she glanced down the perpendicular aisle. A balding man in shorts wheeled his grocery cart toward the fruit counters. A young woman wrestled with her screaming child, trying to get him to resume his seat in the front of her cart.

No man in a green shirt.

It doesn’t matter, Alexa chided herself. She had gotten herself into this situation. No miracle was going to occur to get her out of it. Seeing shadows of Cole was of no use.

She brushed off her jeans and feet, commanded her legs to lose their wobbliness, then walked toward where a young man in a long white apron was already sweeping pepper into a dustpan with a whisk broom. Fortunately, the container hadn’t been large. She knelt beside him, picking up shards of glass carefully and placing them in the container he’d brought.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she told the boy, whom she knew only as Benjy. “I’ll be glad to pay for the damage.” She stood as he finished cleaning.

“No need, Ms. Kenner. The manager wouldn’t hear of it—especially not from a good customer like you.” Standing, he grinned shyly. A small amount of teenage acne reddened his chin. “I don’t even know what half these things are for.” He gestured toward the tiers of seasonings with names like Jump Up & Kiss Me Chipotle Hot Sauce and Purple Haze Psychedelic Hot Sauce.

“Neither do I,” admitted Alexa, “but I’m learning.” The forced but friendly smile she turned on the boy froze. There, just starting down the aisle, was the man she had seen before.

She stared. She didn’t mean to; she couldn’t help it.

But it was just as she had expected, just as she had known. His resemblance to Cole was superficial.

Of course it was. Cole Rappaport was dead.

This man was good-looking, maybe even more handsome than the man she had once loved so completely—and lost so catastrophically. Cole’s jaw had not been quite so broad, and he hadn’t had a cleft in his chin. His cheekbones had not been nearly so well defined, and his nose had been wider. His brows had been shaggier and more arched, not such a straight, hawkish line. And, of course, his dark hair hadn’t been nearly as long as this man’s, and there had been no hint of silver at Cole’s temples.

The man caught her stare. His eyes widened for a moment, as if he somehow recognized her. But she was certain that he was a stranger.

As he drew closer, his expression, unsurprisingly, showed no hint of recognition. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the beginning of a thatch of hair as dark as that on his head but curlier. His sleeves were full, in the manner of an old-time swashbuckler—an analogy that suited his broad-shouldered, tall physique. His brown eyes, as dark as the German bock beer she used in her special beef stew, seemed quizzical. Cole’s eyes had been a similar shade….

One brow was raised, as though he was amused that a woman he didn’t know was staring so unabashedly. “Hello,” he said. His voice was deeper, more gravelly, than Cole’s had been. “Do I know you?”

“Only if you’re Cole,” she blurted, realizing how inane that must sound.

“Not especially,” he said. “I like air-conditioning in summertime. But I’m always willing to have a pretty lady warm me up.”

The amusement she thought she had seen on his face before was now a knowing, sexy smile. What was he talking about? And then she realized he thought she had suggested he might be cold. She flushed. He obviously thought she was flirting, when that was the farthest thing from her mind.

Still, she studied that smile carefully. Cole had had one that was similar. A smile so sexy, it had made her want to follow him to the nearest secluded place—a park, a hidden wall—and make torrid love with him.

A smile that had convinced her to do just that, over and over….

“Forget it,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you misunderstood. I didn’t mean to stare. You reminded me of someone.”

“Someone you like, I hope.”

“I did,” she admitted quietly. “But he’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It happened a while ago.” Two very long, very painful years ago. “Anyway, I apologize for staring.” Alexa turned away quickly and began to study the nearest shelves, hating the feeling of desolation that gripped her insides. Oh, Cole.

“Excuse me,” the man said.

Alexa couldn’t help looking at him one more time as he edged past Benjy, who was mopping the floor. His gaze wandered over the shelves as he apparently looked for something. He carried a plastic store basket in which a few items had been placed: toothpaste, oranges, a couple of bags of blue-corn tortilla chips. In a moment, he plucked a bottle of mild taco sauce from a shelf, and then continued down the aisle. She must have been mistaken about his gait. Not that it appeared unconfident, but it was slower, more deliberate—different from Cole’s world-challenging one. And Cole would have considered anyone using mild sauce on Mexican food wimpy.

The stranger turned back to her once more. “See you,” he said with a wave.

In your dreams, Alexa thought. She sighed. She didn’t dare let the man think she was coming on to him.

She didn’t even want to consider the consequences, if Vane thought she was flirting. She had other, more risky reasons to tempt his ire.

She forced herself to pull her list from her pocket and study it. She still needed milk and feta cheese. That was all she should be thinking about. She concentrated once more on her shopping.

A few minutes later, though, the man was at the checkout beside hers. She looked around. The lines at the other open ones were longer. In fact, there were a lot of people around, mostly strangers, though she often knew the patrons in the Juarez Gourmet Grocery. The new Skytop Lake Village shop had been open only a few months, but was already wildly successful with locals.

Alexa didn’t want to move to another line, but she felt embarrassed around this man. And upset. She had tried so hard to put Cole out of her mind….

Stay cool, she commanded herself, ignoring the way her breath caught in her throat. Abruptly, she drew her gaze away.

In the next line over, ready to check out, was Marian Shelton, one of her neighbors. “Hi, Alexa,” Marian said. “How’s the B&B business?” Fiftyish, Marian wore her black, curly hair in a frizzled mop about her head.

“Not bad,” Alexa lied.

“You own a bed-and-breakfast?” It was the stranger talking. She recognized that rumbling deep voice from moments ago.

She turned slowly, sucking in her breath for fortitude. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Yes,” she said.

“The Hideaway By The Lake,” Marian said. “It’s the most charming inn around, with the absolute best lake view. And it’s all the better because of Alexa’s restaurant. She serves gourmet food there, you know.”

A few months ago, if a friend had talked up her establishment and her cooking, Alexa would have been thrilled. But now…things were different.

“That sounds great,” the man said. He held out his hand. “My name is John O’Rourke. I’m here on a vacation, and to scout out a possible place for a new store. I’m in home improvements—sales, mainly.”

“How do you do, Mr. O’Rourke,” Alexa said formally. “I’m Alexa Kenner.” She didn’t want to be rude so she took his hand. It was warm, and his grip was firm. Reassuring, somehow.

But his look was anything but reassuring. There was a blatant sensuality in the way his eyes captivated hers, almost familiarly.

She pulled her hand, and her gaze, away quickly. “I’m happy to say my inn is pretty full right now.” She didn’t want him to ask about a room. She wouldn’t want to have to tell him no—not in front of Marian, who knew she still had vacancies. Marian, two doors down on the same side of the street, was the kind of neighbor who counted cars in the driveway. She would believe there was room for several more—and therefore several more guests.

