The guy next door turns into the sultry bodyguard in Jennifer Morey’s Ivy Avengers miniseries

Experience has taught bounty hunter Lincoln Ivy when someone is in trouble. He’s fairly sure the gorgeous redhead next door has a dangerous secret. And the moment she’s visited by a mysterious gunman threatening her life, Lincoln’s suspicions are confirmed.

When Remy Lang is almost kidnapped and Lincoln comes to her rescue, she’s reluctant to let him help her. She’s gotten herself into a terrifying situation and doesn’t want to risk another person. But as Lincoln proves himself time and time again as a skilled protector, she can’t push him away…or the attraction building between them.

She stiffened, signaling he’d reached a point where she’d stop talking. He was okay with that. He had enough to go on for now. Another determination took over.

Pressing his body to hers, he slid his hand to the back of her neck so that he could satisfy an intensifying curiosity about how her mouth would feel against his. When her hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, he deepened the caress. Full. Warm. She fit him well. They kissed well together. He touched her tongue with his. Only their tongues were in contact for a brief moment, and then he kissed her fully again.

She made a sound that sent him into an eddy of fevered passion. The strength of it sent caution scattering.

Dear Reader,

The Ivy Avengers miniseries is a new concept for me, and an interesting change from the All McQueen’s Men miniseries, which features heroes or heroines working secret military ops. Quite a difference!

Here in book two of Ivy Avengers, Lincoln Ivy becomes embroiled in his neighbor’s trouble. He’s a steady, fairly ordinary guy who’s capable of protecting her in a subtly tough kind of way. Other than the plot, one of the best parts about writing this story was bringing these two characters together and making them confront the emotional trials of their pasts. Another great part about writing this story was Maddie, the dog. Maddie is likened after my yellow lab, who I lost to cancer in 2012.

Enjoy this suspenseful and romantic ride. May it be all you expect and more.

Only my best,

Jennifer Morey

Armed and Famous

Jennifer Morey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER MOREY

Two-time 2009 RITA® Award nominee and a Golden Quill winner for Best First Book for The Secret Soldier, Jennifer Morey writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense. Project manager par jour, she works for the space systems segment of a satellite imagery and information company. She lives in sunny Denver, Colorado. She can be reached through her website, www.jennifermorey.com, and on Facebook.

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For Maddie.

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Soft clawing on the back patio door made Lincoln Ivy put the steaming pan of cheesy chicken casserole down. Turning from the stove, he saw Madeline’s paw lift for another series of attention-getting noises. Tap, tap, tap. Toy hamburger in mouth, tail wagging, nose smudging the glass and breath fogging the early-autumn air, her sweet brown eyes zeroed in on him with unabashed excitement. Chuckling, Lincoln walked to the door. She was a beautiful Labrador retriever. Show quality.

“Hey, there, girl,” he said in greeting after he opened the door. The dog began squeaking her toy and bounding all around him. She squeaked a tune using her jaws, her eyes playful and looking up at him.

He got in a pat on her head before she trotted over to the pantry and sat, her white tail thumping the floor, whites of her eyes flashing in an upturned plea and cheeks wrinkled around the burger.

“Yeah, you’re adorable.” He went to her and got a biscuit from the pantry.

Madeline dropped the stuffed burger and chomped for the treat.

“Be nice,” he admonished. “Don’t be such a pig.”

The tip of her tail wiggled faster.

“Nice.” He slowly brought the treat closer.

Madeline’s eyes blinked as though communicating her deep gratitude as she gently took the biscuit. Then she hungrily crunched away. It was devoured in seconds.

The gate next door was broken, and Madeline could open the latch on his. Over the past couple months, her visits had been sporadic. But this past week they had become an everyday occurrence. She wasn’t his dog. She belonged to the mean lady next door.

Well, he used to think she was mean. A few things had changed recently.

He crouched in front of the still-sitting dog. “You know, for having such a troublemaker for an owner, you sure are a good girl.”

Madeline gave him one of her white paws and stretched her head to lick him. He moved just in time to avoid a wet kiss on his mouth.

“Thanks, but you’re taken. I don’t cheat.”

He scratched her ears as his doorbell rang. Right on schedule. Remy Lang was here to get her dog. Sighing, he stood and went to the door, Madeline trotting beside him.

He opened the door. A siren of a redhead stood there with a humble face framed by long, wavy hair. Beautiful face. He wasn’t sure if it was just him or if everyone couldn’t stop staring at her whenever she came into view. She was in light blue jeans and a Stanford University sweatshirt. No makeup, but her striking green eyes didn’t need any.

“Uh...is Maddie here?”

She shifted from one foot to the other, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Awkward. She’d been a bitch when he’d first met her. He’d gone over to her house after he heard her fighting with a man. The man had hit her. Lincoln had beaten him for it, and she’d been angry...at Lincoln. Ever since then, she’d been uncomfortable in her own skin around him. She never could get away fast enough. But he always sensed her desire to blurt out an excuse for her behavior. And every time something stopped her. Fear.

What was she so afraid of? He found himself wondering more and more.

“Uh,” she stammered again, this time leaning to see around him.

Madeline had gone into the kitchen and sat by the pantry again.

He swung the door open wider. “Sorry. Why don’t you come in for a while?” Maybe this time he’d get some information out of her.

“Maddie,” Remy called, stepping inside.

The dog stayed there, tail thumping, panting happily.

“Her name tag says Madeline.” This was the first time he’d heard her call the dog by name. Until now, she’d only referred to Maddie as “my dog,” and all she ever said were things like “sorry to have bothered you” to him, or “come on” to her dog. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she always said she “had to get going. Bye.” Awkward and embarrassed. Why had she been angry with him for beating up the guy who’d hit her? She was afraid of that man, of course, but Lincoln wanted to know the reason.

“I call her Maddie most of the time.” She bent and patted her thigh, a long, lean thigh. “Come on, Maddie.”

“Do you want me to fix your gate?” he asked.

“No. Maddie!” she snapped, in a hurry to get away.

The dog’s ears slumped, and her eyes drooped. Getting Maddie out of his house worked better when Remy waited on the front porch and he brought the dog to her.

“Come here, girl,” Lincoln coaxed.

Maddie’s ears perked, and the smile returned to her face as she trotted over to him.

Remy gaped at him with the hint of a smile. “What have you done to my dog?”

Seeing her begin to relax, he patted Maddie. “She’s a great dog.”

Remy crouched, and Maddie went to her, sitting before her with that tiny wiggle of her tail and going in for a few licks. Remy sank her fingers into the fur of her chest.

“Yeah, she is.” The soft smile that shaped her lips captivated Lincoln.

When she looked up from Maddie’s love-drunk eyes, she caught him staring at her. As her gaze took in his chest and arms and then returned to his eyes, he burned.

“Ah...” She stood. “I should probably get going.”

Lincoln was a little disconcerted over his reaction, as well. A familiar, old pain overtook him for a few seconds before he could control it, hide it away where he always did, safely out of mind.

Remy didn’t move for the door. She seemed on the verge of saying something that was hard for her to say. “I’ve...I’ve been meaning to...apologize for the way we met.”

Finally. He waited for her to go on.

“Wade... That whole...thing...”

“Is he your boyfriend?” he asked.

“No!” she answered instantly and adamantly. “He’s...sort of a friend.”

“Sort of?”

She waved her hands and then let them hang at her sides. “I thought he was a friend when I first met him. He turned out to be something else.”

Lincoln nodded. “Why did he hit you?”

“It’s complicated,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

How could he when she wasn’t telling him anything? Did she have something to hide? Or was she just embarrassed? The man wasn’t her boyfriend. “Who is he?”

She waved her hands again, a poor disguise for her inner turmoil. “Nobody. I just wanted to apologize, and also to thank you for what you did. Even though it didn’t seem like I was appreciative, I was, okay?”

“Okay.” Had fear compelled her to retaliate against Lincoln that day? She may have been afraid of what the man would have done had she not taken his side. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. I’m right next door.”

She smiled. “Yeah. I know.” She met his gaze awhile longer.

This was a lot different than the first time they’d met. And the most they’d ever spoken.

An uncomfortable silence passed. She glanced down his body, checking him out, and then grew serious.

Maddie nudged Lincoln’s hand, and he pet her head.

“Your leg is better,” Remy said.

The first time he’d met her he’d been on crutches. “Yes.”

“Did you break it?”

She hadn’t taken the time to ask before. She hadn’t taken the time to make conversation at all. “No.” He hesitated, wondering if he should say. “Actually, I was shot.”

She went a little still and then asked, “How? Why?”

He contemplated not telling her. But he wondered if he told her, would she open up to him about the man named Wade? “A friend of mine got into some trouble, and I got in the way.” He grinned. “I can’t seem to stay away from trouble.”

She caught his meaning, that he’d gotten into her trouble. “Must be some trouble.”

“At the risk of sounding like I played a role in an action movie, my friend came to me for help, and things fell apart. My sister was here at the time, and an arms dealer tried to kidnap her to use against my friend. I was shot, and my friend saved my sister. The dealer’s in prison now.” He didn’t get into the rest of the story, how Braden McCrae and Arizona had unraveled the mystery, which had included the kidnapping of Braden’s sister and stepsister and attempts to steal weapons technology from the company where Braden worked.

“An arms dealer, huh? What are you, some kind of Homeland Security agent?”

“No. I teach martial arts.” He left out the other detail that he was also a bail enforcement agent. He didn’t know why. It was just a feeling. It was also something he didn’t really share with many people.

“I have a tough guy for a neighbor,” she teased, but he could tell she liked it. He wasn’t a cop, but he wasn’t afraid of bad guys. He enjoyed solving the mystery of tracking the fugitives and, even more, the satisfaction of bringing them in.

“And who do I have for a neighbor?” he deliberately asked.

Between them, Maddie sat patiently, her head moving from one to the other as they spoke.

“I just got a job at a microchip corporation. I’m an HR assistant.”

A human-resources assistant? He’d recently learned the house next door was a rental. Where had she gotten the money to afford it? This wasn’t the most expensive neighborhood in Denver, but it was pushing the million-dollar mark. She may have gotten a deal on hers since it was in need of renovation, but still. How much did an HR assistant make? It couldn’t be that much. Plus she had a loaded Audi Q5 Prestige in her garage. Pricey for an HR assistant.

