“Is this what you do? Just shut down when it gets to be too much?”

“Apparently so,” Corey murmured. Drifting in emptiness seemed preferable to dealing at the moment.

All of sudden, she felt hands grip her shoulders. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Austin kneeling in front of her.

“You went to this place when you were seven,” he said quietly. “There’s no reason to do it now, Corey. You aren’t alone.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Haven’t you battered me enough for one night?”

His head jerked back, and his hands released her. She felt a momentary satisfaction. He’d been dishing it out all evening. Her turn.

He jumped up and started walking away. But he turned around suddenly. “Hate me,” he said.

“Even hate is better than nothing.”

The words seemed to make no sense, but the next thing she knew, he lifted her off the couch and sat with her across his lap. Astonished, furious at being manhandled, she opened her mouth to yell at him, but the moment was lost as he kissed her.

Then she was lost, too.

Defending the

Eyewitness

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

MILLS & BOON

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To those who love.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Extract

Chapter 1

Corey Donohue tossed the odd little note aside as she went to answer the doorbell.

I remember you but you don’t remember me.

Exactly, she thought, the kind of joke she would expect one of her friends to play. They believed she was entirely too busy keeping up with the sewing shop she had taken over from her grandmother and thought she needed to shake up her life a bit. Well, that wasn’t going to do it.

She hesitated, though, for just a second, looking back at the hall table where she had thrown the piece of notepaper. Anonymous envelope, typed... Wouldn’t one of her friends have scrawled something like that with a pen?

But then she pushed the momentary uneasiness aside and reached for the doorknob. Whatever it was, it sounded teasing, not threatening. She supposed some old friend would finally call her to give her a hard time.

She was surprised to find the Conard County sheriff, Gage Dalton, standing there with another, younger man. The guy looked as if he’d just crossed the metaphorical train tracks from the wrong side—shaggy black hair, unshaven, wearing leather and denim, with dark eyes that looked like chips of coal. With bronzed skin and high cheekbones, he looked at once exotic and dangerous.

“Corey,” Gage said, “meet a colleague of mine, Austin Mendez.”

Austin nodded. She nodded back, wondering what was going on here. Strange men made her jumpy, and if Gage hadn’t been there, she would have slammed the door.

“Austin’s just come off an undercover assignment and he needs a place to decompress. I remembered your last roomer moved out, and while I know this won’t be the long-term kind of thing you’d prefer, Austin needs a room for at least a month, maybe more.”

Corey didn’t at all like the looks of Austin. He was the kind a very young woman would find appealing, with his unkempt aura of danger, but she was long past that stage. She was also blunt. She turned to Gage. “You vouching for him?”

“Absolutely. He’s law enforcement.”

She wondered how much that really meant when dealing with a man who had been undercover. Someone had once remarked that the difference between a criminal and an undercover agent was that the agent had to lie.

She looked at Austin Mendez again. A man. In her house. But she felt the pressure of doing a favor for Gage, who had always been good to her. She couldn’t just refuse. Gathering her courage, she said, “You get the whole upstairs. It’s furnished. You can use the kitchen. I don’t make meals for tenants because I’m usually at work. You can go on up and take a look, if you like.”

It wasn’t the friendliest she’d ever been to a tenant, but she didn’t want to be friendly. She was accustomed to renting the space to women, one of the teachers, college students or nurses in the area. The last had been a student at the junior college, a truly nice young woman who had moved on to a four-year school. The fall semester had just begun, and she didn’t have a replacement roomer yet. At this point, she probably wouldn’t until the spring semester.

This was certainly going to be different, she thought as she watched Austin hike up the stairs.

She gave her attention back to Gage. “I just got home and made some coffee. Do you have time?”

He glanced at his watch. “Sure. Emma’s working late tonight and the boys are thrilled to be ordering pizza. I’m a free man for a little while.”

Which she took to mean that he wanted to give her a chance to get comfortable with the new tenant. She appreciated that and finally gave him a smile. “Kitchen or living room?” she asked.

“Kitchen’s fine. We do everything in the kitchen at my place. I can’t figure out why we even have a living room most of the time. These days the boys don’t even watch TV. I can’t pry them off their computer games.”

She laughed. “If I had more time I’d probably get addicted to that myself.”

The strange little note fluttered as they passed. She reached for it, intending to toss it in the trash, but then, on impulse, she tucked it, along with its envelope, in one of the drawers of the hall table.

As she poured them coffee, she looked up at the ceiling. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to heavy footsteps.”

“That last tenant you had was a tiny sprite,” he agreed.

“Just a few months, you said? Because I’m probably going to have students wanting to rent for the next semester.”

“He just needs a little time and quiet. You pretend you’re somebody else for a half-dozen years, and then you have to find yourself again.”

“Was it like that for you?”

“Sometimes, but I didn’t go anywhere near as deep. Austin doesn’t have anybody just now. He went way deep from what I understand, and it leaves you a bit messed up. You also can’t just pick up old relationships, not for a while. It could be dangerous if you get identified. But I don’t know much I can tell you. Or even how much I know. Just rest assured that I wouldn’t have brought him here if I hadn’t vetted him.”

She supposed that would have to do. Sharing a house with a man made her feel uneasy, though, and she questioned whether she should really agree to this. But she had already invited Austin to look around. Could she possibly look at Gage now and tell him she had changed her mind?

“He’s DEA?” she asked.

“He’s a friend of a friend,” Gage answered. “I don’t know which agency. I just know that apparently he spent a lot of time in the border towns in Mexico.”

She blinked. While she wasn’t up on all the details, she’d heard how dangerous it could be for undercover agents. “My God!”

“And I don’t know whether he was involved in trying to stem the drug trade or the arms trade, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Two sides of the same coin.”

She looked up as she heard more footsteps. “That must have been hell.”

“Life on a tightrope, for sure. Anyway, he shouldn’t give you any problems, but if you have any, just call me. I’ll make other arrangements.”

She nodded, feeling a trickle of relief. “I’ve never taken a man as a roomer before.” For good reason. While she couldn’t remember her mother’s murder, she had had a problem with men ever since, especially men she didn’t know.

She returned her attention to Gage. “I take it you’re doing a favor for this friend?”

“Sorta. I just suggested it would be hard to get a bigger change of pace. We’re mostly quiet and peaceful and don’t have the kind of triggers that could set him off.”

“You would know. What do you mean, set him off?” She didn’t like that phrase.

“Nothing violent. Just that there isn’t much around here that ought to make him edgy. He should be able to start letting his guard down and maybe even take a few steps toward remembering who he used to be.”

She shook her head and looked down. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you can never be who you used to be. Somehow you have to try to stitch all the changes into a new you.”

Gage fell silent and drank his coffee. Corey supposed he was the last person on earth she’d needed to say that to. After all, this man had lost his entire family, a wife and two kids, to a bomb intended for him. Somehow he’d put himself together, remarried and built a family and a life here.

She wasn’t sure she’d really finished stitching herself together. Nor was she sure that traumatic amnesia had helped with that one bit. The doctors said it was okay to forget, but she didn’t always believe it. Yet it remained a horror she didn’t want to look at.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“We’re in here,” Gage called.

Austin Mendez appeared in the door and hesitated.

“Coffee?” Corey asked, determined to be polite no matter how uneasy he made her.

“Thanks.”

She motioned him to a chair at the dinette and got him a cup. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black’s fine, thanks. That’s a nice space you have up there.”

Corey brought him his coffee and sat again, across from him and Gage. Somehow she was going to have to get used to this, at least for a few months. She decided to try to be chatty.

“Part of that has to do with my tenants over the years. They’ve fixed it up in various ways to suit them, from painting the rooms, to furnishings. When they move on, they leave a nicer place behind.”

“I’m not sure I can do that, but I appreciate it.”

He looked as if he was making an effort and it didn’t come easily. South of the border? She’d bet he was more comfortable with Spanish than English right now. Unfortunately, her Spanish was more like Spanglish. But maybe that’s the last thing he needed to hear now, fluent or not. How would she know?

He spoke again. His English was slightly accented, as if he’d picked up a new habit. Or maybe it was an old one. The longer she sat here, the more questions she had about him. “Gage told me the rent, Ms. Donohue. I’d like to pay a little more.”

“Why should you do that?”

“Because Gage also told me you prefer to rent to women. I feel you’re doing me a favor.”

She blinked, then looked at Gage. “And what else did you tell Mr. Mendez about me?”

Gage smiled into his coffee cup. “Not much. I just told him that in case you said no. I didn’t want Austin to take it personally.”

That made sense, she supposed. She returned her attention to the male question mark beside Gage. “It’s true, but making an exception isn’t a favor. Just the regular rent, please.” Maybe it wasn’t a favor or maybe it was. But it certainly wasn’t a favor to Austin. She owed Gage.

Austin Mendez nodded. “Okay. So what are the house rules?”

She hadn’t really thought about that because she hadn’t exactly needed to make rules before. “Buy your own food, clean up after yourself. That’s all I ask. I’ll give you a key so you can come and go as you like. I’m gone most days all day, so we shouldn’t bother each other.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. And I’m not looking to throw any parties.”