But Marian didn’t know what was happening at the inn. No one knew, except for Vane.

Alexa couldn’t rent a room to anyone. It wasn’t just because of the way this man had started, by his very presence, to unnerve her.

“Oh.” O’Rourke’s tone was noncommittal. Maybe he hadn’t been about to ask for a room. She felt relieved…didn’t she?

Marian finished making her purchases and left, thank heaven, before she could try harder to promote her neighbor. Picking up a magazine from beside the checkout, Alexa pretended to study it.

Soon, it was her turn. When she had paid for all her groceries, she wheeled her cart toward the automatic glass door.

“Wait!”

Moving out of the way of someone entering the store, Alexa turned at the voice, which was now becoming familiar. Too familiar. “Yes, Mr. O’Rourke?”

He took two strides before he stood beside her. He gripped a white plastic grocery bag in one large hand. He was tall, as tall as Cole had been.

“I’m John,” he corrected, startling her.

Of course he couldn’t read her mind. He was just being friendly, asking her to call him by his first name.

“Alexa, rent me a room. Please. I’ll need it for a week or two.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to beg, but I will. I came to Skytop Lake for the lake. I told the travel agent that before I left L.A., but she stuck me in a perfectly awful place in the woods that’s a mile away from the water.”

Alexa tried again. “The thing is, John—”

“Plus,” he interrupted with a devilish grin that somehow reminded her she was a living, breathing woman, “I’m scouting for an inn where a professional organization of salesmen I belong to can hold a meeting in a few months. If I like your place, and I’m sure I will, I can bring you some more business.”

Darn it all! Marian was standing outside the door as it opened and closed, chatting with another woman but keeping an eye on John and her. Could she hear them? Alexa could hardly say to this handsome, disconcerting man, right in front of her neighbor, that she didn’t want any more business.

And she did want more business. Much different business from the guests she had.

There were a couple of rooms that remained empty. Over the past miserable months, she had insisted on renting a room, now and then, to someone from outside if she had a good reason: a former guest, a friend of a former guest, a neighbor’s relative. That allowed the pretense, at least, that everything was normal.

Normal? For her, turmoil had become normal.

She glanced outside as the door opened again. No one stood out there to stop her.

Still…her nerves tensed. Half unconsciously, she reached for the ostentatious diamond on her left hand—the damnable symbol of all that was wrong. She wasn’t considering this because the man reminded her of Cole, was she? He wasn’t Cole. He couldn’t help her. She had to help herself.

“You should know our rates first,” she waffled, glancing as a couple of teenagers moved past them. She quoted an amount that was higher than normal, but wasn’t too far out of line.

“Done!” he said with no hesitation, though she saw his eyes follow her fingers to her engagement ring. A hint of a scowl furrowed his broad forehead, and there was no hint of his earlier sensuality when he caught her glance this time.

Good. At least he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. She needed no further complications in her life. Her life was much too complicated as it was.

At his request, she gave him the address and directions.

“I’ll check out of my other place and be there in an hour.”

Before she could change her mind, John O’Rourke headed out the door. “Fine,” Alexa said with forced enthusiasm to his retreating back. “See you then.”

Oh, Lord, she thought as she wheeled her cart slowly out the door. What had she done?

Despite her resolve to be calm and forthright, her knees grew weak as she approached one of the two large SUVs that Vane had insisted they needed for the inn. It was parked in a crowded area in front of the gourmet food store, the last of a row of busy shops in Skytop Lake Village.

Vane sat sideways in the driver’s seat talking animatedly with his prize minion, Minos Flaherty, who was seated behind him.

Alexa took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be easy, but she had to say something now. It would be much too embarrassing to have an argument in front of John O’Rourke when he appeared to claim his room. And with so many people around here, Vane was unlikely to make a big scene.

Vane spotted her. He immediately stopped talking and slipped out the door. A smile lit his face as he approached.

Vane Walters was a man who would make any woman look twice. He was not quite six feet tall and worked out daily, and his attention to his physique showed in the proud way he held himself. He wore a blue button-down shirt tucked into blue jeans. His dirty blond hair was combed carefully to hide the fact that his hairline had begun to recede, and the deep lines that underscored his brown eyes when he grinned made it appear that he had a great sense of humor.

Perhaps he did—at the expense of other people. Alexa included.

“Hi, darling,” he said, and gave her a kiss full on the mouth. She forced herself to respond, even though she knew his attentiveness was for show. Once, his kisses had stirred her—some. She had cared for him, a lot. He had been so kind, so supportive…so deceitful.

She had wished fervently lately that she could simply end their partnership—and their engagement—like any normal woman would. But things were far from simple. And she had been warned.

“Hi,” she responded with forced cheerfulness, stepping ever so slightly back. “Would you mind helping me put the groceries in the car?”

“Minos!” Vane called.

The smaller but even more muscular man, whom Vane had hired only a few months earlier, was surprisingly graceful as he leapt from the car and began unloading the cart. Another shopper pulled into the neighboring parking space and got out of her car.

This was the moment for Alexa to speak. She took a deep breath. “Guess what?” she said brightly, ignoring the nervous unevenness of her voice. “We’ve a new guest arriving tonight.”

“What?” Vane stepped back and stared.

She could see the anger that lurked behind his eyes. But a woman was helping a child out of the car beside theirs, and Alexa saw Vane glance in their direction.

Quickly, Alexa gave an embellished version of what had happened in the store. She ached to flaunt her defiance, but that could be too dangerous. Instead, she acted defensive.

“He’s only planning to stay for a few days,” she lied. “I could hardly tell him to get lost right in front of Marian. I think she knows him.” Sure, that was a fib, but maybe it would fit the man into the group of outside guests whose presence Vane might accept. “It’ll be pleasant to have someone new stay with us for a little while.” She looked tellingly toward the mother and child as they walked toward the stores. “It’s an inn, for heaven’s sake,” she murmured under her breath. “Whatever is going on, surely it would be better for the place to continue to resemble a normal B & B.”

Vane was ten years older than Alexa’s thirty-one, but his features were youthful so he usually didn’t appear much older than she. Right now, though, his scowl made him look every bit his age.

She’d been wrong. He was going to make a scene, Alexa suddenly realized. Right here. Maybe he would even threaten her, as he did when they were alone.

She couldn’t deal with it. Not now. Not here.

Impulsively, she grabbed him and gave him as big a kiss as he had just given her. Stepping back, she forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it because he worried her, and not because she otherwise regretted what she had done. “I won’t do it again without consulting you. But I think it’s a good thing, to make the inn look as busy as it used to.”

