“Do you have an extra room, by any chance?” Damien asked.

Molly laid down a spoon and looked at him with such hope. “You’ll stay here? With me?” Her relief was nearly palpable.

“I have an idea,” he said, using his most businesslike tone. “How do you think Jensen would react to your having a live-in lover?”

Her beautiful mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened with shock. Then she laughed, that full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughter he remembered from when he’d first met her. His own smile widened in response to it. Even her child giggled and patted its sticky hands together.

How would it be if Molly touched him with a bit of that caring she showed so easily to her family? She must have some to spare. It needn’t be anything permanent. Love certainly wasn’t necessary, or even something he wanted from her. That would be a little too deep for comfort. He wished only for a taste of how it would feel to know someone cared.

Dear Reader,

It’s the beginning of a new year, and Intimate Moments is ready to kick things off with six more fabulously exciting novels. Readers have been clamoring for Linda Turner to create each new installment of her wonderful miniseries THOSE MARRYING MCBRIDES! In Never Been Kissed she honors those wishes with the deeply satisfying tale of virginal nurse Janey McBride and Dr. Reilly Jones, who’s just the man to teach her how wonderful love can be when you share it with the right man.

A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues to keep readers on the edge of their seats with The Spy Who Loved Him, bestselling author Merline Lovelace’s foray into the dangerous jungles of Central America, where the loving is as steamy as the air. And you won’t want to miss My Secret Valentine, the enthralling conclusion to our in-line 36 HOURS spin-off. As always, Marilyn Pappano delivers a page-turner you won’t be able to resist. Ruth Langan begins a new trilogy, THE SULLIVAN SISTERS, with Awakening Alex, sure to be another bestseller. Lyn Stone’s second book for the line, Live-In Lover, is sure to make you her fan. Finally, welcome brand-new New Zealand sensation Frances Housden. In The Man for Maggie she makes a memorable debut, one that will have you crossing your fingers that her next book will be out soon.

Enjoy! And come back next month, when the excitement continues here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Live-In Lover
Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LYN STONE

loves creating pictures with words. Paints, too. Her love affair with writing and art began in the third grade, when she won a school-wide prize for her colorful poster for book week. She spent the prize money on books, one of which was Little Women.

She rewrote the ending so that Jo marries her childhood sweetheart. That’s because Lyn had a childhood sweetheart herself and wanted to marry him when she grew up. She did. And now she is living her “happily-ever-after” in north Alabama with the same guy. She and Allen have traveled the world, had two children, four grandchildren and experienced some wild adventures along the way.

Whether writing romantic historicals or contemporary fiction, Lyn insists on including elements of humor, mystery and danger. Perhaps because that other book she purchased all those years ago was a Nancy Drew story.

In appreciation for pep talks and the lively exchange

of ideas, this book is dedicated to fellow adventure

lovers Debra Webb, Dianne Hamilton,

Martha Kreiger, Mary Bauer and Rhonda Nelson.

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

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Damien Perry popped the cap off his bottle of Guinness, shook his head and laughed, a mirthless sound, as most of his laughs were these days. Sad commentary when a man had to check where a message came from to determine who he was supposed to be.

His thumb traced the postmark on the unopened envelope that lay on the bunk beside him. Nashville, Tennessee. Ah, yes, his role as an assassin.

He’d spent almost a decade now assuming other accents and identities, and the job was getting old. The Bureau loaned him out to other agencies for joint operations as if he were a piece of office equipment.

He had considered resigning. Government pay was atrocious, even with the hefty allowance for designer clothes on assignments such as his last one. The investments he’d made with his inheritance would insure he never had to work again.

But what would he do if he quit? Hang out a shingle and use his law degree?

Damien scoffed and took a good, long swig off his stout. He kicked off his deck shoes and got comfortable, determined to enjoy this leisure even if it killed him. If he didn’t gear down between jobs, he’d burn out for certain.

The plain white envelope lay there as if daring him to rip it open, so he did. No letter inside, just a small rectangle of beige linen card stock.

He smiled for real when he read the name on it. Marian Olivia Jensen. He only knew one Jensen from Nashville. It had to be her. What on earth could Molly want from him? He flipped the card over and read the handwritten message on the back. Please call. I need your help. This is urgent. M.J.