“I’ve survived even a few of those,” she remarked. She was almost grateful when he smiled faintly. Not much of a smile, but she was beginning to get the feeling that whoever this man was, or had been, right now he was very much on edge and uncertain. Since she couldn’t imagine him doing what he had done without at least a fair amount of confidence, it must be the total shift in gears that was bothering him.

Well, she could understand that. She’d spent a lot of her life trying to shift a gear that seemed to be stuck.

She also couldn’t think of another thing to say. She’d never been one for small talk with strangers. So she looked at Gage. “How are the kids? I know how Emma is, I see her often.”

“Ever since you got her into that quilting,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling a bit. “Are there ever too many quilts?”

“Never.” She laughed.

Gage turned to Austin. “Corey here owns the local sewing shop and gives classes in how to do all kinds of stuff from knitting to needlepoint to quilting. Emma’s even talking about learning to make lace, though whatever for I can’t imagine.”

“There’s something soothing about busy hands,” Corey answered. “And when you get done, there’s a sense of achievement.”

“There’s also a lot of kids in this town running around with hand-knitted caps and a lot of beds covered by Emma’s quilts.” His eyes danced. “It’s kind of fun to watch her give one away. People are so overwhelmed by it and go on about how she couldn’t possibly want to part with so much work. They should only see the stack in one corner of our bedroom.”

At that, Corey laughed outright. “She did really get into it.”

“Understatement,” Gage pronounced. “You unleashed an obsession.” He glanced at his watch again. “I gotta run. I know the boys are old enough to be by themselves, but every so often I still have to unplug them from their games and remind them there’s a real world out here.”

“Is there?” Austin’s question fell into the conversation almost like a bomb. As if he realized it, he shook himself visibly. “Sorry.” He stood up. “I need to go to the bank and get your rent. No checking account yet. If I could have that key?”

She rose immediately and went to get it for him. He thanked her and vanished out the front door and into the gloaming.

Gage stood in the kitchen. “Are you going to be okay with this?”

“You seemed to think I would be.”

“That’s no answer.” He sighed. “I swear he’s on the up-and-up. And if you want my guess, you’ll hardly know he’s here. But if you have any doubts, I’ll find another way.”

She hesitated. Part of her definitely wanted to say no. Since her mother’s murder, she had trouble trusting men, especially strangers, even though she couldn’t remember a thing about what had happened. Still... She thought of what Gage had told her about Austin Mendez and figured he’d earned some help with his return to regular life. Someone owed it to him, and she seemed to be the someone available right now.

“It’ll be okay,” she said firmly.

“But if it’s not, let me know?”

“Promise.”

He seemed content with that and took his departure after thanking her for the coffee. It was Saturday night, the classes at her shop were done for the day, and tomorrow she’d be open for only a few hours.

That suddenly seemed like an awfully long time away, before she walked back into the security of the shop her grandmother had left to her. She’d just pretended to a whole lot of confidence she didn’t feel at all. But that pretense was embedded in her life.

She decided there was only one way to survive this evening. She grabbed a sandwich and a glass of milk, along with her e-reader and knitting bag, and headed for her bedroom. Once inside, she locked the door.

There would be a man in the house now, and she was not at all happy about it or comfortable with it.

* * *

Austin returned to the house a couple of hours later. He’d pulled the rent from an ATM, had dinner at the diner, where he noted an astonishing lack of tortillas, then grabbed his suitcase from his old beater and headed inside.

He realized immediately that his landlady had gone to ground. Her car was still in the driveway, but she had vanished. When he caught a glimpse of light from beneath a door at the back of the hall, he figured she had decided to vanish on purpose.

Not that he could blame her. He had a pretty good idea what he looked like, and she didn’t know a thing about him. He could live with it. Right now, he wanted to be scarce, too.

Because only scarcity provided safety, and he’d been working without a net for far too long. He’d been initially relieved when they had pulled him out, but that was before he realized he didn’t fit here as well as he had in the border towns. Here he had to be a different person than there. He had memories of being someone else, but in between lay six years of working himself into a position of familiarity and friendship with people he had never really wanted to know or become friends with.

The irony didn’t escape him.

Nor did the way he had been treated after they’d pulled him out. A thank-you for all the intelligence he had given them, an endless debriefing, a pat on the shoulder, then “Get out of here and take some time for yourself.”

They didn’t know what to do with him, either, now. Hell, he’d been buried so deep that two of his fellow agents had beaten him up once, and another time one had shot at him.

Then when the joint task force rolled up the operation, they’d dragged him in just like all the rest of the bad guys, and the Federales had tap-danced all over him for days, leaving him with some broken ribs and other injuries before his own guys pulled him out in an ostensible “prison transfer.”

Good for his cover, but he was quite sure all of that made his own team uncomfortable.

Well, he hadn’t liked it, either, and frankly he never wanted to do it again. Job completed, time to move on. He just didn’t know where yet.

He was still on payroll. They’d told him to take as much time as he needed. Even suggested a therapist, if he found the transition too difficult. He hadn’t been back long enough to know if it was going to be too difficult. The only thing he knew for sure was that he could no longer stand a necktie.

He unpacked the few things he had brought with him and put them in the drawers of an empty dresser. He’d left behind the clothes in storage. The one suit he’d pulled out to wear to his debriefings had shown him that not only did he hate neckties now, but his body had changed. He was leaner now, his muscles in different places and shapes.

So that left him with his undercover garb and little else. He supposed he needed to do some shopping. If he wanted, he could fit in here pretty quickly. That was his gift.

And his curse.

* * *

Corey listened to the sounds of the stranger upstairs. He’d been gone a long time, but now he was back. Unpacking? She thought she heard the dresser move a bit. Then the unmistakable sounds of the shower upstairs.

She was having a serious problem with herself. She had been close to rude with a stranger, in defiance of everything she believed to be right. Strangers were to be welcomed, and while keeping a reasonable distance at first was okay until you knew them, you shouldn’t be inhospitable. She’d come very close to that at the door, and now she was hiding in her bedroom as if her house had been invaded by some kind of freak.

She couldn’t help her reactions to men. Eighteen years ago, one had killed her mother before her very eyes when she was seven and they were living in Denver. She knew she’d been there because of police reports. She even knew some of the awful details, again because of police reports. The man had never been caught. There’d never been a clue to his identity.

So whoever he was, he probably still roamed the world somewhere, and her memory of the incident was a total blank. It was a mercy, she supposed, that she didn’t remember, and having been brought home to Conard County to live with her aunt and grandmother had given her stability and a loving home.

But she was still uneasy with men. Especially men she didn’t know. That uneasiness had prevented her from going to college, except for some classes she had lately taken here, and prevented her from ever leaving this area. She knew almost everyone by sight, and she needed that.

But still, the guy upstairs had done nothing wrong, and the more she thought about it, the more she believed that the last thing he needed was to be treated like a pariah. Simple kindness required better of her.

It wasn’t as if she needed to spend much time with him. Just some courtesy and an occasional smile. If there was one thing life had taught her, everyone had their own problems, and his, well, his might even be a private hell.

She noticed her knitting needles were clicking more rapidly than usual and that she’d stopped counting stitches at some point. Darn it, she was probably making a mess of this sweater. Sighing, she put the knitting on the bed and rose from her chair, wondering how she could handle this situation better. How she could make this man feel a little more welcome.

He must feel like a fish totally out of water. She could barely remember that feeling, she’d been ensconced here so long. She had to remember the days when the police had taken her to a social worker and then to a foster family, where she had waited for her grandmother to come. Had to remember how strange living here had seemed, how far from home it had felt.

A long time ago, but those feelings lived on. This man was no child, as she had been, but she had possibly found a point of connection with Austin. Fish out of water.

Gage had said that the man couldn’t pick up his old relationships just yet, and she wondered what that meant. Might someone dangerous still come after him? Bringing trouble right to her front door?

She caught herself as her old suspicions started to rise up. Enough. The past was past, a very old past. There were limits to how much she could allow it to run her life.

She heard him come downstairs. Biting her lip, she hesitated, then unlocked her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. Light spilled from upstairs and out of the kitchen door. She made her steps a little noisier as she approached. Startling this man struck her as unwise.

He was facing her as she entered the room, and she could see the tension in him. Okay, he was not feeling safe. She froze on the threshold.

His body softened a little. He was wearing a black T-shirt and old jeans and walking barefoot. “I thought I’d make some coffee. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. Are you hungry, too?”

“I ate at the diner.” Then he gave her a crooked smile. “No tortillas.”

“No...” Then she got it and smiled. “No, no tortillas, but you can get them at the grocery. Want me to make the coffee?”

“I make it strong.”

“That’s the way I like it.” She gathered he wanted to do it himself, so she sat at the table.

All of a sudden he stuck his hand in his front pocket and put a folded stack of bills in front of her. “Rent,” he said, and went back to making coffee.

“Are you going to miss the tortillas?” she asked, seeking something friendly to say even as her nerves kept coiling tighter.