“We’ll see,” Vane said. “Now get in the car.”

Alexa turned and opened the vehicle’s door. This was one command—of too, too many—that she would obey.

WHAT THE HELL had he expected? Cole Rappaport watched through the windshield while that little scene played out, his hands fisted on the steering wheel of the luxury car he had borrowed for this assignment.

Alexa and Vane.

Oh, he had known the facts before he’d gotten here. They owned that inn together. They were engaged—the woman he had once loved so consumingly, so profoundly, that he’d considered giving up everything for her, and the man he had considered almost a brother.

But he had been out of their lives a long time. Had allowed them to think he had disintegrated in that damn explosion. For their own good, or so he had believed.

The sound he made into the stillness of the car was more a bark than a laugh.

He watched as Alexa stepped into the late-model SUV, the way her jeans stretched tight over her well-shaped behind. He was fifty times a fool for noticing, but she still looked good. Too good, though he had noticed small wrinkles of strain at the corners of her wide blue eyes. Maybe she had missed him.

Maybe she felt guilty.

Right. And maybe he was really John O’Rourke here on vacation.

When they had been together, her golden-brown hair with its reddish highlights had either been caught up in a tight bun at the back of her head, or, when they were alone, loose around her shoulders. Today, it had been drawn back into a plastic clip at the base of her long, graceful neck.

She was thinner than he recalled. She wore a navy work shirt over her jeans. Had he ever seen her before in anything less than designer slacks and silk blouses? When she was clothed, that is. He had seen her in a lot less, once upon a time.

Even now, his body tensed in recollection of the passion they had once shared. But he pushed it aside. He had a job to do, and that was the only reason he was here.

And it was a damn important reason.

He watched their SUV drive away, Alexa in the passenger seat talking earnestly to her fiancé.

Her fiancé. The man who had a right to kiss her like that. Cole had to remind himself of that little fact over and over, allow it to slice away at all the corners inside him that had eroded every time he had allowed himself, over the past couple of years, to think of Alexa. He needed every edge within him to be hard and sharp now.

He hadn’t planned on running into her just yet, but the chance meeting had worked to his advantage. And he would need a lot of advantages here to achieve all he had to.

She’d apparently thought she knew him—then realized her mistake. He hadn’t expected her to think he was Cole Rappaport, not with all the reconstruction done on his face after the explosion. It made disguise unnecessary.

Still, there was just the smallest bit of hurt clenching at his guts—hurt that had nothing to do with the residual, persistent pain from his injuries. A closer look had told her he wasn’t Cole. She hadn’t recognized him.

With an irritated snort, he lifted his cell phone from its stand on the console and pressed a single button.

“Bowman,” said the familiar, curt voice at the other end.

“It’s me. I’ve got a room reserved at the Hideaway By The Lake.” Cole hated talking on cell phones; they weren’t secure. There was a lot more he could say to his boss and mentor, Forbes Bowman—the man who had saved his life—but this wasn’t the time.

“Great” came the reply. “You have fun, hear? And check in now and then so I know you’re still alive.” The words, delivered in a hearty, amiable tone, could have been one friend talking to another. But Cole knew they were serious.

“Thanks,” he said. “Are you still looking into that sales data I asked for?”

“Yep,” Forbes replied. “I’ll pass it on when I get it.”

Of course the information Cole had requested had nothing to do with sales—and everything to do with his work here. “Later,” he finished. He pushed the End button and replaced the phone in its slot.

Since there was no lodge he needed to check out of, he had time to kill before showing up at the Hideaway By The Lake. He started the engine and drove around the Skytop Lake Village shopping center until he located a small convenience store. He got out and went inside.

Good. In a quiet corner far from the checkout stand, there was a public phone. It would, he hoped, suit his purposes later, when he wouldn’t trust the cell phone for what he needed to report to Forbes.

He glanced at his watch.

Soon it would be time for him to check in. To see Alexa and Vane on their home turf. To delve into the secrets they had kept from him two years ago, and the secrets they were keeping now.

Then, the fun would begin.

Chapter Two

Alexa carried the last bag of groceries into her professional gourmet kitchen. “Thanks, Minos,” she said to the man in the sleeveless T-shirt and torn jeans who had helped her.

Vane had disappeared as soon as they had pulled into the inn’s garage. Alexa figured he’d gone to socialize with some of the guests. He was good at that.

“No problem,” Minos said, hefting two bulging plastic bags onto the tile counter with ease. The short man with the large muscles looked at her with stern brown eyes beneath thick, dark brows, as though expecting her to say something else. To do something he would consider reportable to Vane.

Alexa hid her shudder. Between Minos and Vane, she felt under surveillance every moment of every day. She should be watching them. Not to mention all of the inn’s guests, every one of them here, she was certain, for some undivulged but nefarious purpose.

She’d seen similar deceitfulness before.

And when she had, the consequences had been unimaginably dire. Her parents had nearly lost their freedom.

She had irrevocably, horribly, lost Cole.

Minos hadn’t moved. At least he couldn’t stare into her thoughts. She swallowed her sigh. “I’m going to be starting dinner now,” she said with feigned cheerfulness. “If you want to hang around, I’ll put you to work mincing onions.”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said irritably.

She was certain he did—whatever Vane assigned to him. And Alexa was sure none of it would benefit the inn. Or her.

Or the world.

As Minos left, Alexa considered her duties of the moment. She did have to start cooking. She also had to make sure a room was ready for her new guest.

John O’Rourke. He seemed like a nice enough man. A home improvements salesman.

Why had he reminded her of Cole?

Well, she knew just how much good wishful thinking had done her. Zilch.

No knight in shining armor would come to save her from her dilemma. No Cole Rappaport, or even a surrogate, would arrive to make things right.

She would have to do it herself.

She had already tried once to run to the authorities. Mistake! She had learned a valuable lesson about who had more credibility: Vane or her. It wasn’t her.

And Vane had shown her then how he still could ruin her parents’ lives. Her life, too—even more than it already had been ruined.

Her options were limited, but she did have options.

She hoped.

PULLING THE CAR over to a curb, Cole glanced again at the directions Alexa had given him, then back up.

There it was, the Hideaway By The Lake. It was a large Swiss-style chalet with a peaked roof. The rails around the wide second-floor balcony were cut out in a uniform, gingerbread pattern.

Between the house and its neighbor was a tall bougainvillea hedge that lent privacy. Beyond, he glimpsed glistening blue water. A vacant lot next door was crowded with white pine trees.

“Nice,” he grumbled. He’d had no doubt that it would be.

Alexa had had good taste. Or so he had believed, until he had learned of her perfidy. Her betrayal.

And her engagement to Vane Walters.