He lay back on the narrow bunk in the cabin of the Anna Louise and held the card aloft to examine it further. The line beneath her name bore the words “Freelance Graphics.” Below that a post office box, phone and fax numbers.

How had she gotten the address of the post office box where he occasionally docked? Few knew of it.

The Bureau had used the Florida address a couple of times to contact him since he had been working the boat thefts up and down the lower east coast.

Now that the DEA had rounded up the smugglers who had been appropriating private craft for their runs, Damien was taking six weeks’ leave on his rented sloop to wind down.

When he’d gone into the small post office branch to cancel the box this morning, the mail clerk had given him the envelope.

Michael Duvek, the regional director in Memphis, must have given Molly Jensen the address. Other than her brother, Duvek was the only person they really knew in common.

But Damien hardly knew her at all. They had met only twice while he was in the hospital in Memphis after that Nashville fiasco. The acquaintance was memorable for him, despite its brevity. A bright ray of sun on one of his darkest days there six months ago.

She had been visiting her brother, Ford Devereaux, the agent he had shared the semiprivate room with after they’d both been wounded. Absently, he ran a finger over the puckered red scar on his right side, just below his ribs.

Strange that she should remember him. Damien had just come from surgery and recovery and was barely conscious when Devereaux introduced his sister. What a smile to wake up to. Unforgettable.

The next time she had visited, they had gone down the hall together for coffee—no fun task in his barely ambulatory condition—to give Devereaux and his fiancée a little privacy.

So that was the extent of their acquaintance, his and Molly Jensen’s, a drugged-out how-do-you-do, terrible coffee, and a quarter hour of conversation.

But Damien could never forget a woman like Devereaux’s sister, no matter how short the association. Just thinking about her made him smile with remembered pleasure.

She was tall, a few inches shy of six feet. Lithe and graceful, but too energetic for a model. She’d moved more like an athlete. Perfect skin, auburn hair that shone like polished copper and a laugh that made her green eyes sparkle like gems. Such expressive eyes, he remembered.

Damien recalled how much he had wanted to touch her. Not sexually, exactly, though the idea certainly had merit. But just to see whether her joie de vivre was tangible, maybe even contagious. It had been.

As luck would have it, she had touched him first, just an arm beneath his to lend support. He’d been infinitely glad to be alive in that moment.

He looked at the card one more time and got up, sliding his bare feet into his shoes. What would she need him for so urgently? Though this certainly stirred his curiosity, answering her summons might not be a wise move.

She hadn’t mentioned a husband, but she was most likely married. He knew she had a very young child because she had whipped out pictures and bragged that day.

A baby girl who was not especially photogenic. A smile tugged at his lips. In the photos it had worn one of those ruffled garter-looking things around its bald head and a fancy dress to match. He clearly remembered the poor thing only had two teeth shining in that wide grin.

Now why had he wasted brain cells storing inconsequential details such as that?

Damien didn’t care much for children. At least, he didn’t think he did. As it happened, he’d never had the opportunity to know any close at hand. Judging solely on what others had said about them, they were messy little creatures, noisy and wildly unpredictable.

No, it definitely would not be smart to reply to this message of Molly Jensen’s, given that she was married and a mother and he had felt a definite attraction. Forbidden fruit always tempted him and Damien had learned the hard way to steer a wide course around it.

This time he wouldn’t. He wanted to see her again. If she happened to be off limits, so be it. Nothing said he had to pursue her.

Ignoring his better judgment, Damien slipped on a shirt and headed out to the phone booth by the marina. She’d stirred his curiosity. He would find out just why she thought she did need him.

The skills he possessed might be in demand in some quarters of the world, but surely not in that of a wholesome young wife and mother like Molly Jensen.

Molly wrapped her arms tighter around the sleeping toddler and pressed her lips against the silky curls on her crown. “Oh, Syd, what’s Mama gonna do?”

The phone rang for the fourth time and the answering machine kicked on. She listened to her own voice on the recorded message and waited for the beep. Molly dreaded hearing the laugh, that menacing, deep-throated chuckle. She had endured three of these calls already since noon. Their frequency was increasing.