“Fresh ones? You bet. The beginning and end to every meal. Stacks of them. Usually corn. There was one little stand I frequented and sometimes I just stood there watching that woman’s hands fly. You wouldn’t believe how fast she could roll a ball of dough, flatten it into a near-perfect circle and toss it on the grill for just a short time. Hot and always delicious.”

“A real skill.”

“Definitely. And it wasn’t only her. I just happened to like her stand.” His face darkened a bit as he spoke. Then, “Cups?”

She rose and went to open the cupboard. As she did, she accidentally brushed against him and nearly froze as a sizzle ran along her nerve endings. It was a feeling so rare in her life that it astonished her. She leaped away like a startled rabbit.

“Something wrong?”

Only then did she realize she’d been staring into the cupboard too long, and that he’d stepped away from her. She grabbed two mugs at random, closed the cabinet, then handed him one.

“Nothing,” she managed to answer.

After he filled his mug, he remained standing as if he wondered whether she wanted him to go upstairs or remain. Be friendly, she ordered herself.

“Have a seat if you like,” she invited as she returned to her own with coffee. Just before she sat, she changed her mind and went to get out a tray of raspberry-and-cheese Danish and two plates. She offered him some.

“Thanks. That looks good.”

“It is. One of my friends finally fulfilled her dream of opening a bakery. It’s an awful lot of work, though. Up well before the birds and all that.”

Silence fell again. Apparently he wasn’t in a mood to talk, and she didn’t know what to say to him. Very awkward. Of course, she was used to hanging out with women at the shop or in the classes she hosted, but she knew most of them. Being confronted with a total stranger left her stymied. How in the world did you get past this when you came from such different worlds?

She supposed it didn’t matter. She should just take her coffee into the bedroom and figure out where she had gone wrong on her knitting. Because she was sure she had. Knitting a diamond design into the sweater was not a mindless task.

“Well,” she said, tired of the uncomfortable silence, and wondering what she was doing sitting here with a strange man, anyway, “I’ll just get back to my knitting.”

“Lo siento,” he said, then quickly, “I’m sorry. You’re trying to be friendly. I’m usually a friendly guy. For some reason, I’ve been finding that hard lately.”

She hesitated. “Are you bilingual?”

“From the cradle.”

“That’s very cool. I wish I were.”

At last he cracked a faint smile. “Being bilingual took me places, all right. My dad was from Mexico and my mom lived in San Antonio when they met. She was Anglo. Anyway, I grew up speaking both languages. Don’t ask me how I sorted it all out, but at some point I did.”

She laughed quietly. “Kids seem to be good at that. So, did you grow up in San Antonio?”

“Mostly. I spent some summers in Mexico with my father’s family. They had a large finca. Country estate. Plenty for young boys to do there.”

“What did your parents do?”

“Both of them taught at the university. That’s how they met. What about you? Have you always lived here?”

“I grew up here,” she said, shading the truth a bit. She could barely remember Denver at all.

“And you have your own business, I think Gage said?”

“Yes, it’s kind of a crafts shop for women who like sewing, knitting, that kind of thing.”

“Does it keep you busy?”

“Pleasantly so. I think we’ve become the up-to-date version of the women’s sewing circle. We have all kinds of gatherings and classes.”

“Sounds very friendly.” He managed another smile. As his gaze drifted toward the Danish, she pushed it in his direction. “Help yourself. I can get more.”

“It looks really good,” he said. “I can understand why your friend is successful.”

“I should ask her to make tortillas for you. I’m sure they’d be better than the stuff on the shelf in the store.”

He looked surprised. “Why would she do that? She doesn’t know me, and one person isn’t a whole market.”

“She’d do it because she’s that kind of person.”

This time his smile deepened, and some of the tension around his eyes eased. “Maybe it’s not so different here, after all.”

She wondered what he meant by that but wasn’t sure how to ask. How much was she supposed to know? And she didn’t have even a remote experience with Mexico. All she knew was this town and this county. Rightly or wrongly, she couldn’t imagine a better place.

“Help yourself to anything you like,” she said, rising. It was time to retreat behind her walls. “I know you haven’t had time to go shopping yet.”

He said something that might have been Spanish, leaving her perplexed as she walked down the hall. Then it occurred to her he’d probably been saying some form of good-night. Maybe she’d ask him tomorrow. Or maybe not.

He was a man, after all.

Chapter 2

Austin awoke in the morning considerably refreshed, knowing instantly where he was. He’d acquired that talent during his years as an agent. It was dangerous not to know exactly where you were and exactly what was around you, even when you slept. You never knew what you might wake up to.

He needed to rearrange the room a bit, but even as he sat up with the thought, he realized that would be overkill. He was in a safe little town in Wyoming, as far as he could be from anyone who might want to come after him...and no one should. They never knew his real name, he’d been whisked out of that damn Mexican prison so fast that the most his old compadres could believe was that he had been moved to another prison. Even if they suspected, they’d have no way of tracing him. Besides, by now, the rumor was probably running through the grapevine that he was dead. Killed in an escape attempt, maybe. That was the usual cover story when someone didn’t survive manhandling by the Federales.

So it was needless to think of having another way out of here besides the stairs. He didn’t have to live like that anymore. He repeated the mantra to himself several times. It was over. He didn’t need to live like that anymore.

It should have been reassuring. Comforting. Something. Anything except make him feel utterly at loose ends.

He rose and headed for the bathroom, where he erased the beard he’d worn religiously for six years. Sometimes he’d let it become scruffy, sometimes he’d neatly trimmed it, but it had been like a mask, concealing his real features just enough. He didn’t need concealment anymore, but by the time he got done, he looked at his unfamiliar reflection and could have laughed. The skin beneath the beard hadn’t tanned along with the rest of him, and the paleness almost glowed. His skin had a natural olive tone, but right then, in comparison, it didn’t look like it. He wondered how long it would take to catch up so he didn’t look like a clown.

It was time, he decided, to get the lay of the land around here and figure out what kind of clothes he’d need to fit in. If it didn’t involve a necktie, he’d be happy.

He heard a church bell ringing as he descended the stairs and realized it was Sunday. Hell, what did that mean for shopping around here?

He smelled coffee at the foot of the stairs and hesitated. Maybe he should just keep going and get breakfast somewhere.

But then he heard Corey. “I’m in here, Austin. Coffee’s fresh.”

Well, that drew him. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper in hands, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Help yourself,” she said pleasantly. “There’s cereal in the cupboard, if you like.”

“I need to go shopping,” he remarked. After the way she had looked at him yesterday, he wondered why she was being so friendly. At first sight, he’d been sure she wanted to send him packing.

She must have looked up as he went to get a mug, because he heard her say, “Oh, my gosh...”

He turned to look at her and she had clapped her hand over her mouth. Her blue eyes seemed to dance. For the first time, he allowed himself to notice what a pretty woman she was. Sort of like a Viking princess, maybe, with her long blond hair, milky skin and brilliant blue eyes. Even a nice figure, as he recalled, although it was invisible now in layers of thick blue terry cloth that seemed to cover a long flannel nightgown. He usually went for darker women, but this one was getting his attention. In the wrong way, considering.

He touched his cheek. “Beard?”

“You can’t exactly call that a shadow.” A laugh trembled in her voice.

“I know. I was thinking I looked like a painted clown.”

A giggle escaped her then. “I’m sorry. Really. It was just so unexpected, but I should be used to it.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got a men’s club here and the members grow their beards every winter. I think it may have started as a lark, but it became a charity fund-raiser. You sign up to support someone and offer to pay so much for each inch they grow. Anyway, everyone around here recognizes that look, so don’t worry about being mistaken for a clown. It’s not that bad, anyway. I was just surprised.”

He liked her laughter and didn’t at all mind being the butt of it. Smiling easily for the first time in a while, he joined her at the table with his coffee. “I need to go shopping for clothes and food. Recommendations?”

“Nothing opens until noon today, I’m afraid. And your choices are limited. One grocery store, one department store.”

“That makes it easy. Assuming they have everything, anyway.”

“Freitag’s is a good department store. I’m sure the big cities have better, but Freitag’s is enough most of the time. If I need something they don’t have, I order online.”

He nodded, taking it in, taking her in. He wondered if she had any idea how lovely she was.

“What’s it like in Mexico?”

He tilted his head. “It’s a big country. It depends on where you are and what you’re doing.”

“I sometimes think I’d like to see the pyramids.”

“Well, you could see some of them, anyway. There are a whole lot of them. The museums in Mexico City are great, too. But to get the most out of it, I would recommend hiring a good guide.”

“Why?”

“Because he or she will know where it’s safe for you to go.”

Her eyes widened, and in spite of himself he grinned. “I could say the same about a lot of places in this country.”

She flushed faintly. “You’re right, of course. Like I said, this is the only town I know.”

He sensed something then, and he always trusted his instincts. Something in this woman was locked up tight and for a very good reason. Fear held her caged in this town in the back of beyond.