His curiosity grew. “Where did you move from?”

A flicker of reluctance crossed her pretty eyes. “California. Near L.A.”

Vague. “What brought you here?”

The reluctance he’d seen was gone now, and in its place was a brick wall. She shrugged. “I don’t have any family. It was time for a change. I’ve always liked it here.”

“No family?” Not even a sister or an aunt?

“No.” Her head lowered. “My mother raised me, and I never knew my dad. My mother died in a car accident a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You must have had a tough time.”

“I learned to take care of myself. Mom had life insurance. That helped. I used some of it to go to college.”

College? Her eyes flashed to his when she realized her slip. She hadn’t meant to tell him that. “I have an English degree. What can you do with that, right?” She half laughed.

Although she quipped, he could see she was lying. “When did you graduate?” He kept a light tone. People relaxed more when all they were doing was answering harmless questions.

“Six years ago. You?”

“I didn’t go to college.”

“Just martial arts school, huh?”

“Yes. And I love to read.”

A firecracker of a smile burst on her face. “Me, too. Biographies, mostly.”

Something in common. “Mysteries for me. Some nonfiction.”

“Do you have a family?”

She must know he did. She’d seen his mother stop by. The way she asked said it was important to her. Family.

“I have a huge family,” he stated hesitantly. “There are eight of us, and our parents live in California. Most of the time.”

“I see a limo drive up every once in a while.”

“That’s my mom. Dad sometimes comes with her.” He watched her process that. His parents had money.

“Ivy.” She nodded. “I didn’t piece it together until now.” She glanced around his house. “You live modestly for someone who has such wealthy and well-known parents.”

She was completely guileless as she made the observation. Nothing changed other than the wonder of discovery. She didn’t become flirtatious as most women did, thinking they’d struck gold. He could recognize the shift immediately. Flirting went into overdrive. Efforts to impress, to latch on to him became nauseating. But not with this woman.

“What’s it like being the son of a famous movie producer?”

“I’m not the one who’s famous, so most of the time it’s like being part of any other normal family.” And he preferred it that way. “The press can get annoying.”

“I can’t imagine.” A moment passed, and they shared a look. “Well. We should get going.” She looked down at Maddie, who still sat patiently. “You’re never this good with me. What’s gotten into you?”

Maddie lifted her paw and rested it on her leg.

Remy laughed and shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind her coming over here all the time. I haven’t been able to get someone over to fix my gate.”

“Like I said, I could fix it for you, except then I wouldn’t get visits from Maddie.” He pet the dog’s head, and she stood to come closer for more attention.

Still smiling, Remy moved toward the door and patted her leg. “Come on, Maddie. Ready for dinner?”

The promise of dinner brought Maddie following her out the door.

His curiosity grew over his new neighbor. She didn’t have any visitors and kept to herself. Lincoln was social with all the neighbors. They all loved having him nearby and frequently invited him to barbecues and dinners and holiday parties. Remy had too much to hide. At least it appeared that way.

* * *

Remy Lang realized she was still smiling after she went back to her house to feed Maddie. Drat. That wasn’t in the plan. She had too much to lose to risk engaging in a relationship with a martial arts instructor. Her neighbor. Her big, strong neighbor who’d come to her rescue. She had to admit, having a man like that next door had made her feel safe. But it was foolish to feel that way. She couldn’t share her past—particularly Wade Nelson’s role in it—with anyone. Her survival depended on it.

Wade was not what she’d expected. When this all had started, she’d thought she could depend on him to help her, but she could not. Since then, she had taken matters into her own hands. She was close to resolving everything. Soon, she’d have her life back. If Wade didn’t ruin it for her first. He’d caught on to what she was doing, and now he was angry. That was why he’d hit her. And Lincoln had seen it. That scared her more than anything. What would Wade do? He knew too much about her. She’d trusted the wrong man. And now Lincoln had gotten involved.

Sitting on her off-white Broyhill sofa, she turned on the big-screen television. Maddie came into the room, licking her mouth and hopping up onto the sofa beside her, smelling like dog food. Remy loved that.

The dog curled up beside her and lifted her head to gaze up at her. Talk about a heartbreaker.

“Oh, yeah, Maddie girl, you’re my dog again. Your new boyfriend isn’t here, and now I’m all you’ve got.”

Maddie blinked and then slung a paw over her leg.

Smiling, full of good feelings, Remy draped her arm over the dog and lifted the remote with the other.

Maddie’s ears perked up and her eyes zeroed in on the front door. Remy’s pulse shot into action. Had the dog heard something? She looked toward the front door and then the kitchen and the back door. No one was there.

Maddie jumped down from the sofa, hair rising all along her back. She growled.

Remy stood and headed for the kitchen, where she kept a gun. At the threshold, Wade emerged from the garage, thwarting her with his own gun in hand. Shoulder-length hair, tall and muscular, he had an intimidating presence, a hoodlum presence.

Had he been waiting in there? How had he gotten in? He must have entered while she’d been at Lincoln’s and hidden in the garage. She’d left the front door unlocked.

“Put the dog outside,” he said.

Beside her, Maddie growled again.

When she didn’t move, Wade aimed the gun at Maddie. Remy smothered a sharp indrawn breath. Frozen, frantically undecided over what to do, she could only stare at the weapon. Should she go for Wade’s gun while it was aimed away from her, or do as he said?

All her life she’d made sure she took care of herself, that she didn’t have to depend on anyone else. She was master and commander of her present moment and future. A gun aimed at her dog changed that. She was at Wade’s mercy. That went against everything she was. And made her mad.

“I’ll kill the damn thing,” Wade said.

She’d do anything to keep her dog safe. In charge again, she went to the back door and slid it open. “Come on, Maddie.”

The dog glanced at her, and then Wade.

Wade stepped forward.

Maddie barked and moved closer to Remy, protecting her. Remy stepped outside, and the dog did, too. Remy was tempted to run.

Wade appearing at the open door aiming the gun stopped her. Maybe Maddie would go next door or her barking would alert Lincoln.

She reentered the house and closed the door before Maddie could follow. Her heart wrenched with the sound of frenzied barking.

“In the living room,” Wade ordered her.

Afraid Wade would do something about the barking, she did as he said. But as soon as she made it to the living room and faced Wade, Maddie’s barking stopped. She was running next door.

“You’ve been sneaking around again,” Wade said, stepping close to her with dangerous eyes.

Had he seen her? When?

“What were you doing at my store three days ago?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” She played ignorance, the same as she’d done the last time he’d come accusing her of spying on him and his friends. That time she’d followed him when he’d met some men she hadn’t recognized. Nothing had been exchanged, but she suspected he’d gone to discuss one of his illegal gun deals, deals that he expected her to execute for him.

He leaned in to bring his face close to hers, the gun at his side as though he didn’t think he needed it to keep her under control. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’re supposed to be working with me, not against me.”

“If working with you means breaking the law, I’ll pass.”

With a smirk, Wade straightened. “You’ve already done that. And if you don’t start doing what I tell you, the cops are going to find out.”

Because he’d tell them. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to threaten her like this. Soon, she’d be able to call the cops herself and have him arrested. But for now, she had to be patient.

Remy spotted Lincoln at the back door. She’d left it unlocked for him, hoping he’d retrace Maddie’s path. Sure enough, he had. Wade’s back was to him. Careful not to shift her eyes, she used her peripheral vision to watch Lincoln enter.

“I’m only going to ask you once more,” Wade said.

Before he could repeat the question, Lincoln put the barrel of his pistol against the back of Wade’s neck. “Put the gun down.”

While Wade’s face morphed into deep, angry lines, Remy stepped back. He crouched and put the gun on the floor, rising with his hands away from his body, palms up.

“Step away from it,” Lincoln commanded next.

With an evil glare at her, Wade did as he was told.

Remy knelt for the gun as the two men faced each other.

“Why do you keep harassing Remy?” Lincoln asked.

When Wade didn’t answer, he searched the man’s pocket until he found a wallet. One-handed, he flipped it open and found a driver’s license. Shaking it free, he let the wallet drop and read the name. Wade Nelson.

“Is this address current?” he asked.

“Go to hell.”

Lincoln studied the license. “Why are you here?”

“Just let him go,” Remy said.

“Why don’t you ask her why I’m here?” Wade said.

“I’m asking you.”

Remy had a sick feeling that Lincoln was asking Wade because he suspected she was hiding something, and he had a better chance of finding out what that was with him. Remy could only wait and hope Wade didn’t reveal anything.

“How much do you know about her?” Wade asked.

Lincoln backed up, still holding his gun. “Why did you come here? What do you want from her?”

Wade glanced at Remy, smug with the knowledge that he could expose her. She hated him for that. Lording it over her.

“You’ll have to get that from her,” he finally said.

He wasn’t going to tell him anything. Remy inwardly sagged with relief. Revealing certain things he knew would do damage to himself, too. If Wade ratted her out now, she’d never cooperate with him.

“Get out of here, then,” Lincoln said.

He was letting Wade go without pressing him for answers. But why had he looked at the driver’s license? What could he learn from that?

Wade picked up his wallet.

Lincoln handed him his license. “If I see you here again, I’ll send you on an ambulance ride.” Taking the gun from Remy, he removed the clip before handing it to Wade.

He took it, and furious eyes turned to Remy. “You’re going to regret this.”

Not if she could help it. She was in a race against time now.

Wade yanked the door open and slammed it as he left.

Lincoln turned to her. “What was that all about?” Beating her was enough, but threatening her with a gun took it to a new level.

She didn’t say anything, just imagined what his reaction might be if she did, if she told him everything. Confiding in someone would be refreshing. But she could trust no one with that. Not anymore.

“Why is he threatening you?” he asked.

“Where’s Maddie?” she asked instead of answering.

His mouth pressed together ever so slightly, disappointedly perhaps, but his eyes gave nothing away. “I left her at my house.”

“I’ll go and get her.” She started for the back door.

“Remy.”

Spinning to face him, she said, “Don’t ask questions, Lincoln. Number one, I barely know you, and number two, I can’t tell anyone about Wade.”