Cole instinctively studied the rest of the street. Residential. Lined with resort-style houses of varying sizes— A-frames, small stucco haciendas—and all well-maintained. Not too close together, and a lot of secluding landscaping in between.

Plenty of places for someone to hide, though from what he gathered, no one was bothering to stay out of sight.

Just like last time.

Exiting the car, he popped the trunk and pulled out his single carry-on bag. He’d traveled light. He expected to be here for a while, but had no intention of worrying about how he dressed. The weight in his bag came from his laptop computer, some special equipment—and the Beretta 9 mm semiautomatic secreted in a hidden compartment.

The front door was large—carved black walnut. It was locked. Cole rang the bell, and in a moment Alexa answered.

“Mr. O’Rourke,” she said as she opened the door. He started to correct her, but she beat him to it. “John. Come in, please.” She stepped back, continuing to hold the door.

“Thanks.” He was highly conscious of her nearness as he skirted around her, his bag in his hand. The top of her head reached to just above his shoulder, and she looked almost childlike with her hair pulled back that way.

Almost. For there was no mistaking her sensuous curves in that casual outfit.

Then there was the subtle citrus scent that wafted about her. A familiar scent. Even after two years, she hadn’t changed that, at least. It reminded him of seduction. It reminded him of her.

He gritted his teeth. Okay, so he couldn’t be completely detached. She had been a desirable woman. She still was. He had seen it, felt it deep in his gut, earlier that day.

But he was a grown man. He would keep his lust in check. Unless there was some way to use it to further his goals….

Once, he had been determined to succeed, but he hadn’t been so much of an SOB as to cold-bloodedly engage in seduction to gain an advantage. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Is there something wrong, John?” Alexa asked.

He watched her anxious gaze take in the room in the direction he’d been staring, as though she feared she had missed cleaning some noxious piece of dirt.

“Not at all.” He pasted his most innocuous salesman’s smile on his face and looked down into her troubled eyes.

Soft blue eyes. They were missing the teasing twinkle he remembered. Or had she lost it over the years, because of what happened? That would be a shame.

“This place looks charming,” he continued hastily, turning away.

He wasn’t lying, this time. The inn was charming. Its entry was a combination lodge-like living room and hotel reception area, with high wood-beamed ceilings and a long, tall cedar desk along one wall. The tangy aroma of burnt wood emerged from a huge stone fireplace at one end of the room, although no fire blazed there now.

As he approached the registration desk, he was greeted by a dog. It was a German shepherd—a young one, still gangly and waiting for his thin body to catch up with the size of his long legs and large paws. But the animal must already have been well trained. He made no watchdog noises. No growls at the intruder that was Cole. No, guest. He was a paying guest here.

A guest with an agenda that his host and hostess would abhor.

Alexa stooped gracefully to hug the squirming puppy. “John,” she said, “meet Phantom.”

Cole froze. Phantom.

That had been Alexa’s nickname for him.

For a moment, his guard lowered like a tinted car window opening to reveal the recent past. How he wanted to bring her to her feet and into his arms. To tell her who he was, why he was here, and damn the consequences.

Except that she had betrayed him once. She might not realize it now, but she was betraying him again.

And he could not allow her to get away with it. The stakes could be too high.

“What an interesting name,” he said, hearing how tight his voice sounded. He cleared his throat, as if an allergy had caused moisture there—and not emotion. Cole Rappaport didn’t let emotion interfere with what he needed to accomplish. Ever.

“I once had a…friend I called Phantom,” Alexa said as she rose. She stared with her assessing blue eyes as if sizing him up once more. Assuring herself he wasn’t that very friend.

Did she know? How could she?

Putting his friendly, salesman look back on his face, Cole said cheerfully, “And what did that friend do that made you give him that nickname?”

“He disappeared,” she said. “A lot.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, betraying none of the bitterness of their past disagreements.

Ostensibly, Cole had been on leave from the army during the months they’d known each other. He hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. Now and then, he’d had to disappear, to follow a lead or report in person. When he’d returned, she never hesitated to express her anger that he hadn’t bothered to explain, or even to say goodbye. She had loved him then, with all the ardor he had ever dreamed of in a beautiful, sexy—demanding—woman.

At first, he would let her vent. After a while, he’d scoop her into his arms. That way she could unleash her passion in a much more enjoyable way. He still recalled her taste when he touched his tongue to her cheeks, stopping her salty tears with small, sensuous licks that turned into the most volatile sexual encounters….

God, how he had loved her! He had believed she was an innocent in all that was happening.

“That man must have been a fool,” Cole forced John O’Rourke to reply to Alexa. He nearly choked on the double meaning of the words. He had been a fool. But Alexa thought she was speaking about someone else, someone who wasn’t the man before her. He continued, “No man with any brains would ever disappear from a pretty woman like you.”

“Thanks,” she replied almost curtly. “Would you like me to show you the room I have available, before you check in?”

“Why not?” he said. And then he froze.

Entering through the open doorway at the far end of the living room was Vane Walters. He was followed by three men. All short or balding, unprepossessing. The kind of people who could disappear easily in a crowd.

But Cole didn’t take the time to study them thoroughly…now. His eyes were glued on Vane’s.

He didn’t blurt out the invectives that sprang to his lips. He was too well-schooled for that.

Alexa’s quick step forward abruptly shifted Cole’s gaze to her. “John O’Rourke,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my partner at the Hideaway, my fiancé, Vane Walters.”

Was there a tremor in her voice?

Cole didn’t look down at her. “Hi, Vane,” he said in a hearty salesman’s voice. He approached Vane with his hand out and his heart beating faster. Alexa had seemed to recognize him before seeing him closer, talking to him. Would Vane?

“Hello,” Vane said. He didn’t look pleased to see the man whose hand he shook, but neither was there recognition in his stare.

“You’ve got a great place,” Cole said. “I’m glad you had a room available. Alexa’s going to show it to me now.”

“Fine,” said Vane.

Cole saw a look pass between Alexa and Vane. He couldn’t interpret it. But then Vane glanced back at Cole.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“John,” Cole corrected. “I’m sure I will.”

And he was equally sure that Vane—and Alexa—would rue the day John O’Rourke ever took a room at the Hideaway By The Lake.

“IT’S PERFECT.” John O’Rourke stepped behind Alexa into the cubbyhole of a room that she had opened for him. He was so large that his shoulders, beneath his loose green shirt, seemed to stretch from one oak-paneled wall to the opposite, painted one. At least his head didn’t touch the high ceiling. But the bed was a normal-size double with a plain pine headboard, and Alexa suspected his feet would hang off the end—not that she intended ever to find out.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” Alexa tried to sound hopeful, though her real hope was that he would hate it. She had had angry words with Vane again as she had come upstairs to make sure the room was ready. He had reminded her of his acute displeasure with her by his glare a few minutes earlier. Maybe she had been wrong in picking this particular small rebellion. She had much larger ones to plan.