He ransacked his brain for something he could talk about to get her mind off whatever disturbed her. Because, by the downward flicker of her eyes, he knew he had reminded her of something unpleasant.

He decided to return the conversation to Mexico. “The Tarahumara Indians are some people I’d like to help.”

Her gaze met his again. “Who are they? And why?”

“They’re some of the world’s greatest runners. Amazing, really. They can run fifty miles without water. They have this game where they kick a ball along a path as they run up and down the mountains of the Sierra Madre. Until recently they managed to survive without the rest of the world, pure subsistence living, but they were making it. Then they gained international attention with their tremendous running abilities. They started having conflicts with people who wanted their land, with logging companies and finally with drug traffickers. They’re poor, and they got even poorer after a drought started killing their measly crops. You can guess what happened.”

“Tell me.”

He had her full attention. “Because they’re such great runners, and they’re so close to the border, the drug cartels started offering them money to run backpacks full of drugs across the border.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. And some of the younger people did it because it was too much money to refuse when they and their families were starving, when they couldn’t find jobs, or at least not jobs that paid enough. I mean, those who manage to find work are paid ten dollars a day.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Until recently, the Tarahumara were pretty much the people that Time forgot. They’ve had a really lousy introduction to the modern world.”

“But what can you do for them?”

“I don’t know. But now I’ve got some time to think about it, and I’m going to.”

She was sitting there pondering, but he liked the way she kept nodding her head as if agreeing with what he had said. “I had no idea,” she said finally.

“Most people don’t.”

“But you got to know them?”

“I sure did. Some of the mules make it back, but they’re angry because they didn’t get paid what they were promised. Others come back with tales of being arrested and sent to jail. Those are good cautions, but there are still youngsters who can’t resist the idea of six monthsʼ pay for what they think will be a few easy hours of running with a backpack.”

“God!” She drummed her fingers. “I’ve heard about all the violence, too. Is that getting any better?”

“Depends on where you are. Again.”

“It must have seemed very different from visiting your family’s—what did you call it?”

“Finca. And yes, it was very different.”

She looked as if she was about to ask another question, then bit it back. He’d heard some of what Gage had told her about him, but not all of it. “How much did Gage tell you about me?”

“That you were undercover for six years in the border towns. He didn’t say exactly what you were doing.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Fine by me.” She gave him a pale smile. “Get some cereal. You’ve got to be hungry.”

* * *

Corey had never had anything to do with drugs, although she was certain some of her friends had indulged. They made no secret of it, really, but this was such an out-of-the-way place that if there was a drug problem it remained relatively small.

What she had never thought about was the cost of those drugs, not in terms of money, but in terms of human misery. The news had made it clear that there was a lot of violence between the drug cartels in Mexico, but she had heard nothing about the people who got enticed into carrying those drugs over the border. She had always assumed they were members of the cartel, not innocent kids who were being tempted with desperately needed money.

Until this moment, all of that had seemed far removed from her. Somebody else’s problem. But the way Austin had just described those Tarahumara boys sickened her. Their lives were hard, they loved to run evidently and were being drawn into terrible danger by amounts of money that must look like salvation.

Austin pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard. “What’s this stuff?”

She looked at it and had to chuckle at his expression. “I call it my roots and twigs. High fiber. I think guinea pigs get better food.”

He cracked a laugh. “This from a woman who brings home Danishes from the bakery?”

“The same. Who said I had to be consistent?”

He poured some into a bowl. “It looks like animal feed.”

“It probably is. I eat it plain, but you might find it easier to swallow with some sugar on it.”

“I can swallow just about anything, trust me. I wasn’t raised on caviar. Thanks for sharing.”

“Tell me that again after you’ve tasted it.” Her tone was wry, and as she heard it, she realized she was becoming a little more comfortable with Austin Mendez. Maybe it had to do with the way he talked about those Indians.

“So, no idea how you could help the Tarahumara?” she said.

“Not yet. I don’t mean to make them sound like the quote-unquote noble savage, because they’re not. They fought the Spanish more than once. They fought the French and they fought us. Mining has long since destroyed a lot of their land, about half the original population simply integrated with the rest of society, and the remainder are not above putting on a good show for tourists. It’s just that—well, I spent some time with them. The pressures on them from every direction are enormous and I’d kind of like to think there’s some way to help them hang on to what’s left rather than see them forced to raise opium poppies or run the border. Probably a pipe dream. Change, for good or ill, seems to be unavoidable.”

She put her chin in her hand. “It probably is,” she agreed. “You can’t go back there, can you?”

He paused, then said, “To that part of Mexico? Not anytime soon. I guess part of what gets to me about them is that they make me think of grist caught between the grinding stones of a huge mill, drug cartels on one side, corporations and developers on the other.”

“And you like them.”

His smile was crooked. “Those I met, most definitely. But enough of that. It’s a problem beyond a single man, there’s another country involved, and I haven’t even got a plan yet. Do you have to open your shop today?”

She nodded. “I’m always open for four hours on Sunday afternoon. When you need something for a project, you need it and you don’t want to have to wait another week because you didn’t discover the lack until Saturday night.”

He flashed a smile. “I can understand that. This cereal is pretty good, by the way. Despite what it looks like.”

“Roots and twigs, like I said.”

So, all right, she thought. Maybe having him around wouldn’t be so bad. She just hoped he didn’t feel like being sociable all the time. She spent so much time being sociable at the shop, and while she enjoyed it, she needed her quiet time, too. Of course, she could always retreat to her room with her knitting or embroidery. It wouldn’t be the first time she needed to hide out.

But Austin didn’t linger much longer. He announced he was going to scope out the town, then go shopping. Ten minutes later, he vanished out the front door.

Her peaceful Sunday morning returned. She bent her attention to the paper again but realized she wasn’t seeing much of it.

Instead, she was seeing Austin, hearing his voice as he’d talked about the Indians. She had no idea what kind of work he’d done in Mexico, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But whatever it had been, it hadn’t hardened him. No, he wanted to help a whole tribe of people.

She couldn’t think of a better recommendation of his character. Or anything that could have made him sexier.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she shook it quickly away and went to get dressed. She’d go to the shop early and take care of some busywork. It would be a good distraction, and right now she needed one.

A man had entered her personal space and left her wanting more. She’d think about how stupid that made her later. Right now, she just didn’t want to think about it at all.

* * *

As she was walking to her shop two blocks over, she passed Good Shepherd Church. She hadn’t attended since her grandmother’s death, but before that she’d been in the pews every Sunday. What had changed? She honestly didn’t know, but deep inside she was sure something had. Often enough, someone would invite her to return, and she had pleasant memories of the fellowship there, the potluck dinners, all of it.

It wasn’t as if church had ever been a bad experience for her, but she still had no desire to go back. She glanced at the doors, saw a few stragglers entering and just kept on walking. Evidently, whatever she might feel was lacking in her life wasn’t inside that building.

Not that she really thought anything was lacking. This was the life she had planned out for herself. She’d grow old like her grandmother, running the shop. She hadn’t completely dismissed the idea of a family, but considering her trust issues with men, she didn’t think it was very likely.

Regardless, she enjoyed her work, and that was more than most people could say. To her surprise, an hour before her scheduled opening, Daisy Loden was already waiting for her.

“Bless you!” Daisy cried upon seeing her.

“Me? For what?”

“For coming early. I made a lounging robe for my grandmother, her birthday party is in two hours, and I forgot to buy the buttons!”

Corey laughed and pushed her key into the lock. “I must have felt you calling me.”

“Maybe. I almost went to knock on your door, but I decided that would be rude beyond belief.”

“Next time, knock on my door,” Corey said. “This is an emergency.”

“Well,” said Daisy wryly, “the worst case would have been explaining to Grandma that I still needed to put the buttons on it. I don’t think she’d have been upset.”

Corey knew that Daisy’s grandmother was suffering from Alzheimer’s and could sometimes be unpredictable. She also knew that caring for the woman was a severe strain on Daisy and her sisters at times, so who needed an upset because Daisy gave her grandmother a robe and then had to take it back? It might be okay, then again... “What kind of buttons?”

“Big ones, because her fingers are arthritic. And red because the whole robe is in the brightest colors I could find. She’s always loved bright colors.”

“I hope I have them.” Corey honestly couldn’t remember. Her shop was full of so many buttons and notions that she sometimes forgot exactly what she had.

“I know you do. You have everything.”

Daisy’s exuberance had always delighted Corey. The woman bubbled nearly all the time, and sometimes Corey envied her that. Daisy had her share of problems, but nothing seemed to squash her enjoyment for long.

Daisy hurried to the back to look at buttons while Corey settled behind the counter. There was a box on the floor at her feet that she hadn’t opened yet, and a stack of mail from yesterday, most of which went straight into the trash. The bills she tucked into a drawer behind her.

Moments later she heard Daisy squeal. “Found them. Perfect.”

She came up to the register holding two packets of scarlet buttons, big enough to go on a clown suit. “She’ll be able to manipulate these,” she said as she put them on the counter and started to pull out her wallet from her purse.