“Why not?” He approached, his strong, confident strides making her wish she could trust him. And more.

As he came to a stop, she almost gave in. But good sense intervened and she turned again, this time going out the door.

“What kind of trouble are you in?” he asked from behind her.

She went through the broken gate and opened his backyard gate.

“I can help you,” he said.

Could he? Against Wade? Maybe, if that was all it entailed. But it was far more dangerous than that. No. No one could help her. As always, she had to take care of herself. She could depend on no one else. Besides, if Lincoln knew how she’d crossed paths with Wade, he might change his mind about helping her. And she could not risk that.

Chapter 2

The next afternoon, Lincoln settled down on his sofa with a turkey sandwich and a football game. A bark at the back door was his daily signal to get back up. Maddie stood on the other side of the sliding-glass door, beyond the nose smudges he’d given up cleaning. A toy was on the step between her paws, her tail wagging excitedly.

He opened the door. “You’re early.”

She trotted past him, going to the pantry. Facing him, she sat, tail wiggling away.

He chuckled and gave her the requisite treat.

When she finished, she jumped up onto the sofa with him, curled up with her head on his leg. He rubbed her ears and watched her eyes slide closed.

Any minute Remy would be here to get her. He was looking forward to it. More conversation. Picking through her secrets. Why he was inclined to involve himself in those secrets put him in check. People with secrets had a tendency to lie. What did he want from her? Her mystery or her body? Her body might not be worth the mystery. She might be the kind of person he hunted for bail jumping. He hadn’t called the cops because he still wasn’t sure she fit into that category.

After a while, it dawned on him that Remy wasn’t coming over. Standing, he went to the front door and opened it. No sign of Wade’s car. Remy’s house was quiet.

Where was she?

He glanced back at Maddie, who still lay on the sofa, content as could be. If Remy was in trouble, the trouble had come after Maddie had left.

Something wasn’t right. Going to the closet near the door, he opened the small safe he kept there and retrieved his pistol. Maddie jumped off the couch and was ready by the door.

“No. You stay here.” He left her inside and hurried to the broken gate.

Moving slowly toward the back door, which was left open as it had been last night, he heard a crash inside.

“Where is it?” a man’s voice growled.

More crashing.

Lincoln peered through the open door. Remy sat on her sofa, one man standing off to the side aiming a gun. The other swiped items off the shelf, searching for something. Both were in suits, as though they’d been on their way to dinner when they’d stopped by here. The one aiming the gun at Remy was slightly heavyset with a receding hairline in an otherwise thick head of hair, the other muscular with dark, curly hair.

They must have just arrived, or Maddie wouldn’t have come over to his house, and if she’d known they were there, she’d have been more agitated. Entering the house, he quickly moved out of sight into the kitchen, and then put his back to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. At the edge of the wall, he emerged into sight and fired at the man pointing a gun at Remy, taking out his knee. The heavier man went down as his partner charged. Pivoting, Lincoln blocked the swing of the other man’s hand just in time. They sparred a few more times before Lincoln caught him open and rammed his fist into his larynx. As the man choked for air, Lincoln kicked him off his feet and kept him there with the sure aim of his gun.

Checking on Remy, he saw the heavier man held his bleeding knee, and she had picked up his gun. She was resourceful, and he was glad she could overcome fear.

Lincoln turned back to the curly-haired man. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer. Lincoln hadn’t expected him to, but he hoped to at least glean some idea of why they were here.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

Still the man didn’t respond, merely looked up at him, waiting for a bullet. He wasn’t going to get one. Lincoln didn’t kill that way. He’d let the law do its job.

“Lincoln!” Remy called, but her warning was too late.

A third man rushed into the room from behind Lincoln and grabbed Remy before he could react. The third man hooked an arm around her neck and pressed a gun to her head. Another suit. Dark, short-shaved hair, pale-gray eyes.

Two more men entered from the back door, both in suits, one taller than the other by just a couple inches, both lean in form, one blond and the other brunette.

“Drop your gun,” the man holding Remy said against her ear.

Remy’s eyes closed briefly, her renewed fear palpable. She knew these men, especially the one who had her. She dropped the gun she held, tossing it out of reach of the man still at Lincoln’s feet.

“You, too,” the man said to Lincoln.

Lincoln was outnumbered and outgunned, but he controlled his fear. Best to wait for his next opportunity. Whatever they were looking for, Remy had it. They had time, but probably not much.

“Give your gun to my friend,” the man holding Remy said calmly.

After flipping on the safety, Lincoln gave the curly-haired man his gun. The man took it and stood.

“Search the house,” the one holding Remy said. “And make it quick.” He was the lead thug. He exuded a false sense of power that stemmed from his gun and the team he had with him.

The man shot in the knee stumbled to his feet, and one of the tall, lean men helped him out the door. The other two began to tear apart Remy’s house—the curly-haired man and the other tall, lean man. A few minutes later, both came out from the hallway, one of them carrying a manila envelope.

Lincoln checked Remy. Her eyes met his before she blinked long and slow, full of dread.

One of the men handed the dark-haired one the envelope, and took over with a gun at Remy’s head.

“Take care of them,” the dark-haired man said. “Then meet me at the OneDefense store.”

“Yes, sir,” the man with the gun at Remy’s head said.

The other jabbed Lincoln with his gun. “Try anything and my friend here will shoot her.”

He believed him. Remy’s frightened eyes met his. These two were going to kill them. He winked at her. She had no idea what he was capable of, and humor could disarm fear. The best news was that dark-haired bastard had left only two of his men in charge of the task.

She eyed him quizzically as they were forced outside. He imagined her thoughts. How could he joke at a time like this? They were about to be killed, and he was winking at her.

He grinned, glancing from her to the man behind him. That man gave him a shove, a reaction to Lincoln’s smirk.

Remy mouthed, “Stop it.” He was well aware of the danger, but succumbing to hopelessness would do them no good.

Outside, he searched for signs that anyone would see them being taken. No cars drove by. No one stood in lit windows. The two armed men were careful. They checked first before guiding them to a parked SUV. It hadn’t been there when he’d gone over to Remy’s house.

Remy was shoved into the back, and he was led to the front passenger seat. He wouldn’t risk her being shot by trying anything just yet.

The man drove toward the foothills, turning off on a two-lane highway and then off onto a dirt road that led to open space near the foothills west of Denver. It was dark. Even darker near the trees, where the driver stopped.

He could hear Remy’s breathing.

“Get out,” the driver said, “or she dies.”

He highly doubted they’d off her in the car and leave all that evidence, but Lincoln indulged the man. Remy looked at him wide-eyed, as though she couldn’t believe how calm he was and how easily he did as he was told.

He got out and waited for the man in the backseat to do the same, forcing Remy to get out after him. The driver got out, too, and Lincoln saw that he’d left the keys in the ignition. That would come in handy in a few minutes.

When Remy left the car, he hit the backseat man’s gun hand at the same time he grabbed Remy by the arm and tugged her down. She fell onto her hip. Lincoln used his foot to knock the backseat man’s wrist. The gun fired and dropped from his grasp. Fisting a handful of the man’s hair, Lincoln rammed the man’s head down against the top edge of the car door, then drove his knee into the man’s sternum.

He grunted in pain while Lincoln retrieved the gun and used it to bash the back of the man’s head. The man went down as gunfire from the other side of the car sent bullets through the windshield.

Staying low, making sure Remy was still protected, Lincoln waited for the driver to reach the front fender of the SUV and then fired, hitting the shoulder of his gun arm. The gun dropped. Tactically moving in on the opportunity, Lincoln charged for the man. Around the front of the car, he knelt and picked up the gun, his gun. The driver sat on the ground grimacing, blood oozing from the gunshot wound.

“Get in!” he yelled to Remy.

She did, while he aimed both pistols at the fallen man and ran around him to the driver’s side, getting in and then reversed the vehicle enough so he could spin it around. The back passenger door flapped wildly before slamming shut. Bullets hit the side and back of the car as they raced away.

Remy’s breathing eased from frantic to just trying to keep up with her heart. She was scared.

“First time they’ve ever come after you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Who are they?”

Swallowing, she glanced over fretfully and didn’t answer.

A man who wasn’t her boyfriend was threatening her, and now a group of strange men dressed in suits had just tried to kill her. Why?

“What was in the envelope?” he asked.

She kept her face forward. She still didn’t reply.

Sighing, Lincoln drove back to town. “I’m taking us to the police, then.”

“No!” She sat ramrod straight in her seat, eyes bright with renewed adrenaline, her hand tight on the door handle and the other clenched in a fist.

“No?” he replied mockingly.

“No. I can’t go to the police.”

Can’t go to the police? “Whenever I hear people say that, it usually means they’re in trouble with the law.”

A few strained breaths passed before she said, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Good. Then let’s go tell the police about all of this. And while we’re there, you’ll tell them what was in the envelope.”

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m dead. They won’t stop until they find me.” She lifted her head. “And you now.”

“Why me?” Would they assume he knew what she’d done? Or had his mere presence at Remy’s house been enough? He’d seen them take the envelope.

Her head fell back against the seat again.

“If I’m in danger, then you should tell me everything you know,” he said. “I’m better equipped to deal with matters that way. You’re an HR assistant...or so you say.”

Her head came up once more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. But his silence was enough for her. He glanced over and saw her shrewdly assessing him, picking up on the accuracy of his suspicion. She may even be a little awed. He didn’t let her in on the fact that his investigative ability was part of his job.

“What makes you better equipped than me? You’re a martial arts instructor, not a cop.”

Again, he didn’t respond, just kept driving.

After a while, she asked, “Where is my dog?”

“She’s safe. At my house.”

“Take me home first. Then we can call the police.”

Was she only trying to buy time? Would going home be a diversion? He wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he knew why a bunch of criminals were about to come after him.

* * *

Remy gripped the door handle of the SUV as Lincoln drove down the street toward their homes. There was a marked police car in the street and another that was unmarked parked in her driveway.

“What are they doing here?” She’d planned to escape Lincoln, take Maddie and make a run for it, but now she was trapped.