But first she had to figure out a way to protect her parents.

“I don’t have any rooms available with a lake view,” she continued, “and this one looks out on the neighbor’s property.” She pointed toward the window with the lacy curtains she had sewn herself.

“That’s fine. I mostly wanted to be near the lake so I can jog beside it. Is that the bathroom?” He pointed toward a closed wooden door.

He was standing near her. She could almost imagine she felt his body heat mingling with her own….

Where had that thought come from?

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Would you like to see it?” Alone, she thought. I’m not going to go show it to you. She felt her face redden. The thought of John O’Rourke in the small shower stall, naked and dripping and utterly, masculinely, erotically filling it, made her think yet again of Cole Rappaport. Showering with him. Making long, slow, wet love with him in a similar shower stall up here, in this inn at Skytop Lake where they had stayed together.

Just before he had died. And hell had broken loose.

The bubble that was her euphorically sensuous recollection burst abruptly. She had to get hold of herself. Her mind had been spiraling into chaos ever since she had first spotted this man, just because his stride had somehow reminded her of Cole.

John crossed the room and peered into the bathroom. He turned back, a pleasant smile on his much-too-handsome face. “It’s great. I’ll take it.”

“Good,” she lied, wishing now she had never agreed to let him have a room. She needed all her senses to be sharp, her mind keen. “Come downstairs to fill out the paperwork, then you can get settled. I have to work on dinner.”

“That’s right—the lady in the food store said you have a gourmet restaurant here.”

Oh, please, she thought. I don’t want to see you this evening. But at least he would provide a respite from the other guests whom she was required to serve. Still, she said, “Yes, though there are other good restaurants in the area. Don’t feel obligated to—”

“I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere else,” he said.

He followed her out of the room. Behind her on the stairs to the main floor, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“It’s Mexican.” Maybe he didn’t like spicy foods. “I usually do two main dishes. The specialty tonight is chile rellenos, my own recipe—very hot. I also have quesadillas with beef and jalapeño cheese. Both are served with a seasoned taco salad.”

“All spicy?”

“Yes.” Please, thought Alexa. Tell me how much you detest things that are hot. But turning to look at him, she suspected that this man was himself very hot. Fiery. Especially if he was anything like Cole. And maybe that ran to his taste in food, as well.

“There’s nothing I like better than food that puts hair on my chest.”

Involuntarily glancing up toward the shock of black, curly hair peeking from the open V of his shirt, Alexa smiled uncertainly. But what about the sauce you bought? Alexa wanted to ask. It was mild. She said nothing. Instead, she fled down the rest of the steps.

COLE HAD UNPACKED his few belongings, hanging a couple of shirts in the handsome, carved teak wardrobe along one wall, finding places to conceal his equipment. He had begun to settle into his room at the inn. This inn that held so many bittersweet memories. Alexa’s inn.

Alexa’s…and Vane’s. He could not allow himself to forget that it belonged to the two of them.

The two of them, together, now. And before.

The man he had loved like a brother…and the woman he had loved more than life.

Fortunately, though the room was small, it had its own phone, so he had been able to use the modem in his laptop. Sitting on the bed, on top of the homey chenille bedspread, Cole glared at the screen.

Not that he was surprised, after his earlier phone call, at the contents of the encrypted e-mail from Forbes Bowman that he’d just deciphered. But it made his stay here even more necessary.

He had come to Skytop Lake because of the latest intelligence from his most reliable overseas contacts. According to rumor, the terrorist operation that had supposedly ended with the blast meant to kill Cole had apparently been resurrected—and the trail led straight here.

Reports of several field agents had been due today, concurrent with Cole’s arrival. According to Forbes’s e-mail, they had hit only dead ends. There was no information yet on any similar operations anywhere in the country. Either this inn was the only location, or the agency’s sources were not yet coming through.

Last time, there had been at least half a dozen havens for foreign terrorist agents sent for training and preparation for dispersal to strategic facilities all over the U.S. Maybe more. All the havens had been a part of the Kenner Hotels—the elite chain that had been owned by Alexa’s family.

The elite chain that no longer existed, thanks to the events of two years ago.

Back then, Cole had been undercover, seeking to learn the terrorists’ goal. He hadn’t succeeded. All he had known was that every one of the agents had been highly trained in handling and detonating explosives. His group had speculated that each was to destroy some key U.S. facility—probably triggered all at once. But he didn’t know which facilities. Or why.

This time, he would find all the answers. He would succeed.

He had a starting point, for he knew now that Vane Walters was involved, as he had been two years ago.

So was Alexa Kenner.

Alexa. Cole felt his heart grow cold. She was still so breathtakingly beautiful.

So deadly.

Unconsciously, he touched the cosmetic surgery scar at the side of his face, beneath his hair.

“Why, Alexa?” he whispered into the stillness of his room. Had she been in love with Vane even then?

Cole would never have thought there was someone more important in Alexa’s life two years ago. Not with the passion they had shared.

So much had happened between them, both in Santa Monica, and most especially here, at Skytop Lake. At this very inn, though it had been very different then. More run-down.

Why had she bought this place with Vane? So she could laugh at how she had tricked Cole? Had seduced the foolish man, made love with him…killed him?

“Damn!” Cole clenched his fists so tightly that his hands immediately cramped. He loosened them and stared at his fingers, at the small red scars, nearly invisible now, that he had also incurred in the explosion. Recalled how excruciating the physical pain had been. His hands still ached. So did much of the rest of his body.

Alexa and Vane didn’t know he had survived. He hadn’t told them because he thought their ignorance would protect them.

Instead, it had probably protected him. From them.

He glanced again at Forbes’s e-mail message. It ended with “We’re counting on you.”

Forbes had been there for him when the compost had hit the fan two years ago. Had pulled him from the garage set ablaze by the explosion. Had saved his life, and had helped to save his sanity.

No, Cole would not let Forbes down. He typed in a return message to his friend, then set the encryption software.

“Will report back soon,” he wrote to his boss. “With something useful.”

Chapter Three

There were only eight tables in Alexa’s dining room overlooking the lake, the better for her to provide individual attention to all her guests.

Before.

Now, when customers called from outside the inn, the majority were told there were no reservations available, for meals or for rooms. A few exceptions were made most evenings so the place would still resemble a public restaurant. But those people were all served early, at six o’clock. The inn’s guests ate at seven.