“It’s on the house,” Corey said swiftly. “My birthday present to your grandmother.”

“Aren’t you a sweetie!” Daisy leaned right across the counter and managed to give Corey a hug and a big kiss on the cheek. Then she scooted to the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll bring you a photo of her in the robe.”

The bell over the door rang as she left. It was only then that Corey noticed a man looking in the window. He appeared familiar, a local, so she waved cheerily. There were certainly lovely things in the window to look at. She used them to display the projects her sewing and knitting groups had made. Sometimes people even wanted to buy them, which meant some of the women made a bit of much-needed pin money.

The man didn’t wave back, though. He just looked a moment longer, then sauntered on down the street.

“Well,” she said to the empty store, “I bet he doesn’t sign up for a class.” Then she laughed and got to work.

Sundays were always a slow time, when a few women dropped in to pick up something, or to chat for a couple of minutes. It was a good time for catching up on things that she’d let slide during the week, from neatening her stock, to putting out fresh items, to sweeping floors and cleaning the bathroom. Her back office really needed some work, but she didn’t feel like tackling it yet. She had a theory: once she put something away, she’d never remember where it was. Her stacks were her filing cabinet until she was certain she was done with an item. So far, the only way she’d managed to lose a thing was by putting it away.

Sometimes she thought she needed a highly organized assistant, but the idea of giving over control of so many important things made her hesitate. Then she wouldn’t be able to find anything at all, and what if something went wrong?

She was still shaking her head at her own hang-ups when she heard the bell again. Leaving her office, she went out front and was surprised to see Austin.

“Hi,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to see your shop. It’s bigger than I envisioned.”

“Well, being in an old house has some advantages,” she said. “We’ve got rooms in the back and upstairs for the sewing classes, and plenty of space up here for stock.”

He nodded, hovering just inside the door as if he wasn’t certain she wanted him there. Well, she wasn’t, but this was a shop, for crying out loud, and he wasn’t the first man to walk in here. “Look around if you like,” she said when he didn’t move. “I was just getting ready to close up.”

“I don’t want to keep you. I was curious. Now when you talk about it, I’ll have a mental image.”

She paused as she turned her key in the register, locking it. “Do you need mental images?”

“Don’t you?”

“I never really thought about it.”

“It’s not only images. I keep a mental map. I like to know where everything is and what it’s like, insofar as I can.”

That made sense to her, given the job Gage had mentioned. “I guess I haven’t thought about it because I’ve always been here. Seriously, feel free to look around. I need to take the trash out.”

“I can do that for you. Where do I go?”

She pointed to the big wastebasket at the end of her counter. “Down the hall. Just outside the back door is a big bin. Be sure to use the doorstop or you’ll be locked out automatically.”

“Got it.” He hefted the large can easily, with one hand and disappeared down the hallway. She returned her attention to tidying the last bits on the counter, but as she finished she found herself looking at the front window again. The day was still bright, the hour early, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about. For some reason she remembered that man who had been looking in earlier, and tried to place him. She was sure she knew him. Well, sort of. She didn’t claim to know everyone in the county or even the town, and she spent most of her time here in the store and with the women.

She sighed and shook herself. What did it matter who he was? Just a guy from around here who had probably noticed some item in the window.

Curiosity pushed her and she went to look at exactly what she had displayed there. It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten, but she wondered what might have captured his interest.

Then she saw the beaded and embroidered purse Mary Jo Suskind had made. Golden threads, tiny silver beads, it was a work of art.

That was probably it. The guy might have seen it and been wondering if his wife would like it. She was sure he hadn’t been attracted to the baby booties, kids’ sweaters or even the brightly colored block quilt. No, it had to have been the purse. She hoped he came back and bought it. Mary Jo would be thrilled.

“All done,” Austin announced from behind her. “I locked the dead bolt. Is that enough?”

“Around here it is,” she said, turning toward him with a smile. He replaced the empty can, then came toward her.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m finished.” She flipped the light switches by the door, casting the shop into shadows except for one security light. Stepping outside with him, she locked the front door.

“Walk you home?” he asked.

Something inside her froze. Too friendly too fast. She tried to push past the feeling but it was too late.

“I know,” he said. “I’m just the roomer you didn’t want.” His face shut as if a gate slammed down and he walked away, heading in the opposite direction of her house.

Damn it, she thought, suddenly furious at herself. Just how long was she going to let the past shadow her present? When was she going to become whole again?

Never, she thought grimly. Never. She ought to know that by now. Her mother had been murdered eighteen years ago, she couldn’t even remember what she had seen, but to this day she was always on edge around men she didn’t know well. And since she avoided men as much as possible, that wasn’t a terribly large group.

She began to walk home, wondering how she should handle the matter with Austin. He’d made a casual friendly offer. She wondered what her face must have looked like to cause him to shutter that way and head in the other direction.

It did not at all make her feel good to think she had offended him. She might be paranoid about men, and with good reason, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone needlessly. Not even a strange man.

Who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer. He’d been forthcoming with her this morning. But that couldn’t change her instinctive reaction.

Damn, she thought privately as she walked. She passed people she recognized, a few of the women who frequented her store, giving smiles and nods but not pausing. She had to get home. She wondered if she would arrive to find that Austin was moving out.

She decided she was catastrophizing what was surely a minor incident. If he left because of an expression on her face, then she was better off without any roomer at all. Its not as if she needed the money. She just didn’t like living alone in a big, empty house.

Probably another thing she could trace back to her mother’s murder. She sighed, feeling a whole bunch of self-disgust. She was grown-up now, and surely she should have conquered at least some of her childhood fears. It didn’t matter that they were grounded in real events. What mattered was that they still ruled her.

She picked up her pace, trying to infuse herself with determination, although for what she didn’t know.

She let herself into her house after waving to old Mrs. Bushnell across the street. The woman couldn’t get around much anymore, but she did enjoy rocking on her porch on a sunny, pleasant afternoon.

Corey needed to get over there again soon, she decided. Mrs. Bushnell’s children dropped by often to look in on her, but the woman had been one of her grandmother’s dear friends, and from time to time Corey liked to drop by with some baked goods and a little conversation. It had been a few weeks now. Too long.

Inside, she almost froze as she closed the door. The house was silent, but she could smell someone else. A man. Austin, she realized, putting the scents together. Leather, man and a faint scent of bar soap.

Her heart had accelerated at her initial awareness, but she drew a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. This was stupid, she told herself. Absolutely stupid. After eighteen years?

In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee, and after looking around, she realized there was no house key on the counter or table. Apparently Austin hadn’t decided to move out. Yet. Considering her reluctance to have him here, her own relief surprised her. She didn’t want him but she did want him?

Now, that was royally confusing. Maybe it was time to try some therapy again. Maybe it was time to pry that awful memory out of the place where she had buried it. Sometimes she wondered if having a face to put on the killer would make it easier to be around other men. Maybe she felt this way only because she didn’t know what he looked like and he was still out there somewhere. Maybe she would have been better off if she had remembered the murder, gruesome though it had been.

She heard the key in the front lock. Austin. The coffee had just started brewing, so she moved quickly to the table and sat, hoping she looked casual.

He headed straight for the stairs. She hesitated, then called out, “I’m making fresh coffee if you’d like some.” She had to smooth this over somehow.

She heard him pause, as if thinking her offer over, then his footsteps drew closer and he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Do you want company?” he asked bluntly. “Because really, I’m trying not to get in your way.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Being looked at as if I’m about to hurt you isn’t very enjoyable.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and started to lower her head.

“I mean,” he continued, “you don’t have to like me, don’t have to spend time with me. I get that I’m renting from you for a few months and we don’t need to have a social relationship. Unfortunately, I’m cross-cultural. A gentleman offers to walk a lady home.”

She winced, beginning to get a clear picture of her reaction to his offer. And understanding why he had responded as he had. Clearly, he was not one to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe he was utterly through with pretense after his undercover work.

“Corey?”

She looked up. His face was still all hard angles.

“I just want to know what the hell you want from me. Leave? Stay? Stay out of your way?”

She motioned to the seat across from her and tried to find her voice. “Coffee. Then I’ll try to explain a little.”

He hesitated a moment, then went and filled mugs for each of them. He settled across from her and waited, his dark gaze firmly fixed on her. It was almost unnerving, that intensity, but she supposed he’d gotten very good at reading people, especially faces.

She cleared her throat, feeling as if her accelerating heart were trying to climb up into it. “When I... When I was seven, my mother was murdered.”

At once he stiffened a bit, but at least he didn’t try to say anything.

“Evidently I was there. I witnessed it. But I don’t remember any part of it. Traumatic amnesia. It’s been eighteen years, but I still have a problem with men I don’t know well. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just me.”

“They didn’t catch the guy?”

She shook her head. “Not a clue.”

“So, he’s still out there.”

“Maybe.”

“No wonder,” was all he said.

But those two simple words seemed to free up something inside her. “I was thinking, after the way I reacted when you offered to walk me home, if I wouldn’t be better in the long run if I could remember.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know. Overall it’s probably best that you don’t remember.”