Lincoln didn’t respond. He was probably as stumped as her. How could they have found out about their abduction so fast?

“Keep driving,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“What?”

“Please. I can’t talk to them.” Oh, God, what would she do? She couldn’t be arrested.

“Why not?”

His sharp tone said enough. She must sound like a real fugitive.

He drove to a stop in front of the house.

Remy saw two detectives at the door. One was in tan slacks with a purple dress shirt and tie, and the other wore dark blue slacks with a white dress shirt and tie. The officers were still in the police car, but as soon as they spotted her, they began to get out.

“No.” The whisper emerged before she caught it.

“Why are you afraid of the police?” Lincoln asked.

She couldn’t answer. Her life could be over in a matter of minutes. All that would be left was rotting in prison.

“You don’t understand.” Shaking, fumbling with the door handle, she opened the SUV door and got out.

Lincoln came around the SUV, studying her intently. “Make me understand.”

She stared at him, numb with all-consuming fear. Stark. Terrifying.

“Ms. Lang?” the detective in the purple shirt called, leaving the front porch to approach. He was in his thirties, younger than his partner, taller and thinner, too.

Remy heard her own breathing, hating her weakness, helpless to be strong when the consequences were so great. She was innocent, but no one would believe her.

“Remy?” Lincoln took her hand.

She focused on his blue eyes.

“It’ll be okay.”

Her heart did a flip from the unexpected kindness, kindness she hadn’t had in more than two months. But he couldn’t possibly know it would be okay.

“We’ll put them off for now.”

Because he wanted to know what she was hiding, why men would not only try to kill her, they’d now want him dead right along with her. She owed him the truth. There was no refuting that. But the consequences were unforgiving if he didn’t believe her.

“Come on.”

Keeping her hand, he led her away from the SUV to the waiting detectives and officers. Did they know? Had Wade told them?

She tightened her grip on Lincoln’s powerful and steady hand. Walking toward the detectives made her knees weak. Lincoln hooked her arm with his and supported her on her death walk. She was seldom like this. There was very little she allowed to rock her. She was a strong woman, but going to jail for crimes she hadn’t committed threatened to break her.

“Ms. Lang?” the purple-shirted detective repeated.

“Yes,” Lincoln said. “This is Remy Lang.”

“Who are you?”

“Why don’t we go in and talk?” he suggested.

The detective passed a studied gaze over Remy and then nodded. They went inside; the officers waited outside. In case she ran?

Lincoln guided Remy to the sofa and sat beside her, a stranger and yet someone she could rely on.

The older detective sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa, and the taller one took out a pen and notebook and remained standing.

After the tall detective introduced himself as Baker and his partner Henderson, he asked, “How well do you know a Mr. Wade Nelson?”

She squeezed Lincoln’s hand, only then realizing she held it again.

“Not well. I met him two months ago.”

“How did you meet?” Baker asked.

Her heart was beating so hard, and her mouth went dry. “I...” This was rapidly going downhill. “Why are you asking me about Wade?”

The detective paused, scrutinizing her. “He was murdered last night.”

Remy covered her mouth with her free hand. Shock ripped away anything else she’d suspected. Murdered...

“How? Who?” They were here questioning her. Did they think...

“How did you meet Mr. Nelson?” Henderson asked from the chair.

She had to lie about that. She was a terrible liar, but she had to now. “I ran into him...at a coffee shop.”

“Which one?”

She gave them the name of one near Wade’s gun store. He went there almost every morning.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Baker asked.

Remy hesitated.

“He came to her house around six o’clock last night,” Lincoln said. “He was threatening her.”

“Was that the last time you saw him?” the detective asked her.

“Yes.” The lie left her numb with dread.

He studied her a moment longer. “Why was he threatening you?”

Remy tried to subdue her shaking but sensed Lincoln picking up on it. “He...h-he must be angry that I broke up with him.”

“You were seeing each other?”

Lincoln was watching her as closely as the detectives.

The lies were terrible and getting worse. “Yes. Not seriously, though. Just...seeing each other once in a while.”

The detectives shared a look, and then Henderson said, “We have a witness who says they saw you meet him last night.”

Remy’s heart flew. Panic engulfed her. She was afraid her breathing gave her away.

“One of Mr. Nelson’s managers said he’d been coming to see you a lot lately, and he was on the phone with him when you arrived at his home at 8:30 p.m. He said Mr. Nelson told him he had to go because you’d shown up.”

“I did go and see him. I tried to convince him to stop threatening me.”

“For not seeing him anymore.” Baker spoke with a hint of cynicism. He didn’t believe her.

She didn’t respond.

“Why did you lie about the last time you saw him?” Henderson asked.

“I...forgot I went to see him last night.”

“You forgot?”

Remy swallowed the constricting fear tightening her throat. “Yes.”

“What time did you leave?” Baker asked.

“I wasn’t there long.” Thank God that was the truth. “Thirty minutes, maybe.”

“And where did you go after that?” Henderson asked.

“Home.”

“Can anyone confirm that for you?” Baker asked.

She glanced over at Lincoln, who met her look and said nothing. He hadn’t seen her come home. No one had. Looking back at Henderson, she reluctantly said, “Probably not.” She hadn’t stopped anywhere on the way home. The only person who could confirm the time she left was dead.

Baker closed his notebook.

Henderson stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

* * *

After the detectives left, Remy changed into jeans and an azure-blue boat-necked T-shirt and rejoined him in her living room. It was after seven o’clock. Late but not that late. Lincoln had felt and seen her trembling when the detectives had questioned her. If she preferred to be alone, he wasn’t picking up on that. But he wasn’t picking up on a willingness not to, either.

“I need to get my dog,” she said, folding her arms in front of her, uncomfortable.

He wondered what had her uncomfortable, the detectives or being alone with him. Maybe that was it. She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be alone with him.

“Right.” He led her out of her house, making sure she locked her door, and then ushered her over to his.

Something dug deep into him to ensure no one who dared to come after them again would harm her. It was a strong instinct, one he could not ignore despite her fear of the law. Those detectives had to have known she wasn’t telling the complete truth. So why was he so intent on protecting her? He needed answers. His life was in danger right along with hers now. Wasn’t that enough of a reason? He couldn’t leave her to her own defenses. If those men were going to go after both of them, it made more sense to stick together.

He shut the door as Maddie bounded to Remy for her trademark exuberant greeting, stuffed burger gently clamped between her jaws, pushing up her furry, whiskery, white cheeks.

“Come on, girl,” Remy said.

She was going to leave. Sleep next door. Alone.

“Wait.” Lincoln stepped in her way. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“What?” One of her hands went to her stomach, not out of dread; Lincoln was beginning to suspect she couldn’t keep her hands still.

“If those men come back, it’s best if you’re with me. I have a guest room.”

Gaze unwavering, she lowered her hand and hooked her thumbs on the belt loops of her jeans. She didn’t argue. How could she? If she slept alone tonight, she might end up dead.

But the nervous fidgeting, the inability to stay still, revealed her discomfort. Was she wondering if he’d press her for information? He would. But not just yet. He wanted her relaxed when he asked her the questions he had.

“I’ll start dinner. We can go back to your place later so you can pack a bag.” Locking the door, he walked into the kitchen, Maddie on his heels after her ears perked with the sound of the word dinner.

Taking his gun out of the front of his jeans, he set it on the counter. Remy was slower to follow. She eyed the gun and then watched him get some things out of the refrigerator.

“Why do you own a gun?” she asked.

“It’s legal.” He wasn’t ready to tell her more about himself. Keep her guessing for now. He needed her to do the talking first.

He started a skillet of hamburger going and began cutting up peppers and onions.

“What are you making?”

“‘Even the Kids Love It’ casserole.”

“A kid recipe?” She grinned wide, his relaxation strategy already going to work. “Are you a good cook?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled at the idea. Him, a good cook. Ha! “Casseroles are easy, and they taste good. My sister is a real pro at making them for me. She doesn’t know it, though.”

“Which of the eight is she?”

“Arizona. The youngest.” He smiled his fondness. It had been a while since she’d come over to play a board game with him.

“I can see you’re close. Are you that way with all your brothers and sisters?”

“No. Arizona and I are the closest, even though we’re the farthest apart in age. When she was a kid, I was the one she always came to when she was being bullied and, later, when she was older, when the press crawled a little too close.”

“Tough big brother, huh?”

“She’s always needed watching over.”

“Protective.” She mulled that over awhile, making him wonder what she was thinking. Was being protective a good thing or a bad thing to her? She struck him as very independent. Women like that didn’t appreciate being treated like a helpless damsel in distress.

Lincoln didn’t see it that way. Men were typically physically stronger than women. They could protect them.

“Arizona thinks she can do more than she actually can, or maybe it’s more than she has to do.”

“She goes above and beyond?”

“She lost a fiancé several years ago. He was kidnapped and killed, and she had a hard time getting over it.” He went to the sink to wash his hands. “Now she wants to start up an adventure organization for victimized people. Sort of like fear therapy.”

Remy moved farther into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. “That’s commendable. She sounds like a very brave woman.”

“Brave is a good word for her. And she’s got a good man in her life to keep her out of trouble. I don’t have to watch her so closely.” He grinned as he dried his hands with a paper towel.

“Good man? What is that?” Beginning to feel at home, she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

Dodging Maddie, whose nose was to the floor looking for fallen scraps, she opened the cap for him and set it by the cutting board he’d just taken out of the cabinet.

Leaning against the counter beside him, she asked, “What’s in a kid’s casserole?”

He moved to a lower cabinet and took out a kettle, greeted by Maddie’s cold, wet nose. “Noodles, peppers and onions, corn, burger, lots of cheese and some special ingredients.” Straightening, he filled the kettle with water.

“Secret ingredients?”

Putting the kettle on the stove and turning the burner to high, he went to the pantry and took out a can of cream-of-chicken soup and one of nacho sauce, holding them up for her inspection.

She laughed. “Okay, so you can’t cook.”

“Can you?”

“When I’m forced.”

Chuckling at their similarity, he dumped the onions and peppers into the burger and, after a few minutes, the noodles into the now-boiling water. When the onions and peppers were tender, he mixed everything together and put it into a casserole dish. A little cheese on top and into the oven.