Then, Vane was the one to move from table to elegantly set table, the consummate host. Alexa’s role was to provide the food and serve it with a smile, then fade back into the kitchen.

That was all right with her, at least most of the time. She didn’t want to socialize with their guests. Though she was filled with questions, she doubted any of them would answer—even those who spoke English.

Putting food on the eight tables kept her busy—especially that night. She’d had a college-age kid helping until a few months ago. Now, only Minos helped to wait tables. She didn’t know where he was that evening, only that he was not at the inn.

She didn’t miss him.

When John came downstairs, it was seven o’clock. She should, perhaps, have called him down earlier, since he had made it clear he intended to eat there that night. Perversely, she hadn’t. She wanted to see Vane’s reaction to having this guest join the rest.

At the time John arrived, all tables were occupied. Vane had just gone into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

Alexa approached John at the dining room door. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re full.” She felt self-conscious in the long, lacy apron she wore over her black slacks and sleeveless sweater. Though she was a gourmet cook, she was far from a neat one.

“That’s okay.” His eyes ranged over her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. But he raised his brows as if in appreciation and smiled. “My compliments to the chef.”

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.” She felt herself redden.

“I will.” He approached one of the tables. “Mind if I join you?” he asked two of the B & B’s guests, a young couple who sat at a table for four.

The two glanced at one another, then at the guests seated at the next table. Neither seemed certain what to do.

Apparently etiquette won out over whatever else warred inside them. “Please,” said the man, gesturing toward an empty seat. His accent was heavy, but Alexa didn’t know where he was from. His hair was dark, as was his complexion. Annoyance glowed from eyes too close together over a long, broad nose.

His female companion’s mahogany eyes took in John, who had dressed in a light blue sports shirt. She apparently liked what she saw, for she smiled.

The seductive smile annoyed Alexa. She was even more annoyed when John smiled back.

“I’m John O’Rourke.” He held out his hand.

His new companions gave their names, Ed and Jill Fuller. That was how they had registered, but Alexa suspected that the names were false.

When Vane reentered the dining room, his gaze landed on John. His demeanor grew stiff as he approached the table. “Everything okay?” he asked, including John O’Rourke in his gaze.

But Alexa knew the question was for Vane’s guests.

And if things were not okay with them, she knew who would pay. She tensed, recalling her earlier thought about wanting to see Vane’s reaction. Fool, she chided herself. Had she thought he’d be pleased?

But he might have been less irritated if John had been sitting by himself.

Before Ed Fuller could respond, Jill said, “All is good. We are friends here, yes?”

“Absolutely.” John winked at the woman.

It was Alexa’s turn to go rigid, but even with her stiff shoulders, she went about serving the others in the dining room.

Alexa kept an eye on Vane, as he watched that particular table. Closely. Now and then he joined the group.

If only Alexa could eavesdrop. In the low rumble of dinner chatter from all the other tables, she only caught snatches as she took orders, served food and cleared dishes. Was Vane making mental notes, preparing to take out on Alexa later any displeasure registered by his guests?

“Where are you from?” she heard John ask Jill, when Vane was at the far side of the room.

“I am from Bolivia,” she said very slowly and distinctly, in an accent that did not, in Alexa’s estimation, resemble Spanish.

If John thought he was being lied to, he didn’t show it. “You speak English well.”

“Not so good,” she replied with a self-deprecating smile that made it clear she enjoyed John’s attention.

Her husband was clearly displeased when he jumped into the conversation. “We are learning here to speak good,” he said, sounding defensive.

“I know how hard that can be,” John said. “Learning different languages is not something I’m good at. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His amiable grin encompassed both his companions. Ed Fuller’s glare eased a little.

“How did you try?”

Jill’s distinct and deliberate speech would have driven Alexa crazy if she’d been sitting with them. She gathered dirty soup bowls from a neighboring table, taking her time to prevent being obvious in her listening.

“I was a foreign exchange student in high school. I went to Switzerland, the French-speaking part. In return, my family had three different exchange students stay in our house for a few months at a time. I did a lot better helping them with their English than my host family did teaching me French.” Again he grinned, this time with an embarrassed shrug of his very broad shoulders—shoulders Jill apparently noticed, for her admiring smile was more feline than friendly.

Alexa refrained from slinging a bowl at the woman. It wasn’t her business if the guests chose to make fools of themselves. And a woman’s flirting with a man, no matter how great-looking and sexy he was, right in front of her husband—well, that was definitely foolish.

Unless they weren’t really married….

John took some taco chips that Alexa had baked from scratch, from a basket on the table. He barely looked at them as he dipped them in homemade salsa. That annoyed Alexa. She scooped up her handful of dishes and hurried into the kitchen. There, she ladled bowls of tortilla soup for John’s table. She had made it spicy. Now, she considered adding even more chili pepper to John’s. That would divert his attention from Jill Fuller.

Phantom was watching. In deference to keeping the food preparation sanitary, she blocked him into an adjoining room with a removable gate. As always, she spoke softly to him, and he greeted her in return by chuffing and dancing and wagging his tail.

“I’ll give you a big hug later,” she promised.

“Do you need any help, Alexa?” Vane stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He appeared irritated.

She realized he wasn’t really offering help, just criticism. She was too slow tonight.

She had to stop allowing John O’Rourke to distract her.

“No, thanks, Vane,” she said. She picked up the tray with three soup bowls on it and hurried toward him. “I’m fine. Go ahead and entertain our guests.”

But he didn’t budge. As she approached him, he said through gritted teeth, “It appears that your friend O’Rourke is doing a good job of entertaining all by himself.”

Waves of panic shot up Alexa’s spine, but she stood still, balancing the awkward tray. “Yes,” she said with a forced smile. “He’s a salesman, and I guess salesmen like to talk.”

“This one likes to ask questions. Too many questions. I think we’d better suggest that he find someplace else to stay.”

In other words, she was to urge John to leave. Quickly.

“I don’t think he intends to stay long, anyway.” A little continued prevarication wouldn’t hurt, she hoped. She could tell Vane later that she hadn’t understood John’s intentions.

But she liked having someone around who was here just because he wanted to be. As if this place were still an innocent inn.

As long as she was the only one Vane threatened, she wouldn’t insist that John leave. But if the threats were ever leveled at the man she had encouraged to come here, she would get him out. Fast.

“I’ll hold you responsible if any of the other guests feel uncomfortable with your friend, Alexa.”

Vane’s icy frown made her want to cringe, and she was relieved when he pivoted and left the kitchen.

Alexa put down the tray for a moment and sagged against the center island. Her legs were shaking. Damn! This was no way to live.

She wouldn’t live this way much longer, she promised herself. As soon as she had what she needed to protect her parents and herself, she would escape.