“I had therapy for a few years after, and the psychologist would agree with you. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Why?”

“I know it was a terribly brutal murder. I’m glad I don’t remember that part. But if I could remember the guy’s face...” She trailed off. This seemed like a remarkably intimate discussion to be having with someone she didn’t know. Yet something about him invited confidences. Probably part of what had made him good at his job.

She sighed. “I may not remember, but it’s left me with an indelible suspicion of men. Apparently that much didn’t vanish into amnesia.”

He nodded and sipped some coffee. “That’s why you didn’t really want to rent to me, and why you reacted the way you did when I offered to walk you home. It makes perfect sense. Would you like me to move out? I don’t like the idea that I’m making you uneasy by staying here.”

“I don’t want you to move out.” The words came with surprising ease. “It’s getting easier for me, and I need that, if you can put up with my quirks.”

At that he smiled. “I know quirks. Yours aren’t that bad.” Then his smile faded. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“I was actually lucky. My grandmother and aunt took me in. In fact, the scariest part I can remember was the three days I spent in foster care.”

“Why three days?”

“Because they had to prove they were related to me and go through background checks. There was other stuff, too, I guess. The sheriff here even had to attest to their ability to care for me. I don’t remember that part, obviously, but my grandmother and aunt told me about it. They wanted me to understand why I had to stay with strangers for so long.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“I was.” She shook her head a little, as if she could shake off the memory. It wouldn’t entirely shake away, though. “They must have wondered what they were getting into. I was placed with a family and I was terrified of the father. I hid a lot. When my grandmother came for me, they had to pry me out of the back of a closet.”

He swore quietly. “Is your aunt still around?”

“No. She died of leukemia seven years ago. Grandma passed five years ago.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew who he was.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I have more family than I know what to do with. I can’t imagine not having any.”

“I can’t imagine having a huge family.”

“Maybe you’ve created one here. As I was out and about today, people wanted to know a little about me. When I explained I was rooming with you, I heard all about your sewing circles. You seem to be quite a social center in your shop. So you’ve got a family. Not blood family, but still.”

She felt herself smiling at last. “That’s how I think of them.”

“And look at it this way,” he said, leaning forward a little bit, “you aren’t stuck with the ones who drive you crazy.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I can’t be rude to Tío Reynaldo just because he’s obnoxious. Not allowed.”

She laughed. “Do you really think I could be rude to anyone in this little town?”

His smile widened and she almost caught her breath. My word, this man was attractive. Extremely so. His smile seemed to draw her in and make her heart skip a few beats.

“Well, you probably could,” he said. “Just like I could be rude to Reynaldo. But there’d be hell to pay.”

“It sure wouldn’t help my business.”

He laughed. “There’s a downside to family. I could share some of mine with you.”

“Starting with Reynaldo?” she asked archly. Amazement filled her as she realized how easily he had changed the subject and her mood. Relaxation replaced nervousness, and while she hadn’t quite made up her mind, she rather thought that having Austin around for a while might not be bad at all.

“Of course starting with Reynaldo,” he agreed. He glanced at his watch, a battered and inexpensive brand. “I need to get to the grocery. I picked up some clothes earlier, but I didn’t shop for food. They close at six today, right?”

“Right.” She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “You’re running out of time. Why don’t I drive you over there. I can show you where everything is.” She surprised herself by making the offer, then realized she felt good about it. A major step forward.

“Will you be all right with that?”

She nodded. “Let’s go. I need a few things, too.”

Chapter 3

The man sat at the old computer. It didn’t always work right anymore, but he had little use for it. He had begun to while away his evenings by composing messages in green letters on a black screen. He had known the first one he had decided to send would probably not bother the woman at all, but he was in no rush. These things needed careful planning.

Besides, he was going to have fun watching as the messages became increasingly troubling for her. He knew she didn’t remember. She didn’t need to remember until he reminded her. He liked knowing that he was in on a secret and she wasn’t.

He’d been watching her for a few years now. At first, he hadn’t thought much about it because she was so young, but now she was old enough that she should have dated someone, and if that had happened, he would have heard about it. Those things weren’t secret in Conard County.

So she spent all her time with women. All of it. Her preference was unmistakable. The more he watched her, the more convinced he became that she was just like her mother. What was more, she’d quit going to church right after her grandmother had died. There could be no other reason for that change.

He’d had a brief moment of doubt when that man moved in with her, but then he’d watched through the window of the shop and had seen that woman hug her and kiss her.

There was no longer any question. She was what she was, and eliminating her revolting presence from this world had become imperative.

Cleansing was imperative, and this was his mission. He had no delusion that he could get rid of them all, but he could get rid of some of them.

Her mother had been a start. He had come back here thinking that was all he needed to do. But then her daughter had grown up and he’d begun to feel the irritation again. That woman shouldn’t be walking the same streets with decent folk. It wasn’t right.

But he wanted her to know what was coming. He wanted her to fear it. He wanted her to feel the trap closing in on her.

Because as he’d already discovered, the killing was too swift and too kind for someone so evil.

* * *

Empathy. It always struck Austin as a crazy descriptor for someone who could go successfully undercover, but at the start of this journey the psychologists had assured him it was essential. Part of being undercover meant being able to identify with the reasoning and motivations of the people you were investigating. Walking in their shoes, as it were.

Well, he’d walked in their shoes for six years, and the results had left him with an internal mess. Yeah, he’d identified, all right. He’d understood. Clinging to his own values had sometimes become extremely difficult.

Had those psychologists even considered that part? Probably not. He’d not only walked the walk and talked the talk but he’d become one of them, all the while trying not to break the law or kill anyone. In that business, it was a dicey proposition.

He sure wouldn’t be the first person to get so messed up by undercover work that he had to walk away. Austin still hadn’t made up his mind about that. He’d never go covert again, but he wondered if he’d fit any other capacity.

He still often felt that he was on a spaceship, having departed one place, awaiting his arrival at his destination. Almost like being in suspended animation. Sooner or later, he was sure he would land. He just wondered where it would be.

He was troubled by Corey, though. It seemed to him her healing may have been truncated by her inability to remember, but he sure wouldn’t wish those memories on anyone.

He understood her problem with men, though. Completely. It wasn’t just empathy, either. After all, he’d been shot at on two occasions by fellow agents who had no idea he was on their side, and then he’d been left in that rat-infested cell being beaten by the Federales until they managed to identify him and yank him out. He wasn’t feeling too fond of his fellow agents these days.

He could have gone home to San Antonio, but that was too close to the border, too close to the culture he was trying to shake away. Right now he needed to get his feet firmly planted in Anglo soil, his head firmly planted in this world.

As for his family...he didn’t know exactly what the agency had been telling them all these years, except that he was alive and okay—okay being a relative term. They did know he was doing something highly secret, but after six years they must be wondering where the hell he had gone.

He supposed he ought to write or call, but something in him held him back. Maybe it was knowing they’d inevitably pressure him to come home, and he just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

So he focused his attention on Corey. He doubted he could help her, and he wasn’t a good bet for much these days. He’d discovered a streak of paranoia in himself that wouldn’t quit. It had made sense during the operation, but now? He couldn’t trust. He hadn’t even really trusted the sheriff who had brought him over here, in spite of the fact that the man was his best buddy’s friend. But then, he wasn’t sure he trusted the old friend anymore, either.

Devil of a conundrum, he thought as he walked around town. He couldn’t trust anyone except himself, Corey couldn’t trust men, and he supposed he ought to find it amazing that they’d managed to get through a whole week now without any problems.

He tried to stay out of her way, which hadn’t been too difficult considering that she worked long hours. Occasionally he drifted past her shop and was amazed by how busy she often was, especially in the evenings. At night and on Saturdays, the place filled to the rafters with women. The local churches would probably be happy with such high attendance.

The women came in all shapes, sizes and ages, they arrived with smiles and left with smiles. All of them carried big totes full of their projects and materials. When they left, the totes were fuller than before. Corey ran around looking happy, a tape measure draped around her neck, a big pair of scissors sticking out of her work apron.

He tried not to hang out in the vicinity too often. He didn’t want to make Corey, or anyone else, nervous. He’d found Mahoney’s Bar where he could get a shot of tequila and lime and one night had even gotten into a drinking contest with a couple of guys. He had a great head for tequila. He’d had to.

But that episode had had an amazing effect. Men nodded to him on the street now. Friendly town. But he didn’t trust it one bit. He’d been in a lot of friendly towns the past six years. It was what went on underneath that mattered.

He realized he was scoping Conard City just the way he’d done with other towns across the border. Looking for a way in, looking to get clued in, looking to be taken as an insider. Damn. Would he ever get rid of the old habits?

Should he?

He almost laughed at himself. He hadn’t landed yet, obviously. So he turned his thoughts back to Corey. Maybe not wise, given her distrust of men. Every time he thought about her, his brain ran to sensual and sexual activities.