Next, he went to the garage to get food for Maddie.

“You have dog food, too?” Remy watched him pour food into one of two bowls beside the refrigerator. There was already water there.

“I bought it just in case.” In case she needed someone to watch her dog. In case Wade proved to be too much brawn for her to handle. In case Maddie became a permanent resident in his house....

Maddie inspected the bowl of food. Unlike with her treats, she ate slowly. Munching away, looking around and up at them with the wag of her tail then going down for another dainty bite.

Remy smiled at Lincoln and then drank some water. She was relaxed, the way he wanted her to be. Now they could talk.

“Who’s Wade Nelson?” he asked.

Lowering the bottle of water, her smile faded, soft eyes guarded now. But she didn’t appear surprised by his question. She must have expected him to bring it up eventually.

When she didn’t say anything, he said, “I’ll find out whether you tell me or not.” He’d seen the man’s driver’s license, and he had a really good memory.

After a yielding sigh, she put the bottle of water on the kitchen counter. “He runs a OneDefense store here in Denver.”

“He sells guns?”

She folded her arms as though chilled. “Retail. Yes. OneDefense Corporation has lots of stores around the country.”

“I’ve heard of them. Why was he threatening you?”

She’d already said she couldn’t tell him. But he wasn’t going to let up until she did. As she met his eyes, she must have realized that.

“I’ve been watching him. I’ve suspected for a while that he was dealing in illegal gun sales, and I’ve been trying to gather evidence against him.”

“Why?”

“I want him out of my life.”

“Why is he in your life?”

Her eyes were steady on his. She was a crafty woman, strong and self-sufficient, but he suspected she wasn’t always that way. She was in survival mode. And she didn’t want to answer him.

“When I met him I didn’t know the kind of man he was.”

The kind involved in illegal gun sales? How had she gotten herself involved with someone like that? “How did you meet him?” It hadn’t been at the coffee shop. Like the detectives, he could tell she lied about that.

Her clear, beautiful green eyes stared up at him. Whatever had her tongue-tied was worse than anything that had occurred since she’d moved in. More dangerous than Wade’s fists. This was as dangerous as the dark-haired man who’d come to her house for the envelope.

She put her hands on the edge of the counter. It made her breasts rise a little, drawing his attention there. He was afraid when his eyes lifted they held too much heat. But when he saw an answer in hers, he didn’t stop it.

Stepping closer, he bent to bring his face right above hers and asked, “What was in the envelope?” His voice was gruff, unintentionally so.

She drew in a breath and began to sidle away. He stopped her with his arms, putting his hands on the counter and caging her.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth, as though the sound of his voice lulled her. Then she lifted her eyes. “Not enough. Just some paperwork from Wade’s store showing some missing inventory. Wade caught me before I could trace the illegal sales.”

“You were going to try to find out where the sales went?”

“I want to know the entire operation. Who’s involved. Sellers. Buyers.”

“Why not leave it up to the ATF? They could have gone in and done an inspection.”

She turned her head aside, avoiding him as much as she could while trapped by his arms. The sound of Maddie eating had a calming effect.

Not calming enough. Remy wasn’t answering him.

Cupping her chin gently, he brought her head facing him again, looking into her eyes.

She closed hers. When she opened them, she began. “OneDefense has fifty-some odd stores around the country. I want to know which of them are involved.”

Still hedging. “How did you meet Wade?”

She licked her lips and pursed them before they dropped open, sultry without even trying. “I can’t tell you.”

“You said yourself—they’re going to come after me now. I have a right to know.”

She didn’t reply, but seemed to struggle with how.

“Who sent those men to your house?” he helped her out by asking, his voice lower and deeper than he intended. He was too aware of her physically.

Those crystalline green eyes softened. “Why do you think someone sent them?”

“The dark-haired man was in charge of getting the envelope, but he isn’t at the top.”

She angled her head, brow going a little lower. “How do you know that?”

“I’m a good judge of character. Who sent them, Remy?”

She blinked slowly, in resignation. “Tristan Coulter. He’s an account manager at OneDefense. Their headquarters are in California, but there are several retail stores all over the country. Wade runs the one in Denver.”

At last, progress. “Did you meet him before or after you met Wade?”

“Before.” Now her voice had dropped, sultry heat building between them.

“Is that how you met Wade?”

Slowly she shook her head, her gaze going to his mouth before rising back to his eyes. “A friend of mine told me Wade was someone I could trust.”

He moved closer. “Who’s your friend?”

“Someone who worked at OneDefense.” She sounded breathless.

“Who?”

Her mouth pressed closed, signaling he’d reached a point where she’d stop talking. He was okay with that. He had enough to go on for now. Another determination took over.

Pressing his body to hers, he slid his hand to the back of her neck so that he could satisfy an intensifying curiosity of how her mouth would feel against his. When her hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, he deepened the caress. Full. Warm. She fit him well. They kissed well together. He touched her tongue with his. Only their tongues were in contact for a brief moment, and then he kissed her fully again.

She made a sound that transported him into an eddy of fevered passion.

Chapter 3

The repeated ring of the doorbell followed by an abrupt opening of the front door jolted Lincoln out of the kiss. While Remy’s breath caught, he grabbed his gun and moved to the edge of the kitchen entry.

A file of people entered his house. Mom. Dad. Autumn. Jonas. Savanna. His mother noticed the gun and barely faltered. Blond hair in a bob and wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, she looked years younger than she was. He flipped the safety on his gun as Arizona brought in the rear, Braden McCrae and his son along with her.

“Lincoln Ivy, what are you doing with that?” his mother asked, carrying two grocery bags. Tall and lanky behind her, russet-colored hair unruly as usual, Dad held three more. Jackson Ivy taking some downtime from big movie business.

He chuckled when he saw the gun. “You look like you belong on one of my sets.”

Great. One of Mother’s impromptu family gatherings was about to descend upon him. Camille Ivy made a job out of Home and Family, and the hour of day didn’t matter.

“It’s after eight, Mom.”

“It took us a while to put this all together. Brandie, Macon and Riana couldn’t make it.” She walked past him as though that were a normal explanation.

His youngest brother and Number Five of the siblings rarely attended family get-togethers. “Macon still in rehab?”

“Don’t start with that.” His mother stopped short when Remy appeared in the kitchen entry, hands in the front pockets of her jeans. “Who’s this?”

“My neighbor. Remy Lang.”

Remy looked uncomfortable as she awkwardly took one of the bags from his mother, and they introduced themselves.

“Ah, the neighbor,” his dad’s deep voice boomed. He approached Remy with the three bags. “We’ve heard all about you.” He leaned in toward her. “It’s the reason Lincoln’s mother dragged us all here.” He winked back at Lincoln and his mother.

“Oh.” Flustered, Remy carried the bag into the kitchen, Mom trailing behind, already asking questions.

It had to have been Arizona who’d started them all talking.

Refined and slender in a silky tan pantsuit, Autumn brushed long, light red strands of shiny hair behind one ear as she kissed Lincoln’s cheek. “Hi, oldest brother.”

It had been a while since he’d seen her. “Hi, second oldest.”

She laughed.

Savanna stood behind Autumn; Number Six of the Ivy Eight had darker hair, with barely a reddish tint, and was taller. Her eyes were strong and happy today, but Lincoln knew she had her moments when she still struggled with heartache over her last relationship. Autumn hadn’t succumbed to that disease yet. It would take a strong man to make her commit. She had striking beauty like Savanna and an even more striking mind. The Ivys were all attractive in their own way, befitting the offspring of a famous producer.

Jonas showed up to all the family gatherings because he never exerted himself on anything that didn’t involve workouts or women. Few knew he was capable of more. He just hadn’t found his way yet. It was hard when you were the son of a wealthy man. No one in this family had to work for a living.

“Is your divorce final yet?” Lincoln asked, shaking Jonas’s hand.

“Last month.”

That was his third.

“I’m staying away from women for a while.”

Lincoln didn’t believe that. Except there was something different about his brother today. A fire in his eyes that Lincoln hadn’t seen before. He looked thinner than the last time he’d seen him. “Still working out?” Obsessively. Twice a day.

“I bought a Trek Madone. Still hunting down bail jumpers?”

Jonas was riding a bicycle? Trimming down. Lincoln had always thought he’d gotten too muscular, like a bodybuilder.

“Are you going to race?”

“No, I just like it.”

Weight lifting had defined him once. Lincoln had never thought that was all there was to Jonas. He was glad to see his brother finally growing out of that shell. Maybe it had been his last marriage. He’d seemed to love the woman, but it had been obvious to many that all she’d wanted from him was his Ivy name. She must have been disappointed when the entertainment media hadn’t painted her in a favorable light. Just another of Jonas’s whimsical and meaningless marriages. It wouldn’t last. And it hadn’t.

He hugged Arizona. “Thanks for telling Mom about Remy.”

She laughed a little and leaned back from the hug. “Can’t keep a secret like that.”

Like what? All he’d done was notice her. But Arizona had seen that.

“After I get Aiden settled, I’ll get a game of Clue ready,” Arizona said. “It’s my turn to kick your butt.”

As Lincoln marveled over her motherly instincts, Braden gave him a man hug, a few quick pats on his back, and Aiden was mesmerized by the television that Arizona had turned to a cartoon network.

Lincoln headed toward the kitchen, where his parents had taken the groceries and Jonas and Savanna had followed. His father’s laughter joined Autumn’s. Already his mother was well on her way to exploding his kitchen.

“There’s a casserole in the oven,” he said, half joking.

“Savanna is taking care of that,” his mother called from the stove, missing his sarcasm.

Savanna had removed the casserole and had found a container she was now dumping it into without ado.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, seeing Remy’s deer-in-headlights stare from the other side of the kitchen island, Autumn at her side. She white knuckled the back of an island stool.

This wasn’t exactly how he’d thought meeting his family would go. He wouldn’t have thought she’d meet them at all.

Arizona entered the kitchen carrying the game, Braden behind her. Now the gang was assembled. It grew loud in the room. Braden stopped to talk to Lincoln’s parents. Arizona gave him a shove, propelling him toward the table. He went there, seeing Autumn and Savanna engaging Remy in conversation. She still seemed awkward, disliking the loss of control. If she could, she’d bolt out the front door. Why did being surrounded by his family do that to her?