Alexa would have sacrificed herself, and even her parents, if it would have done a damn bit of good. But it wouldn’t. Vane had made that clear.

She picked up the tray once more and entered the dining room. Vane had joined some guests across the room and didn’t even glance her way. Alexa served Jill Fuller a bowl of steaming soup first, Ed second and John last.

“This smells great,” John said. “What kind is it?” She told him. He turned to his dinner companions. “Have you ever eaten tortilla soup before? I’m not sure what Bolivian cuisine is like.”

Ed Fuller appeared confused by John’s question. Patiently, John rephrased it. Jill was the one to reply, but Alexa didn’t hear her answer.

“Ms. Kenner?” called a less heavily accented voice. Another guest, a few tables away, was holding up an empty wineglass. It was obvious what the man with the wrinkled face and demanding voice wanted, but Vane, seated at an adjoining table, just nodded curtly toward Alexa. Hiding her annoyance, she hurried to refill the customer’s glass.

Alexa was too busy after that to do more than catch snatches of the conversation at John’s table.

“This is a soup spoon,” John said once, holding up the utensil. “This is a teaspoon.” The others at his table repeated the names.

He was teaching them English!

What did Alexa expect from a personable salesman? A former exchange student who could empathize with people who didn’t understand the language in a strange country.

Several of Vane’s guests spoke English well. Many didn’t. Alexa suspected they all were terrorists, just like the last time. She had learned that after the fact, during the horror following Cole’s death.

She had recognized the possibility this time, as soon as Vane started bringing in his own guests—all together, all foreign, all with identification that didn’t seem to fit. But for the moment, there wasn’t anything she could do about it—not without wrecking her parents’ lives. What was left of her own, too.

She needed Vane’s damn file.

She would find it. And more… Soon.

A short while later, Alexa prepared to bring a serving of chile rellenos to John and his companions. She glanced down at the plates. The filled chile peppers were mounded with spicy Mexican-style rice and covered with sizzling cheese.

John had claimed he liked spicy foods. If he didn’t, that fact would come out now.

When she brought out the steaming dish, John was leaning over, conversing with two older men at the next table. It wasn’t enough for him to make friends with the Fullers. He was branching out.

“And what brings you to Skytop Lake?” he asked the closer of the two.

“Ah…pleasure.” The white-haired man with an underslung jaw had almost no accent. “I am here on holiday.”

“And you’re on vacation, too?” John said to the other man. “Where are you from?”

“New York” was the curt, precise reply that belied the answer. “Here comes your meal,” the thin, wrinkled man added, looking toward Alexa.

John turned toward her, as she put the plate in front of him. “This looks wonderful,” he told her. He inhaled deeply. “Smells wonderful, too.”

“It is wonderful,” she replied. “You’d better enjoy it.”

He grinned and used his fork to cut off a hefty piece. He took a bite. She expected his eyes to water, but they didn’t. She felt her eyebrows lift. Even her eyes watered when she had tasted the meal in the kitchen, and she was a true aficionado of spicy foods.

“It’s great!” John said, and took another mouthful.

So what if he’d bought a mild salsa at the gourmet food shop? He obviously liked things hot.

Cole had liked things hot, too….

Alexa glanced around the room. Vane was staring at them. She didn’t like the fractious gleam in his eye.

She escaped into the kitchen, greeting the eager Phantom, who wriggled behind his gate, with a quick pat before she washed her hands again.

When John had finished and signed for his meal, she expected him to go into the parlor with Vane and the rest of the guests. Instead, he joined her in the kitchen.

“You look as though you could use some help. How about a dishwasher? I work cheap.”

“How cheap?”

“You can’t get cheaper than free.”

“But—” Before she could voice any objections, he had tied a plain, lace-free apron around his waist and dug into the pile of dishes mounded in and around the sink. “You don’t need to get them spotless,” she said resignedly. “Just scrape the visible food off and pile them into the dishwasher.”

“Good. I have to admit, I’m not the world’s best dishwasher, only its best home improvements salesman.”

“And bull thrower.” She felt her mouth quirk into a grin.

“Ah, you were listening in on some of my conversations in the dining room,” he said with an arch smile. “I thought so.”

As usual in his presence, Alexa flushed. “You don’t want me to have eavesdropped. If I did, I’d know how nosy you are.”

“Nosy? Me?” The tone of his deep voice feigned hurt.

“I heard more questions from you than on a TV game show.”

“I’m darn good at games,” he said with a raise of one straight, dark brow and a roguish curve to his lips.

“I’ll bet you are.” Had he meant the suggestive undercurrent to his words? Alexa was nearly certain he had.

How was she going to get through the rest of the evening here, with this man interrupting her work, her thoughts? Her kitchen was large, but his presence made it seem as tiny as his bedroom.

Hadn’t she thought only a few minutes before how foolish it was for a married woman to flirt with another man in front of her husband? Whether she liked it or not, Alexa was engaged. Her fiancé was in the next room.

She glanced at the ring that weighed her hand down as if the stone it held was lead rather than a huge diamond. She didn’t dare end the engagement yet. It would be playing with fire for her to defy Vane…now.

She would be playing with fire by flirting with John.

She couldn’t exactly throw him out bodily. Nor did she want to touch that substantial body to try…did she? He wore navy trousers with his lighter blue shirt, and they looked great on him. His movements with the dirty dishes were decisive but deft. She had no fear that he’d fumble and drop them, despite the large size of his hands.

What would it feel like to have those hands stroking her…?

Why was she thinking such thoughts?

Whatever else Vane was, he had been a gentleman about not pushing her to have sex when she wanted nothing to do with him. And she’d wanted nothing at all to do with him for the months since he had seized control of their inn.

But John had reminded her of Cole. The very recollection of Cole dredged up yearning, libidinous feelings that she had kept hidden deep inside for ages.

Forcing her thoughts back to reality, she continued cleaning, trying to pretend John wasn’t there. That was hard to do, as he helped her stack dishes in the industrial-size dishwasher.

His curiosity had seemed unbridled as he had tossed questions to Vane’s guests. Vane had noticed, which wasn’t good. John had also been kind to work with the couple at his table, teaching them English.

John O’Rourke, surprisingly sexy home improvements salesman, was a man of many facets.

Eventually, they were finished with the dishes. “Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime.” He went to the shelves where she kept seasonings, and eyed them. “Looks like you’re partial to hot stuff.”

“The hotter the better,” she said.

It was his turn to look at her in surprise. He leered, then laughed. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, then left the kitchen.

ALEXA TOOK HER TIME putting the mounds of cookware away, making lists of dishes for the next day’s meals and ensuring she had the ingredients…ordinary activities. Or activities that would have been ordinary had the circumstances been normal.