If she answered, he might talk to her, offering more of those snide, oily questions of concern for her and Sydney that only she recognized as threats. That would be worse than these wordless messages, yet just knowing who it was on the line in no way lessened the terror.

“Hello, Mrs. Jensen,” a deep voice said. “Damien Perry here. I received your card. If you would like—”

She snatched up the receiver. “Wait! Don’t hang up! Hold on a minute, I have to put the baby down.”

She ran to the playpen, carefully laid the sleeping toddler next to her teddy bear, and hurried back. “Sorry. I would have answered right away, but I thought… Well, never mind that now. Are you here? In Nashville?”

“No, I’m not. I’m just responding to your—”

“How soon can you come? You can, can’t you? I mean, I’m at my wit’s end here, and I thought since you were a good friend of Ford’s and he’s not in country, and Mr. Duvek couldn’t—”

“Calm down, Mrs. Jensen. You’re speaking too rapidly for me to understand you. Are you in trouble?”

“It’s Ms. not Mrs. No, it’s Molly to you, but that’s not important. I really need your help—and right away if you can come. Please! It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Whose death?” he demanded, his words curt.

“Mine,” she said, swallowing hard to stifle a moan. “And maybe Sydney’s, too.”

“Sydney?”

“My baby. Remember? Please, will you come? I honestly don’t have anyone else I can turn to. It’s too much to ask, I know, but I can pay you for this. Whatever you charge, I can pay you. Maybe not all at once, but we can work something out.”

“Wait. Before you go any further, tell me exactly what it is that you want me to do.”

“Help me make him stop. I can’t stand this anymore. He’s called three times today and—”

“Do you know who it is?” he interrupted.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, shuddering. “My ex-husband.”

“Molly, listen to me,” the voice ordered. “Calm down. I want you to make certain all of your doors and windows are locked, and after that—”

“They are locked!”

“Fine. Now, have you informed the police? You’ll need an Order of Protection.”

“I have one, and I’ve called until I’m blue in the face, and even went down to the station and talked to them. They won’t do anything because I can’t prove it’s him. They can’t unless he does something and I can prove it. That could be too late. Are you coming or not?”

A long silence followed before he said, “Yes. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, clutching the phone to her chest with both hands. “Oh, thank you.” Soon now. Soon it would be over and she and Syd would be safe.

A small measure of her terror had lifted just hearing Damien Perry’s voice. That deep, velvety I-will-handle-it tone soothed something within Molly, made her able to close her eyes and breathe more deeply. It renewed her hope, a severely eroded commodity these past three weeks.

Not that she liked the idea of calling on a man to solve her problems, but she had exhausted all her own resources.

The police must think she was crazy, calling them about threats that, when repeated, seemed totally harmless. The best they could do was enforce a restraining order, which in itself was as useful as a boat full of holes. Even if the police hauled him in, Jack could be out on bond the same day.

She fastened her attention on Sydney, who still slept in the playpen in the corner by the television. Her precious baby, her Syd, the person she loved most in the world. The threat encompassed her, too, just because she was Molly’s weak spot.

How could she ever make people believe a man would threaten his own daughter? They had barely believed him capable of hurting his wife, and most people blamed her for that. Everyone but the judge.

The female judge who heard the case was the only one who had bought the truth about him. Thank God she had. But Molly was still the only one in the world who knew exactly what Jack Jensen was capable of.

Molly remembered how he’d approached her last month, the Sunday after they’d released him from jail. He had publicly begged her forgiveness and pleaded for a reconciliation. Right outside in the churchyard after services. Jack couldn’t have picked a place with a larger audience of people who knew them, and she knew that the choice was deliberate on his part.

She hadn’t been nice in refusing him. He wanted her back, all right, and she knew why. To make her life a living hell. Again.

He had called the next day, more insistent, his tone more threatening than the actual words he used. “A woman shouldn’t live alone, Molly,” he’d said. “You know, all kinds of things might happen. Just you and your baby, all by yourselves in that great big house. It’s scary to think about, isn’t it? But I want you to think about it. Think hard.”