Jonas took a seat at the island and listened to his sisters and Remy, pretty soon joining the conversation. Something about positive thinking. Savanna was a motivational speaker.

Lincoln sat across from Arizona.

“The neighbor, huh?” Arizona wiggled her eyebrows at him as she put three cards into an envelope. “Remy, wasn’t it?”

He shouldn’t have told her Remy’s name. “Her dog keeps coming over.” Lincoln looked down at Maddie, who’d put her head on his thigh, the whites of her brown eyes flashing as she gazed up at him, tail wagging.

“Look at that. She loves you,” Arizona marveled. “Does the neighbor come with her?”

“She follows shortly thereafter.”

“I knew you were more interested than you would admit.”

“I’m not that interested.” He glanced over at Remy to make sure she couldn’t hear them. She answered questions from Savanna and Autumn on her job as a human-resource assistant while Jonas listened. Her vague replies made him wonder if that was why she was so tense. She didn’t like being asked personal questions. What was she hiding?

“Yeah, right,” Arizona said.

“She’s got a lot going on in her life,” he argued. Abusive men and bullets. “Too complicated for me.”

“What do you mean, complicated? All women are complicated.”

“No, I mean complicated.” He told her about Wade, leaving out their kidnapping.

“He threatened her?” She handed him some playing cards.

“And then he was murdered. The police came by to talk to her.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Murdered?” She glanced over at Remy. “Do you think she did it?”

“No. Be quiet.” He glanced around the kitchen. Mom and Dad were still busy preparing dinner, and Remy was listening to Jonas tell her about one of his rides.

“Why did the police question her?” she whispered.

“She was probably the last one to see him alive.”

“Why was he murdered?”

Braden joined them beside the table. “Someone was murdered?”

Tall and broad, he had short, dark brown hair and green eyes that had sobered. When he sat on the chair beside Lincoln, Maddie went over to investigate.

Lincoln told him about Tristan. “I haven’t had a chance to check him out yet.”

“Do you need help?” Braden asked. “I owe you after all.”

“No need. This time I can avoid involving more people than necessary.” Lincoln looked pointedly at Arizona.

“If you need help, we can help you,” she said.

“Me, not you,” Braden told her.

“Neither one of you. I do this for a living.” No way was Lincoln allowing them to get involved.

Arizona smiled her awareness of his determination. “Remy is in good hands with you.” She picked up a game piece. “I’m Professor Plum.”

He took it from her. “You were Plum last time. I’m Plum. You be Mrs. Peacock.”

Braden sat down next to Arizona. “I’ll play, too.”

“Did she rope you into these games, too?” Lincoln asked.

“She makes them fun.” He leaned over and kissed her, making his sister radiate love.

Lincoln didn’t press them on what kind of fun they had when they played board games. He was pretty sure they rarely finished them.

Checking on Remy again, he wondered if she was in good hands. Was she safe with him? He wasn’t so sure. Tristan wasn’t your average thug. And depending on what Lincoln learned about him, this could be more dangerous than he’d imagined so far. Too dangerous, even for him.

* * *

Remy watched Lincoln playing a game with his sister and her husband. She’d seen the way he looked at her and didn’t have to guess what the three were talking about. His freedom of communication was both admirable and disturbing. She wasn’t sure she wanted his family knowing the police had questioned her in connection to a murder.

Lincoln’s dad finished making chili for the chili dogs they’d decided to make tonight. Remy wasn’t sure how that was better than Lincoln’s casserole.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asked Autumn. Savanna and Jonas had moved over to the table to watch the game going on there.

“Have family parties?” Autumn looked around. Jackson Ivy swung Camille around for a dance in front of the giant pan of steaming chili, humming a tune, both of them smiling at each other. Jonas gave a shout as Lincoln found the murder weapon in the library, and everyone else laughed, except Arizona, who shouted, “I knew I should have made you let me be the professor!”

“Yeah. Mom loves to keep in touch,” Autumn said.

And could afford to fly in and out whenever the whim took her.

“She descends randomly. Last month it was Savanna’s house in Pagosa Springs. Savanna wasn’t happy about it. For a motivational speaker, she sure is morose.”

Remy looked over at the woman. She seemed to be enjoying this party, but Remy had seen the hint of sadness earlier when they’d talked briefly.

“Samúð,” Autumn said, the foreign language sounding beautiful on her rich, sultry voice.

She’d been slipping in words like that ever since she’d gotten here.

“What is sa-moo?” Remy asked.

“Icelandic for pity. I wish I could snap her out of it.” Autumn continued to watch her sister.

“You know languages?”

“Several. That’s what I do for a living. I’m an independent contractor for now.”

“Really?” Remy glanced around the crowd of people who didn’t have to do anything to earn a living but did.

There had been a time when she had worked hard to earn an above-average income. She was nowhere near the wealth surrounding her, but she’d managed to work her way to a comfortable living. That was before she’d met Wade.

“You all seem so normal, and then...” She looked back at Lincoln’s dad, who’d released his wife to stir the chili.

“Yeah. It was always important to Mom that we be raised as normally as possible. We were spanked and grounded just like other Americans, trust me. My parents believe that discipline is necessary no matter what walk of life you come from.”

Remy nodded. “I can see that.” She turned to Autumn. “You have an amazing family.”

“What about yours? Do you have family here?”

Family...

Remy contemplated avoiding that piece of conversation, putting her hands on the back of the kitchen island stool. “My mother died three years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been hard on your family.”

“It was just the two of us.” Remy was too aware of the stark contrast between this family gathering and those she’d grown up with.

“No grandparents?”

“My grandfather died when my mother was an infant, and my grandmother never remarried. My mother was an only child like me. I never had a chance to meet my grandmother. She died when my mother was eighteen.”

“What about your dad?”

“He left before I was born. I guess single motherhood runs in the family.” She smiled past her difficulty in talking about her father. Many times she’d gotten curious about who he was and had always stopped taking action to try to find him. He obviously hadn’t been interested in her, so why should she bother tracking him down? Still, the curiosity had taken root. Seeing her mother die alone hadn’t helped. Her mother had loved the father of her child, and like her own mother, had never remarried.

“Well, if you wind up in this family, you’ll probably wish you were back in the days you were an only child.” Autumn breathed a laugh.

How would she end up in this family? Why had Autumn said that? Remy looked over her shoulder at Lincoln and caught him staring, intent blue eyes and sexy, messy blond hair. His arm was resting on the table, biceps round and strong.

“He keeps looking at you like that.”

Remy dropped her hands from the back of the chair, uncomfortable.

“Are you two seeing each other?” Autumn asked.

“Oh, no. We’re just neighbors, and Maddie loves him.”

At the sound of her name, Maddie trotted over and sat, lifting a white paw, looking up with sweet eyes. Then a low growl began, puffing her whiskery cheeks, building into a soft, communicative bark.

Autumn laughed. “I was going to ask who Maddie was.” She knelt and pet the dog. “No introductions necessary. Hello, Maddie.” The dog shifted her butt so that she could put her paw on Autumn’s leg now.

“What a sweet dog.”

Remy shook her head as Maddie’s gaze moved to her, as though saying, “She likes me more than you.” “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Food’s on,” Camille said.

Remy surmised that Lincoln kept paper products on hand for events such as this. He had a big pantry full of them.

“Here you go, honey.” Camille handed Remy a plate and took one herself. “Let’s fill up.”

Oh, no. Did she mean to sit by her? Remy had no other choice than to precede the woman to the spread on the counter by the stove. She put a dog on a bun and covered it with chili, followed by a few fries.

Just as she’d feared, Camille led her into the dining room off Lincoln’s living room, where someone had lengthened the table and added a few chairs, and sat beside her.

Camille ate a few bites before using her fork as a conversational pointer. “You know,” she said, “Lincoln is my oldest.”

“Yes, he told me.” She ate a fry.

That news seemed to give Camille pause. “You two have been getting close.”

“Oh, no.” Why did everyone think that?

“Lincoln isn’t exactly an open book. Especially after Miranda.”

Remy sensed his mother testing her. Did she know about Miranda? “Who is that?”

“His girlfriend. He was going to marry her. He’s never told me that, but I know.”

“What happened?”

Camille abandoned her fork, and sadness sobered her eyes. “They were on vacation in New York, walking down a busy street when a drive-by shooting took place. The shooter was targeting someone else, but she was in the way. It was completely random.”

The violence of it caught Remy unprepared. Lincoln seemed to attract that kind of mayhem. And now Remy had dragged him into her mess.

“That’s horrible.”

“He still thinks there’s something he could have done. It happened more than seven years ago, and still he can’t let it go.” Camille shook her head with lingering sadness. “It’s the reason he became a bounty hunter.”

Remy went still. Bounty hunter? “I thought he taught martial arts.”

“He does. But he hunts bail jumpers, too.”

Lincoln entered the room with his plate, joining the rest of his family at the table and sitting on the other side, two chairs down from his mother. He caught her look and eyed his mother, clearly picking up on the somberness of their talk and not liking it.

And didn’t it just figure that he was a bounty hunter? If Remy could, she’d get up and run out of here and keep running. Her dog and fear of Tristan stopped her. Maddie sat beside her, begging for food with just a look and a string of drool hanging indecorously from her whisker-peppered cheek. She had to find a safe place for Maddie while she cleared her name.

* * *

Lincoln shut down his computer, simmering over what he’d just learned from his internet search. It hadn’t taken long.

His family had finally left after midnight, and after he took Remy over to her house for a bag of clothes and toiletries, she’d gone to bed and he’d sneaked into his office. He’d still been annoyed after trying to get his mother to tell him what she and Remy had discussed at dinner. His mother had feigned ignorance on her way out the door, claiming she had only tried to get to know his new girlfriend. Remy wasn’t his girlfriend. Nor would she ever be after what he’d just read.

Now he understood why she was so reluctant to talk to police. She was wanted for murder in Newport Beach, California. And he was drawn into the trouble.

Lincoln was furious.