She wasn’t even his type, not that that seemed to be helping. Fair, blonde, blue-eyed... But while she didn’t exactly flaunt it, she had a great shape, too. His eyes had a tendency to want to roam over her in a way that invariably left him hot and bothered. He thought he had pretty good control over his impulses because control had been essential to survival for a long time now. He couldn’t afford distractions.

But Corey was proving to be one hell of a distraction. He had plenty of stuff to deal with, but his mind kept rambling right back to her. Like it or not, regardless of the number of times he tried to cross her off his mental list of possibilities, she kept bobbing right up in his thoughts.

When he watched her talk, he wondered how her lips would taste. When she laughed, something inside him sparked with pleasure. When she grew pensive, he had the worst urge to reach out.

She couldn’t have been more off-limits if she’d been surrounded by barbed wire, but he kept wanting to jump that fence and bed her. He hoped she didn’t suspect.

How could she? he reassured himself. He’d been staying out of her way, keeping their meetings as light as he could manage. If he’d been doing it right, he’d become the nearly invisible roomer in the background.

But he knew he wasn’t entirely invisible. A time or two he’d seen an answering spark in her. A flicker of interest that she quickly buried. So he wondered just what it would take to get past that woman’s fence. As near as he could tell, no one ever had. She’d come back to this town as a child, and nothing she said led him to believe she had ever left it again.

That struck him as sad. There was a whole world out there, good and bad, but mostly good, and she’d nailed herself to this tiny town because she was afraid of the dragons outside the gates.

He wished for her sake that they’d been able to catch the perp who had killed her mother. Maybe then, not being able to remember wouldn’t be so crippling.

And what the hell did it matter, anyway, he asked himself irritably. He needed to find his own forgotten self, and he’d be moving on once he settled his own mental and emotional tab. Right now he was useless to everyone, himself included.

So leave Rapunzel safely in her tower, and get his head out of his groin.

Rapunzel? Really? He was losing it.

The thought made him laugh out loud, which drew a few looks his way as he strode down the street. He didn’t care. A few of the people even smiled.

As long as he didn’t run around town giggling like a lunatic, it would probably be okay.

Autumn just tinged the air and he noticed how much shorter the days had grown in the week he’d been here. Oh, they were still long, but the change was more noticeable here than down south. Maybe he was dealing with more than culture shock. Maybe he was dealing with climate shock, too. Desert nights at high altitude could get surprisingly cold, but he was used to hot days. No such thing up here, at least not now. People walked around looking perfectly comfortable in shirtsleeves when he was wishing for sweaters and a jacket.

Well, he’d been raised in places that rarely saw snow or ice. San Antonio had a kind of winter, but he suspected that if he stayed here for long, he might be in for some new experiences. After all, when he’d shopped for clothes, he’d seen some jackets that he had hitherto seen only in movies. He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to buy one yet, but inside the denim jacket he had chosen, he realized he had some adapting to do. What would have worked most places he’d lived was already failing him.

Amused by his own thoughts, he started whistling as he walked, cheered by the prospect of a totally different experience. Maybe that would help jar him out of the past.

He unlocked the front door of Corey’s house and stepped into aromas that immediately snapped him back in time. He froze, working on centering himself, even as the scents called to mind another time and place.

“Austin?”

He closed his eyes, gathering himself.

“Austin?”

The voice came closer. He opened his eyes and drank in Corey, in all her Nordic beauty. She definitely didn’t remind him of the past. Today she was wearing her golden mane in braids that wreathed her head. With a wrench that felt almost physical, he felt himself land in the present once again.

“Hi,” he said.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She was smiling with delight.

“I can smell it.”

“Tortillas,” she said, looking as pleased as if she were giving him a huge gift. “My friend made them. Some with white flour and some with cornmeal because I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer. Come tell me if I’m cooking them right.”

“Sure.” He followed her, trying to shake off a sudden woodenness in his legs. Ridiculous reaction. Stupid reaction. Just some tortillas, for crying out loud.

Apparently she had taken him at his word about stacks, because there were large ones sitting on two plates. Another plate held the ones she had cooked.

“I don’t have a grill,” she chattered. “So I’m making do with a skillet. Will that work? And you said they were cooked fast, so I assume the fire was hot?”

“Just enough to heat them and maybe give them a touch of brown.”

“Try one and let me know what you think.”

He wondered if he would even be able to swallow. What had possessed her to do such a thing for him? What had possessed her friend? They didn’t know him, and Corey had this thing about men, so what the hell? Suspicions began to arise in him. Strings were always attached.

But her face looked so open and pleased. Maybe she was just trying to be nice, although he couldn’t imagine why.

Just as her smile began to shrink, he made himself go to the table and pick up one of the tortillas. White flour. He’d loved them as a kid, but in Mexico he’d more often eaten corn. He bit into it, aware that she was watching, and in an instant was slammed back into his youth in San Antonio.

“Damn, this is good,” he said truthfully. He looked at her again, and saw her smile had returned full force. She spoke. “Melinda says she’ll be happy to make them whenever you want. And despite your doubts, there is a market here. She sold a bunch of them this morning. So, did I cook it right?”

“Perfectly.” He forgot his manners and just shoved the rest of his tortilla into his mouth.

“Do you have a favorite thing to put on it? I didn’t know about that for sure.”

“I’ll put almost anything on a tortilla.” He pulled out the chair and sat, reaching for one made of corn. Another flash of the past as the flavor hit his mouth. “Wow. Just wow.”

“Should I make more?”

“Lady, you can keep on cooking. But you might want to eat, yourself.”

She laughed. “I’ll get to it. They’re really great this fresh, but I keep wanting to add something. Beans? Meat? Peppers? I mean, I guess people around here cook with tortillas, but I’ve never had any Mexican food. We don’t have a restaurant here that serves any.”

He gobbled down the corn tortilla, then rose and headed for the pantry. “I went shopping, remember?”

“How could I have failed to notice? My pantry is bursting.”

“Well, here we go.” He pulled out a can of green chilies, remarking that he wished they were fresh, a can of pinto beans and some seasonings. “Allow me to introduce you to refried beans. The best kind.”

It apparently surprised her, but she let him take over her kitchen. Sitting at the table with coffee, she asked him questions about everything he was doing, and he was glad enough to share. “Just understand, I’m not a master chef. This came from the need to survive.”

He liked the sound of her laughter, even as concerns niggled at the back of his mind. What had made her decide to be so friendly? “We’re skipping a step here, by the way. The canned beans are already cooked, so basically I’m going to be doing only the last half of the job.”

He pulled a half onion out of her fridge where it sat wrapped in plastic, then found the bacon. “Better yet. Fatback would be the choice in Mexico, but bacon...yum.”

“Do you put the bacon in the beans?”

“Just the fat.”

After he’d cooked a couple of slices of bacon, he set them aside on a paper towel, then tipped the frying pan. “About right. You don’t need a whole lot of fat, just the flavor.”

* * *

Corey watched with amazement. He might not be a chef, but he turned into a kitchen wizard right before her eyes. He tossed tortillas into one skillet while he flavored and stirred the beans in another.

“So what brought this on?” he asked.

“What?”

“Tortillas. Cooking them for me.”

“Oh! Well, I was talking to Melinda, and I mentioned that you liked fresh tortillas and it seemed a shame that the only kind you could get around here were the packaged ones from the grocery. Next thing I knew, she was calling and telling me to pick them up. When I got home, I didn’t know whether I needed to refrigerate them or whether they needed to be cooked right away, so...” She shrugged. “It just happened.”

“Thank you both. Do you have a potato masher?”

Jumping up, she pulled it out of the drawer for him and watched him mash the beans. From time to time he added a little water.

“It was really nice of your friend to do this,” he said again. Apparently he was nearly done, because a stack of cooked tortillas made its way to the table.

“She said it was easy. Not nearly as difficult as making a loaf of bread was how she put it. And I was kind of having fun experimenting.”

“Sorry I took your experiment over.”

“I don’t mind. I’m learning.”

Surprisingly soon, they were seated at the table with all the tortillas, a heap of refried beans that made her mouth water, green chilies in a bowl with a serving spoon and a jar of salsa.

“Wow,” she said. “I never thought it could be that fast.”

“Easy meal,” he replied. “It works pretty good with eggs in the morning... Well, like I said, you can put almost anything on a tortilla. It’s basically a rolled-up sandwich.”

The fresh tortillas were so much better than any she had ever eaten. And the refried beans? She’d had them once or twice from a can, ready-made, but these beat any she had ever tasted.

“You made it look so easy,” she said. “And it’s so good!”

He smiled at her, making no apology for his large appetite. “Fresh is best,” he agreed. “It wasn’t a problem in San Antonio, or in Mexico. But I did cheat by getting canned pinto beans.”

“Small cheat. You did everything else. I don’t know where we could get you fresh green chilies, though.”

“Oh, we could probably order them in a quantity suitable for a restaurant.”

She had a mouthful of food and quickly snatched up a napkin as she tried to stifle a laugh.

“I could probably get a friend or a family member to mail some to me, but...” He let that trail off and she saw his gaze grow distant.