She shuddered, recalling the way Jack had laughed that grate-on-the-nerves chuckle that made her skin crawl.

Now when he called he never said anything, probably because he knew the court protection order was supposed to bar any communication. But he had found a way.

Jack was a master of intimidation. He had used fear to hold her once before, but Molly was determined not to cave in again.

Some days he parked outside, just sitting in his car, as though daring her to go out. When she did, he followed her until he caught her in a situation where he could apologize again, in front of her mother and several of their friends.

Jack had acted like a heartbroken husband who couldn’t bear to live without her. But Molly knew what he really wanted.

She could read his intentions in his dark, narrowed eyes, hear it in the promises that must sound tempting to anyone who didn’t know him as she did. Jack wanted revenge.

At first, he might have planned to take it privately, but she hadn’t been stupid enough to go back to him, thank God. Now that she’d made it clear she wouldn’t do that, he’d obviously decided on another method of retaliation. He would terrorize her until he grew tired of it, and who knew what he would do after that? Since the frequency of his calls was escalating, she feared she was about to find out.

Given his doubts about Sydney’s paternity, Molly feared as much for the baby as she did for herself. Maybe she should have insisted on giving him proof with a DNA test, but after Syd’s birth, she hadn’t wanted him to believe that he was the father. No way would she share her baby with that maniac. When Sydney was born, Molly was already in the process of divorcing him and he had been in lockup.

She curled into a ball on the end of the sofa near the loaded pistol. With all her might, she fought the exhaustion that threatened to close her eyes. A nap seemed too risky, as had sleep the night before.

“Hurry and come, Damien,” she pleaded with the man she had decided to trust. “Please.”

In spite of her efforts, Molly knew she had fallen asleep when the doorbell woke her. Sunlight spilled through the windows. She’d slept all night. Cursing herself for her lapse, she grabbed the gun.

Sydney stirred and would be waking soon for her breakfast. Molly prayed she would sleep a little longer. The doorbell chimed again before she reached it. Molly looked through the peephole.

With a huge sigh of relief, she slipped the chain off, unlocked the dead bolt and pulled the door open. “Thank goodness, I was afraid you’d change your mind. Come in, please.”

She stepped back to let him move past her, then hurriedly closed the door and fastened the locks. Suddenly she felt safer than she had in weeks.

“Allow me,” he said evenly, taking the pistol from her hand, “before you shoot one of us.” He clicked on the safety and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Then he smiled wryly, just a slight stretch of the lips, the corners barely turning up. “Hello again, by the way.”

“Hi, yourself,” Molly replied, her gaze riveted on his mouth. She forced herself to blink and look away, embarrassed by her reaction to him. He was still a heart-stopper, even more so than the last time they’d met.

She shrugged and held up her hands, empty now of the weapon and feeling useless. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” She laughed at herself. “I mean…that hospital gown, you know… So, I see you’re well now. Aren’t you? Well?”

“Quite recovered, thank you,” he replied, and inclined his head. The smile was no wider, but his eyes warmed with humor.

Lord, his voice soothed like melted chocolate, she thought. Smooth, rich English chocolate, if there was such a thing. Just a faint accent that did funny things to her stomach.

He surely did look well. Fantastic, in fact. Molly tried to be less obvious in her scrutiny, but it was hard. The man was a hunk, no denying it. Shoulders like a fullback and a face that would wring sighs out of a zealous nun.

If she didn’t watch herself here, she’d be wallowing in a deep case of hero worship. Well, he was a hero. Hadn’t he come to save her and Syd? Just like that, he’d come to the rescue without even knowing all the details. A guy just didn’t get much more heroic than that, in her opinion.

Her right hand started up to brush that sun-streaked wave off his tanned forehead. She stopped just in time, inwardly cursing her eagerness to touch. He hadn’t retreated. Hadn’t moved or even blinked. He just watched her with an intensity that nearly mesmerized.

Lord, didn’t he have the bluest eyes she had ever seen? Azure. Her favorite color.

She yanked her attention off his face and stared past him toward the kitchen. If she didn’t curb this adolescent behavior of hers, he would never take her seriously.

“I was about to fix breakfast. You want some?” She asked.

“Just coffee if you have it. Or tea would be fine.”