Not caring about her privacy, he went down the hall and opened the guest room door. She stood beside the bed, covers in hand, ready to climb in. Freezing when she saw him, she stared, unconcerned with the spaghetti-strap, knee-length nightie she wore. Right now, neither was he.

“We aren’t going to sleep until you tell me about Kirby Clark. And make sure you don’t leave out the reason why you tell everyone your name is Remy Lang.”

A couple webpages had revealed that. Clark’s murder was all over the news, and so were pictures of a striking look-alike to Remy Lang, known in Newport Beach, California as Sabrina Tierney, top HR executive for OneDefense Corporation. A far cry from the assistant she was now. He’d stopped reading then. He wanted to hear it from her. Better yet, he’d rely on some strategic friends for better intel.

At last she gathered her wits and straightened.

“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “Tristan Coulter is trying to frame me for his murder.”

“Why?” His patience had already worn thin, and he struggled to hang on to what was left of it now.

“I was a friend of Kirby’s.”

He stepped forward. She stayed on the other side of the bed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Ramrod straight and still, she didn’t respond. Why would she? She’d assumed a false identity to escape the trouble that had chased her away from California.

“What kind of friend was Clark to you?” he said to help her open up.

Several seconds slid into the past before she turned and sat on the bed.

He went there and sat beside her, partly to let her know he wasn’t leaving until he had answers, and partly as a supportive gesture. He had no idea where the latter came from. The woman had lied to him. But he wanted her to tell him the truth.

“I met him at a conference,” she finally said. “We struck up a friendship after that. He wanted more. An opening came up at OneDefense, and he helped me get the job.”

“What conference?”

Again, she hesitated. “It was a gun show.”

A gun show. “You like guns?”

“I’ve taken up an interest recently.” She sounded almost sarcastic.

“What’s recent?”

“Over the past two years. But I’ve target practiced before that.”

She didn’t strike him as the type to have an NRA membership. “Did you know about the job when you went to the gun show?”

“No. The gun show was a few weeks before the job became available.”

“And you suddenly took an interest in a job at OneDefense? Didn’t you already have a job?”

“I worked for an insurance company that wasn’t paying well. Certainly not as well as OneDefense. And...”

And what? Had she known about the illegal gun sales? Had her allegiance with Kirby primed her to get in on the profits?

“Did you ever become romantically involved with Clark?”

Her eyes blinked. “As I said, he wanted more. I didn’t.”

He’d seen from pictures that Kirby Clark was an attractive man. Divorced. Available. Had she used him to get in on the gun sales? She claimed to be trying to gather evidence against Tristan. That much must be true. Lincoln had seen the envelope, and Tristan was trying to kill her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own agenda where the gun sales were concerned. And she had developed an interest in guns before she’d met Kirby.

“Why was he murdered?” he asked.

That upset her. She averted her head and again didn’t reply immediately.

“We had plans to go for drinks and dinner one night. I was early getting to his office.” She looked up at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes. “Tristan was there. He was trying to convince Kirby to join him in his illegal operation. I couldn’t tell if Kirby was seriously considering it or if he was playing along to keep Tristan under control. Tristan saw me in the doorway. There were still a lot of people in the office building, so he didn’t do anything right away. He pulled me into Kirby’s office and closed the door. That’s when he told Kirby he thought they should get rid of me. Kirby argued with him, and eventually we were able to get out of the building.”

She lowered her head, tears springing to her eyes. “We were sure Tristan would try to kill me. We went for a quick dinner to make plans. He gave me Wade’s name and told me to leave California. When he drove me home, Tristan was waiting inside my house. He had a gun.”

Wiping away a tear, she took a pillow from the bed and hugged it, then slowly turned to look at him, cheek resting on the pillow. “Tristan found a knife in my kitchen and tried to stab me. Kirby stopped him. He and Tristan fought, and Kirby was stabbed. Tristan forced me to handle the knife. He was wearing gloves. He never used his gun and took the knife with him when he left. The police found it in a Dumpster near my house. As Kirby lay there dying, he told me to go as we’d planned. I called for help for him and did as he suggested. Now I wish I never had.”

Because going to Wade had led to more trouble. Lincoln reached over and touched her back, rubbing gently. “Did Wade help you the way Kirby said he would?”

“At first. He arranged a false ID for me. But he held that over my head, tried to get me to start buying guns through his store so that he could sell them illegally on the street. He was getting greedy. I refused, and he began to get violent. Then he discovered I was gathering information on him. Most of the money he made from the illegal gun sales went to Tristan. Tristan is running the operation.”

“Why was Wade killed?” Lincoln asked, although he already had a pretty good idea.

“He knew about Kirby, that Tristan was the one who murdered him. I told him. He must have threatened to go to the police.”

Because Wade wanted more money out of the gun operation. So Tristan had killed him. If what Sabrina was saying was true, she hadn’t known Wade was in on the gun sales until after she’d gone to him for help.

Lincoln believed her. She was telling him the truth. But there were some things she was keeping from him, such as why she’d gone to the gun show. Why would someone who worked for an insurance company take interest in firearms? He supposed it was possible. Lots of people had hobbies outside of work they didn’t share. But other aspects of Sabrina’s personality didn’t fit the profile of a gun enthusiast. Her femininity. Her relationship with her dog. Hell, the dog itself. Although a hunting breed, Maddie was no hunter.

Perhaps she’d known about OneDefense, taken an interest in the company and planned to get a job there. What drove her? What was she after? To expose Tristan? Or use what she had on him to get what she wanted? What could that be? Money? Or was meeting Kirby innocent?

Now that Tristan had thwarted her efforts to clear her name, what would she do? What would they do? It was time for him to take charge.

“Go pack a bigger bag. We’re going to California,” he said.

“What? No. The police are looking for me there.”

“They’re going to be looking for you here, too. If they haven’t pieced together Kirby’s murder and your false name yet, they will very soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“They’ll recognize you in photographs, for one.”

The rest would be simple logic. How could she be Sabrina Tierney, wanted for questioning in one murder investigation, and Remy Lang, a person of interest in another? Both in different states. Of course, it would appear she’d run from one only to land herself in trouble with another.

He watched her lower her head as she drew the same conclusion. The only way to clear her name was to expose Tristan. And how would they do that when she was continually being linked to murders?

Chapter 4

Sajal Kapoor whistled as he pushed his blue janitorial cart along the polished floor of a wide hallway at OneDefense Corporation. He’d grab himself a soda before heading up to the executive and management offices to finish up his night. He was more anxious than usual to leave. His wife worked part-time at a bank. Their schedules worked well for their son and daughter, ages ten and fourteen. Sajal took them to school in the mornings and his wife picked them up. But he was always eager to get home to see her. His wife and kids were his world. He was a simple man and, frankly, was glad there were people like the ones who ran this company. He preferred his undemanding job over that life. He put in his forty hours and went home. His weekends were devoted to his family, not work.

Things sure had turned out different than his dad had always taught him. Left out of those teachings was the reality that a man had to sacrifice a family life if he wanted to make a lot of money. That wasn’t something Sajal had the slightest desire to do.

His parents had moved to the United States before he was born and raised him to believe this was a country where dreams came true. This gun company wasn’t his idea of a dream, but it gave his family health insurance and a roof over all their heads. His wife’s income went for food and clothing, and his income covered the rest. They even managed to save a small amount each month.

Hearing Enrique and Jasper at the espresso machine, a smile perked up Sajal. Tuesday night at ten o’clock in Newport Beach, California just got a little brighter. Jasper always wore jean overalls. He was OneDefense’s senior electrician. Enrique was one of four handymen. Leaving his cart near the long cafeteria island, he went to the two.

“Sajal,” Enrique greeted in his Spanish accent.

“Good morning,” Sajal said with a slight Indian accent he’d gotten from his parents, who still spoke their native language frequently. They hadn’t mastered English as well as Sajal had. Growing up here was different than immigrating.

Jasper handed him an espresso. He took it with a nod of appreciation and sipped.

“We were just talking about Kirby Clark,” Jasper said. “I heard on the news this morning that there’s still no sign of Sabrina Tierney.”

The entire company had been abuzz over Kirby’s murder. And why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t every day a man was murdered at your place of employment.

First, a rumor had spread that Kirby and the head of HR had been having an affair, then he’d turned up dead and the woman had disappeared.

“You think she did it?” Jasper asked.

“I heard another woman who was seeing Mr. Clark showed up last Tuesday asking questions about Sabrina,” Enrique said. “The two didn’t know about each other. He was bangin’ them both. And you will not believe this...the other woman is married!” Enrique’s eyes popped wide open, and a big, white, toothy smile formed on his face. He was loving the gossip.

“Explains why he kept her a secret,” Jasper said.

Sajal wasn’t so sure all of this gossip was accurate. “Sabrina’s assistant said Sabrina and Kirby were just friends. They went to lunch and dinner a lot but didn’t sleep together.”

“That’s what they’d want you to believe.” Jasper finished his espresso. “I think Sabrina found out about the other woman and killed him.”

Sabrina Tierney had always been kind to Sajal. She’d worked long hours and had usually been in her office when he’d come by to empty her trash, one of the last things he did before leaving for the night. She’d hand him the trash can and ask him how his family was doing. She even remembered their names. It was rare when someone at that level acknowledged him so genuinely. No, that woman had a good heart. He didn’t care what the news said. She didn’t kill Kirby. He may not be the brightest man on Earth, but he had a good sense about people, and Sabrina had never given him a bad feeling.

“Have you ever met her dog?” Sajal asked.

Both Enrique and Jasper looked at him without answering, mystified over his question, in such contrast to the scandal.

“No owner of a dog like that could be a killer,” he continued. “She brought her in sometimes, when she worked real late.” Which had been often. “That dog would jump up on me and try to lick my face off. Always had a stuffed toy to show me, too.” He wondered what had happened to her and Sabrina.

“You really don’t think it was her?” Jasper asked.

Sajal shrugged. “I’m no detective, but it just doesn’t seem that way to me.”

After a bit, Jasper said, “You think you know people, and they end up getting arrested for murder. It happens.”

Enrique nodded. “Yeah. The quiet neighbor. Teachers molesting students. Priests.” He nodded again. “Yeah. Sabrina seems nice, but she could have murdered him.”