It was getting easier for her to be around him as time passed, and she considered that a positive sign. But there was still so much she didn’t know about him, and she wondered how much she dared ask. It was none of her business, after all.

But in the end, she asked, anyway, because it seemed so important. “You aren’t ready to make those contacts again?”

His gaze snapped back to her. “No.” The word was short, but before she could recoil, or feel firmly put in her place, he spoke quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that...” Again he hesitated and trailed off. “You know how it is with people you’ve known your whole life.”

She nodded, not sure where he was headed.

“They’d be full of questions,” he continued, reaching for another tortilla and covering it with beans, chilies and salsa. “I couldn’t answer. They’d want to know what I’ve been doing all these years. Naturally enough. I’m not ready to go home and tell the necessary lies, not to people I care about. And if they suspected any part of the truth and it started to make the rounds...well, I need to wait a while. I wouldn’t want to draw any trouble their way.”

“Could you? Really?” The thought astonished her.

“Probably not. But I want some time to pass first. I want to be long forgotten by the people who knew me when I was undercover.”

“That hardly seems fair to you.”

“Life isn’t fair. I think you know that.”

She did, intimately, but she didn’t want to think about herself right now. “So where do they think you’ve been all this time?”

“Officially I think I was assigned to a mission in Panama.”

“Circles within circles,” she remarked. “Like a maze.”

“That’s the general idea. Other agents on the ground had no idea who I was. That made for some, um, interesting experiences.”

Corey forgot all about eating, instead trying to imagine all of this. If his own side didn’t know who he was...“You could have been killed by your own people!”

“It was a possibility.” His face seemed to go blank, as if there was more that he didn’t want to reveal. She decided maybe she should just let it go. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, or remind him of bad things.

“I can hardly imagine being so alone,” she said finally. Although she could, if she let herself. Not for six years, but for a few days or weeks. Even after her grandmother and aunt had brought her back from Denver, she had felt alone. Separated. In an alternate universe. But at least she had been surrounded by people who cared about her. Austin had faced something very different. “So everyone was out to get you?”

“Not everyone, and not all the time.” He managed a slight smile. “It was most dangerous at the beginning, then later at the end when we were getting ready to roll everything up.”

“Did anyone know who you really were?”

“I had a couple of contacts.”

That didn’t seem like very many to her. Gage hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Austin had been walking a tightrope. And without much of a net evidently.

“Why did you do it?” she asked bluntly.

“Someone has to and I was especially suited. Obviously.”

“But did you really know what you were getting into?”

“Who does?”

She might have laughed if it hadn’t been so frighteningly true.

“Look,” he said finally, “it’s really like the rest of life. We all leap and then look because there’s no way we can really know what it’s going to be like. We think we know, but we don’t. Knowing what I know now, I’d never do that again.”

She nodded, understanding. “Was any of it good?”

“Plenty. I met lots of great people who had nothing to do with my job. I made friends. I had fun.”

“What about the bad?”

“I learned not to trust. I’m having trouble shaking that.”

“I learned not to trust, too.” She hated to say it out loud, but since he was being so forthcoming, she felt she should be, too.

“Ah,” he said, “but you don’t trust men. Me, I don’t trust anybody.”

Her stomach sank. She hadn’t wanted to hear that, even though she had suspected it. But what difference did it make? she asked herself. She might be sitting here having dinner with him, but she didn’t trust him, either. Not yet. Maybe never. All she felt was an attraction she didn’t want to feel, an awakening of desires she had never actually experienced because she was afraid, yearnings that now troubled her sleep, all because of this man, a man she didn’t trust. Not really.

Why should she trust him? They’d shared a roof for a week, but he’d pretty much stayed out of her way. She had tried to do something neighborly for him with the tortillas, and he’d been neighborly right back by making her a fine meal she would never have thought to make otherwise. But that was it. All of it.

She insisted on doing the washing up because he had cooked. He didn’t argue, simply thanked her and disappeared upstairs. That gave her plenty of time to think.

To think about a man who must be good at making friends, at pretending to be something he wasn’t. How else could he have inserted himself in such a way that he gleaned intelligence that could be gotten by no other means. After all, that was the whole point of going undercover. So if he wasn’t a natural-born liar, he had certainly had to become one.

Who was the man living upstairs? He seemed honest with what he shared, but how would she know? And he’d certainly shared very little, really. Maybe that whole thing about those Indians had been meant to disarm her. It had worked fairly well, but how would she know truth from lie with this man?

She felt a welcome stiffening of her spine as she put away the leftovers, including two big stacks of fresh tortillas, and washed the pans. If she was going to work on breaking down her walls with men, Austin was the last man on earth she ought to try it with.

He had secrets upon secrets. He might not even be sure who he really was any longer. Gage had sort of warned her, hadn’t he, with that stuff about finding the person he’d left behind. Well, Austin would never be who he used to be. Some things changed a person forever, as well she knew. He certainly hadn’t had time to settle on the man he’d become.

He’d admitted that he didn’t trust anyone anymore, and she wondered if his distrust included himself. It might. Six years undercover had probably taught him some things about himself that he didn’t like. She couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t. Now he had to deal with that along with everything else.

In short, the guy was a mess. Gage had warned her. So why the hell had she begun to lie awake at night fantasizing about him? It hadn’t happened right away, but at some point in the past couple of days, the initial attraction she had felt then squashed had returned big-time.

But maybe that was because he was safe in a way. He wasn’t going to be here for long, he’d expressed no interest in her, other than an occasional look quickly turned away that she couldn’t mistake even in her inexperience. So, yes, he’d evinced small moments of attraction to her, purely physical, but that was meaningless. She gave him credit for not acting on them.

Which left her exactly where? Indulging in fantasies as she lay in her lonely bed at night, fantasies that probably bore no resemblance to reality because she’d never even kissed a man, let alone gone any further.

Then she had a really ugly thought about herself. This whole tortilla thing. Had she done it to be neighborly or because she wanted his attention?

If she wanted his attention, was it only because he’d be gone in a relatively short time? Was she dancing close to the fire because she felt reasonably certain she couldn’t get burned?

Was she using him?

She sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by her comforting projects, and tried to figure herself out. Could she really be trying to batter down an old wall without regard to what that might do to him? Because he was pretty much in an emotional blender himself.

A wave of self-loathing rose in her. There were a lot of things she didn’t like about herself, but now she had a new item to add to the list. She didn’t like the way she was cowering from much of life. She knew she was a prisoner of her own fears, and it didn’t make her very proud of herself.

In fact, sometimes it disgusted her, but not even disgust was enough to get her over the hump. Over time she had come to trust a small circle of men, like the sheriff and a number of others. Men she’d interacted with frequently for years. She could talk to them, share coffee with them, even invite them in once in a while as she had with Gage.

She was comfortable in this town, or comfortable enough, because the faces had become familiar over the years, but she’d let them just so close and no further. She only ever entirely relaxed with women.

It was a mental and emotional prison that not even a few years of therapy had been able to banish. Honestly, if she had seen Austin walking down the street before Gage had introduced him, she would have turned and walked the other way.

She didn’t like being this way. It just was, and she had adapted as best she could.

So what was with the tortillas? She’d brought them home from Melinda’s bakery when she could have just left a note for Austin that Melinda had made them. He could have picked them up tomorrow.

But no, she had decided to be nice, mainly to Melinda, who had gone out of her way to make them and deserved to sell them promptly. She’d brought them home, intending to put them in the refrigerator and leave a note for Austin.

Instead, for some unknown reason, she’d decided to try cooking some of them. Had she been hoping Austin would show up? She certainly hadn’t expected it to turn into him cooking dinner and the two of them eating together.

All her reasoning at the time had seemed perfectly innocent, but it had ended in the most intimate time she had spent with a man ever: the two of them sharing a meal.

Maybe the most surprising part was that she hadn’t run when he started cooking, rude or not. She wasn’t incapable of it, although she was slowly getting better about it.

Still. She looked at herself and wondered if all her superficial reasons had been just that, superficial. There was no question that her subconscious controlled a huge part of her life. It made her afraid of strange men. It controlled her level of comfort or discomfort with people.

So how did she know what she’d really been thinking when she asked Melinda to make those tortillas, or when she had picked them up?

If it had been purely friendly, then she’d leaped a big hurdle and should be proud. If some other reason had been involved...

She sighed, her head whirling, and reached for her knitting. Was she ever going to get herself sorted out?

She’d been doing without many of the things that were part of a normal life ever since her mother’s killing. Some of that was understandable, but after eighteen years, shouldn’t she have come further?

And if she was trying to go further now, why had she picked the one man who posed the most threat in every possible way. She didn’t really know him, and he’d leave before long, which was a dangerous emotional game to play.

But maybe that was part of what she was doing here: trying to prove that she had good reason to avoid men, and any involvement with them. To prove that she was right to stay hunkered in her safe little hole.

It wouldn’t surprise her. Not at all. But she had no business drawing Austin into whatever she was trying to do here. He had enough problems of his own.

She resolved then and there to firmly reestablish the distance between them. They’d both be better off.

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