“Tea? For breakfast? Oh, you mean hot…”

He smiled again, this time full-out, and Molly thought her heart might stop for good, once it quit bonging around in her chest like a Super Ball. She’d forgotten those perfect teeth. And the dimples. Good grief, no wonder she was babbling like an idiot.

“Whatever you’re having will be fine,” he said.

A loud, piercing wail erupted. Molly turned and dashed down the hallway into the den to get Sydney before she woke up the entire neighborhood.

“Okay, babe, hang in there. Juice coming up. Dry pants first.” Molly ripped the night diaper’s tapes loose and began changing her.

“Is it hurt?” he asked above Syd’s noisy fretting.

“What?” Molly asked, confused. It? “Syd? Oh, no, she’s fine. Just wet and hungry.”

She pressed down the last tape on the diaper and hefted Syd out of the playpen. Shifting her handily onto one hip, Molly headed to the kitchen. “Come on.”

Quickly she plopped the baby in the high chair, washed her hands and poured a sippy-cup full of apple juice. “Like shutting off a siren, isn’t it?” she asked with a laugh as Syd gulped the juice.

His mouth quirked slightly to one side as he watched.

Molly dropped several vanilla wafers onto the highchair tray. “Sit down,” she invited. “I’ll put on the coffee.”

She took the basket of yesterday’s blueberry muffins out of the microwave, uncovered them, and set them on the table. “You want eggs and bacon? I think I have some in the fridge.”

“No, thank you,” he said politely, clasping his hands together on the tabletop. “Shall we get down to business, Ms. Jensen?”

“Sure. And please call me Molly. I mean, as long as you and Ford are such good friends—”

He looked ready to argue, and Molly didn’t think it was about the first name issue. She supposed he thought asking for this kind of help was too much, even for the sister of a friend and fellow agent. And it was, of course. She had known that up front.

“Look, maybe I was wrong to call you. I’ve really no right to involve you in this mess even if you are Ford’s buddy.”

Even as she let him off the hook with her words, she begged him with her eyes to consider helping her. Come on, Damien, please!

He considered what she’d said—and most likely her silent message, too—quietly, and at some length while Molly waited breathlessly for him to assure her he would help.

“You say you think your life is in danger?” he asked calmly.

Molly cleared her throat and looked away from him so she could think straight. “Yes, I do. I believe my ex-husband is insane.”

“And you believe him capable of violence?” he asked.

She raised her chin and faced him, mimicking his cool regard. “Yes, Damien, he certainly is capable of that.”

He nodded slightly and thought for another minute. Molly liked the way he considered the angles before making a decision. She wished she had that trait.

“Then we had better prevent that, hadn’t we?” he said.

“You are going to help us?” Before she could stop herself, Molly had reached out and grasped his hands. His large, wonderful, capable hands.

Only one eyebrow raised. “I would be delighted.”

He would be delighted. She had to smile at that.

Damien Perry just took her breath away. She loved to hear him talk. If only the subject matter were a little less macabre, she would just sit back and enjoy the daylights out of it.

But she hadn’t called him in on this because he sounded cute or because his fantastic looks made the backs of her knees sweat. She needed a man who could handle the situation. She had no doubt that when Damien Perry said he would—delighted or not—he surely would.

Suddenly she realized she was still holding his hands between hers and released him. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled.

“Quite all right,” he said, flexing his fingers as though she had squeezed them too hard.

Molly rose, her movements deliberate and careful as she poured two cups of steaming coffee, placed them on the table and took her seat. She peeled the paper cup from a muffin, reached over and placed it on the tray of the high chair.

Sydney promptly christened it with apple juice, leaned over and bit off the soggy top.

“Have a muffin. I’ll fill you in on what’s happened so far.”

His aristocratic nose wrinkled the tiniest bit when Sydney grinned at him, her mouth full of purple mush. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll pass on the muffin.”

Molly shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t fair to bring a friend of her brother’s in on this. But Damien Perry had struck her from their very first meeting as a man who could take care of business. Even wounded as he’d been at the time, he had projected an aura of strength and capability that impressed her.

She flatly rejected the thought that there might be another reason his name came to mind when she needed help.