“Who else could it have been?” Jasper asked.

“The married woman,” Sajal said.

The two mulled that over.

“She was pretty upset when she came here,” Enrique said. “I didn’t hear her talking to Tristan, but I did see her leave. She was crying.” His accent drew out the last word.

“The news said the knife used to kill Kirby was found in a Dumpster near Sabrina’s house. Her prints were on it,” Jasper said.

“Of course they were,” Sajal argued. “It was her knife. It came from her kitchen. Anyone could have put it there.”

“Like the secret woman,” Enrique said.

Or someone else. Sajal thought there was more going on than any of them knew. If Kirby’s murder would ever be solved, he’d bet they’d all be surprised by the outcome. But it was nothing the three of them would solve over espresso. And Sajal had a wife to go home to.

“Well, I should get going. My wife said she’d wait up for me tonight. I don’t want to be late.”

“Ah,” Enrique teased. “Sajal’s gonna get lucky tonight.” His accent accentuated lucky tonight. It sometimes annoyed Sajal.

Jasper said nothing, his face turning somber. He’d recently finalized his divorce, and he wasn’t the one who’d wanted it. His wife had declared she’d grown beyond what their relationship could give her. Jasper hadn’t known until after she’d served him that she’d met another man. He was devastated. Sajal was concerned his friend and coworker wouldn’t be able to overcome it and move on.

Enrique, on the other hand, had yet to be married. “Someday you’ll understand.” Sajal finished his espresso and threw out the small cup. Then he gave Jasper a pat on his shoulder. “Try to distract yourself with your work. If you’re going to think of her, think of the good times and don’t regret.”

Jasper’s sorrow lifted just a little. “You always know what to say, Sajal.” He checked his cell phone. “Too bad it isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

Turning, Sajal went to his cart. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Have fun tonight,” Enrique said, drawing out tonight.

Without responding, he kept his annoyance to himself and left the cafeteria. He pushed his cart toward the executive and management offices. He cleaned those last since the executives and managers were always the last to leave at night.

Thinking of Maeve, Sajal finished the executive offices and headed for the storage closet down the hall for more supplies. He’d clean the managers’ offices and then he’d be finished. A man passed him in the hall as he unlocked the door. Sajal glanced at him, but the man paid him no heed. Tension deepened otherwise shallow wrinkles on his brow and around his mouth. He was perhaps in his early fifties. His strides were long and purposeful. He wasn’t a tall man. Average. In pretty good shape, with only a slight protrusion in the stomach area. He had green eyes and fine, medium brown hair that had yet to go gray.

The man reached Tristan Coulter’s office and pushed the door open without knocking.

“We need to talk.” The man intended to close the door behind him, Sajal thought, but it stopped an inch or so from doing so completely.

Any other office, Sajal would have moved on out of respect for privacy. But this was Tristan’s office, the very one visited by Kirby’s secret lover. Sajal wasn’t one to give in to gossip, but he found himself curious nonetheless. He dallied in the supply closet, which was directly across the hall from Tristan’s office. He didn’t understand Tristan’s job. As account manager, he was part of customer service and had a team of representatives who reported to him.

“The chief came to see me this afternoon,” the visitor said.

Sajal heard Tristan’s chair move as though he leaned back against it. He didn’t know what kind of man Tristan was, but he’d heard rumors that he had a bad temper, that most of those who reported to him didn’t like him and even feared him.

“Have a seat, Archer. Calm down and tell me what’s got you in such a lather.”

“Don’t patronize me. It’s easy for you to sit behind that desk and tell me to calm down. This whole thing is blowing up, and I want nothing more to do with it.”

“Sit down, Archer.”

“You son of a—”

“Sit down!” Tristan shouted.

Archer must have gone to sit down. Sajal leaned to peer through the open supply-closet door. The windows on each side of the door to Tristan’s office had blinds on the inside that were closed. He could see a sliver of the back of Archer’s head through the barely open office door. He had gone to sit in front of Tristan’s desk. Sajal couldn’t see Tristan. His chair was blocked by the door.

“He suspects something,” Archer said. “He asked me why I was so convinced Sabrina Tierney killed Kirby when the crime scene suggests there were more than two people involved. Fibers were found that aren’t linked to either Kirby or Sabrina. He knows there was a third person there, Tristan. I can’t keep insisting Sabrina Tierney is my primary suspect. Nobody will believe me.”

Tristan remained silent for a beat or two. “What fibers were found?”

“Clothing. A green cotton fiber.”

Tristan didn’t say anything at first. “That doesn’t mean anything. Fibers alone can’t convict someone. You have to be able to prove someone committed the crime. Let the chief speculate. Tell him you’ll look into it.”

“I did. But he asked why I hadn’t yet.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I missed it. He looked at me funny and told me to report to him after I finished checking it out.”

“So check it out. It won’t lead anywhere.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you won’t let it lead anywhere.” Tristan paused. “Right?”

Archer now paused.

Sajal heard Tristan move. Archer stood from the chair, and Sajal saw Tristan’s hand go to his back.

“You worry too much,” Tristan said. “This will all work out. You’ll see.”

“I should have never listened to you.”

“You had no other choice. You did the right thing, Archer. Now, go home and relax. Tomorrow you can check into the fiber and report it to the chief. He’ll forget all about it then, and all of this will be a thing of the past.” He guided Archer to the door.

Sajal turned his back and pretended to be busy in the supply closet. He put some window cleaner into his cart. When he emerged from the closet, Archer was gone, and Tristan stood in his now-open doorway, slightly graying hair belying his sixty years. He was in shape and looked younger than he was. Sajal only knew his age because one of the administrative assistants had told him.

“Oh,” Sajal said. “Mr. Coulter. Working late tonight?”

“How long have you been in there?” Tristan asked.

Sajal shrugged. “Not long. Just restocking for tomorrow.”

Tristan merely studied him, picking him apart. Sajal could feel him wondering if he’d heard any of the conversation between him and Archer.

“Did you see the man that was just here?”

“I heard someone leave your office, but I didn’t see anyone, no. Is there a problem?”

“No.” Tristan’s lined mouth turned down in false nonchalance. “No problem.”

Sajal pushed his cart down the hall, eager to get away. “Have a nice evening, sir.”

“You, too.... I didn’t catch your name.”

Sajal stopped, his heart jumping into apprehensive beats. “Sajal Kapoor, sir.”

“Mr. Kapoor. You have a good evening, as well.”

Sajal smiled. “Thank you. I will.” He was certain this would be the one and only time Tristan Coulter would remember a low-level employee’s name.

* * *

Sajal shut the door after arriving home and saw his wife come to greet him. “How was your day?” Maeve asked, kissing him when he leaned down. She usually waited up for him. She had the day off tomorrow so he didn’t feel too badly about keeping her up past her bedtime.

“Strange.” Straightening, he looked into her brown eyes and noticed that she’d done her hair and wore one of her favorite sundresses that smoothed her slightly overweight frame. “You look beautiful.”

She beamed, her subtly crooked teeth flashing. “What was strange about today?” She turned and led him into the kitchen.

He didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let me get comfortable.”

“Meet you in here.”

It smelled wonderful. He walked down the hall of their three-bedroom ranch and called, “Where are the kids?”

“At Mom’s for the night. She’s taking them to school in the morning.”

They really had the night to themselves, then. Sajal changed into shorts and a Yosemite National Park T-shirt and went into the kitchen where his wife was stirring spaghetti sauce. She made it with sausage and lots of tomatoes, just the way they both loved it. Spaghetti was the first dinner they’d had together. He’d taken her to a local place, not a chain. And when she’d ordered spaghetti, he’d known he’d met his soul mate.

He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her behind her ear.

After she giggled softly, she asked, “What was strange about today?”

Sighing, still not wanting to talk about it but compelled to share with his wife, he answered, “I heard a conversation that disturbed me today.”

As her mouth opened to probe, he shushed her and held his finger up, pressing it to her lips. He saw her eyes register his concern.

“Sajal.” She swatted his hand away.

Now her brow lowered, and those lovely eyes admonished. She knew something was amiss. He almost smiled. Worry kept it at bay. He loved her so much. Strong, beautiful woman.

“My darling.” He kissed her cheek.

She pushed his chest. “You tell me now!”

He stepped back, adoring her, calmed by her. “I love you even when you’re mad.”

She poked him with her finger, not hard enough to hurt, just demanding.

“I heard Tristan talking tonight to a man I don’t know. It was about Kirby Clark’s murder.”

Her hand flattened on his chest. “You’re worried. What did they say? Tell me all.”

He didn’t want to.

“Sajal...”

He sighed again, this time with more reluctance. “Maeve. It is work.”

“Work? The CEO was murdered, Sajal. Now, you tell me what you heard.”

He contemplated refusing. Would he put her in danger if he did as she asked?

“Sajal...?”

He knew that tone. There was no getting around answering her. “I heard Tristan talking in his office tonight.” His wife turned the burner to simmer. The water for the noodles was just beginning to boil, and the smell of baking French bread began to fill the house. “A man came to see him. He called him Archer. They talked about Kirby Clark’s murder, about evidence Archer was concerned would come to light.”

“Evidence?” Maeve put noodles into the water.

“Fiber evidence. Archer must be a detective because he mentioned his chief.”

“And this Archer person is hiding evidence?” Maeve faced him, grave confusion and worry filling her eyes. “What does Tristan have to do with it? Why is he involved?”

“That I don’t know. He was supporting Archer, who seemed afraid he’d be caught.”

“Why? Does he know who killed Kirby?”

“Oh, I definitely think he does.”

“Do you think it was Tristan?”

The way Tristan had spoken made Sajal say no. He was supportive of Archer. But then, Tristan was known for his ruthless ways, his fearlessness. In business, he was successful. He’d probably worked his way up to the executive ranks.

“What were you doing outside his office?” she asked.

“I was in one of the supply closets. It was across the hall.”

“Did they see you?”

“Tristan did. He asked how long I’d been there. I pretended not to be aware that he and Archer had talked.”

His wife’s eyes searched his face. She was worried. He didn’t like seeing her that way. “Did he believe you?”

Sajal replayed the exchange in his mind and had to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

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