The truth was, she was trapped here, at her own bed-and-breakfast. She knew Vane was involved in something at best illegal, at worst malevolent. The guests—possibly terrorists—had all been invited by him…except one. And that guest was a puzzle, too.

Surrounded by people, Alexa was alone. She could trust no one. She could rely only on herself.

When she couldn’t think of further excuses to stay in the kitchen, she released Phantom from behind the gate. She knelt to give the cute, intense puppy a big hug, then rose. “Come on,” she said, leading him out.

She hadn’t intended to go into the parlor. She did not want to mingle with the people Vane had brought here. But she spied John in a hard-backed seat in the midst of them. They were grouped on the overstuffed sofa and assortment of chairs, all turned to face one wall so they could watch television—all the better to perfect their use of U.S. customs and language, she surmised. They congregated together like this a lot.

For just a moment, she leaned on the doorjamb to observe—because she was curious, she told herself, and not because she had any interest in studying John. Phantom lay at her feet. The crowd had the TV tuned to a quiz show, something called “Millions on Your Mind”—a clone of several other popular programs. Cheers and cat-calls erupted from the small crowd of viewers in her house. What were they up to?

“It’s koa wood,” cried John, his large frame raised from the chair. “From Hawaii. That’s the answer.” He lifted his hands and swatted the air, as if he were somehow tossing his knowledge to the contestant on the TV screen.

“Are you certain?” asked Jill, who sat beside him—of course. “Ko-a?”

“Yes. It’s a great shade of golden red when it’s polished, and has a unique grain. That’s definitely it.”

Alexa felt the chile rellenos that she had hurriedly downed in the kitchen begin to churn in her stomach. Koa wood. Wood.

Cole Rappaport had been an expert on trees. When they had come here to Skytop Lake, he had pointed out the various types of pine trees, including ponderosa, Coulter and white, plus some of the most common deciduous trees—Pacific dogwood, white alder, California black oak. He had been able to tell them apart by their size and shape, their bark, their leaves. Plus, he had described what their grain was like inside.

Cole would have known the answer to this quiz show question, too. Cole knew everything about trees.

An icy shiver passed through Alexa. She studied John once more. Yes, she still saw some resemblance to Cole, but it was all superficial—height, build. And handsome? Oh, yes. Definitely. Incredibly. But he didn’t look like Cole.

And Cole, whether she could accept it or not, was dead.

ALEXA COULDN’T SLEEP that night. Instead, she stood outside her bedroom, on the balcony at the rear that ran the width of the B & B’s second story and matched the one at the front of the house. She did not bother to flip on its light, preferring to stay in the dark.

Preferring not to advertise her presence, for she did not want any uninvited company—namely Vane.

She knew she lost money by not making available to guests one of the few bedrooms that opened onto the balcony, with its lake view. Vane had argued with her about it from the very first. But she had been firm. Keeping it to herself was worth any cost…especially now.

It gave her peace, or at least as much peace as possible during this incredibly difficult time.

She leaned on the rail and watched lights from surrounding residences play along the patches of rippling water visible through the trees. The air was fragrant with the scent of pine blowing in the mountaintop breeze. She shivered a little in the coolness, gathering her long terry-cloth robe more closely about her.

“Beautiful view,” said a deep masculine voice, startling her.

She pivoted. John O’Rourke had just come through the door to the center hallway of the B & B’s upper floor. He was still dressed in the clothing he’d worn at supper.

And he was looking at her, not the lake.

Alexa pretended not to notice. “Yes, it is.”

Her blessed solitude had been abruptly terminated. But to her surprise, she didn’t mind.

He joined her at the rail, clasping his hands together and leaning on his arms. She was aware of his closeness. The warmth from his body radiated toward her—or was it her own sexual awareness of this gorgeous, sensual man that caused her to burn?

She was also aware of how he stared deeply into the darkness, as if trying to see into the myriad shadows between the trees and the house. What was he looking for?

“You can’t sleep?” he asked without looking at her. Another of his many questions.

She shook her head. “I’ve a lot on my mind. And you?”

“The same.” He glanced at her, but only momentarily. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.”

“Tell you what?” She felt suddenly jittery. What did he want to know? And why did he stare at the neighborhood like that, as if expecting to see something that didn’t belong?

“Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

She made herself laugh. Attempting to regain the teasing familiarity they had shared as they had worked on the dinner dishes, she answered flippantly, “A guilty conscience.”

John turned to her so abruptly that she took a step backward, her hands up for protection. In the faint light from the neighboring properties, she had no trouble making out the sharpness to his glare.

“And just why would that be?” His wide lips softened just a bit at the edges, as if he struggled to smile, to soften the harshness of his question.

Her attempt at levity so obviously unsuccessful, Alexa shrugged beneath her robe. She lowered her hands and looked out again over the shimmering water of the lake. “Just a figure of speech,” she replied softly.

Why had he gotten so upset?

John suddenly grasped Alexa’s arms, turning her to face him. His grip was firm, insistent, just short of hurting her. His hands released her quickly, but his gaze didn’t. His eyes seemed to glow in the faint light on the balcony, as if they had a source of illumination of their own.

“Alexa,” he said in a surprisingly soft and sympathetic voice, “I…I sense something here. Something not quite right. If you’d like to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

“You’re imagining things,” she said quickly.

“Am I?”

For a brief, crazy moment, she considered blurting out everything. What had happened two years ago. How the terrors of the past had somehow been resurrected right here, at the haven she had turned to in an attempt to put it all behind her.

How she feared what Vane was up to. How alone she felt, how responsible and scared.

How badly she missed Cole Rappaport.

She bit her bottom lip to prevent it all from spilling from her. She looked up into John’s curious and kind gaze.

He was a salesman. A people person. He seemed outgoing, yet full of empathy.

Could he help her?

No, shouted a voice inside her. You’re still mistaking him for Cole. He’s not here to save you.

You have to do that yourself.

She was alone here, in the midst of all these people. And she didn’t dare forget it.

“There’s nothing,” Alexa said firmly, though she glanced away from the inquisitiveness and sympathy in John’s eyes. “Nothing at all.”

“If you change your mind,” John said, “all you have to do is—”

“Alexa!”

She turned to the glass door to the house. It slid open, and Vane stood there, fully dressed, as if he had been out somewhere.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his tone almost accusatory.

“Sorry,” she said. She glanced toward John, intending it to be firm but apologetic. Hoping, for her own sake, to see in his continued stare the sympathy she had noticed before.

Instead, his glare had turned furious. But why? Alexa shivered as she turned to accompany her fiancé back into the house, but it wasn’t the night air that chilled her.

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