So what if he was handsome as sin itself? Was it a crime to admire his good looks? She was human, wasn’t she? And an artist, too. One who appreciated beauty in all its forms. That’s all she felt for this man, admiration and appreciation.

All right, maybe she’d felt a little infatuation for him initially, but surely that was normal. Every woman he met must feel that. As soon as she got used to him, it would go away.

Damien was a man of the world and, she suspected, a loner. And that was fine with Molly. That signaled safety. She was definitely not looking for another man in her life when she couldn’t even dodge the mistake she’d made the first time.

All she wanted was Damien’s help. Then he could go on his merry way and she could enjoy a couple of secret fantasies about him now and then. No harm in that.

“Tell me about it,” he suggested softly.

Molly jerked her head up and stared into those azure eyes. She almost blurted out exactly what she was thinking, then caught herself. “Oh, you mean about Jack.”

He nodded, an all-too-knowing look in his eyes. “Of course. What else?”

Chapter 2

Damien wondered exactly what Molly Jensen saw when she looked at him and why he seemed to disconcert her so much. It couldn’t be his job. Her brother was also an agent, so that would hold little awe for her.

He supposed it could be attraction on her part, because it certainly was on his. If that was the case, acting on it would suit him just fine, but he knew it was out of the question. Women like Molly didn’t engage in casual sex and brief affairs. They were nurturers at heart, earth-mother types, wife material. Not for him.

She began explaining in a matter-of-fact way how she came to know the man she had married, how he had browbeat her for months until they’d endured a showdown that had ended it all.

During Molly’s recital of events, Damien watched with some interest as she gave her daughter more food.

The child had disgusting habits, Damien thought as he sipped his coffee. For all he knew, maybe all children did. So far, this one had done nothing to endear itself to him. He supposed he could claim admiration for the high decibel level it could reach. It could feed itself, which surprised him.

Somehow he had expected it would still be bald and practically toothless. But this one had grown considerably since Molly had taken those photos of it. It had hair now, curlier and a much lighter red than Molly’s. The wide eyes had a greenish tint, but not so green as hers. Bluer, he noted.

They dressed exactly alike, mother and daughter, in dark green sweats with bright red hearts stitched on the left breast. She fascinated him, this odd little Molly Jensen clone, almost as much as her beautiful mother did.

“So, what do you think?” Molly asked.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, that’s what I like in a man. Attention. Were you even listening?”

“Of course. Your ex made the calls, you’ve gotten the protection order…and…?”

“The police won’t arrest him unless he does something to me. Something they can nail down, anyway. By that time it could be too late. I sent him to jail, Damien, and I’m afraid he’s going to kill me for it. And he might kill Sydney, too. He hates that she exists.”

Damien gave her his undivided attention. Whether she had real cause or not, Molly Jensen was convinced their lives were in danger. He still thought she was probably blowing things out of proportion and overreacting to the harassment.

No doubt her ex was bitter about spending a night or two behind bars. The cops had likely hauled him in for disturbing the peace and to give him a chance to cool off after the argument she’d mentioned. Now he was playing on Molly’s fear to get back at her for it. Once Damien scared the life out of him, he’d back off quickly enough.

“Is there any way to make him stop?” she asked quietly.

Too quietly, he thought. She sounded like a child herself at the moment. A very frightened child who had no idea what to do next. Her deep green eyes looked to him for answers and her bottom lip quivered slightly.

Damien felt something turn over in his chest at the sight. At the moment, he wanted to strangle Jack Jensen with his bare hands for putting that look on her face.

He could do that, but he wouldn’t, of course. Was it possible that she thought he would? He had no idea what her brother had told her about their brief encounter.

Six months ago he had gone undercover as an assassin for hire to apprehend right-wingers who wanted rid of a senator visiting in Nashville. One of the Bureau’s informants had blown that scheme out of the water while Damien was recuperating from a gunshot. Good thing, since Damien’s cover had evaporated with the shooting and resulting publicity. Once he’d recovered, he had gone down to Florida on his next assignment.

Molly might think that his badge made him immune to prosecution, that it would allow him to act as judge, jury and executioner. He’d have to set her straight on that. Intimidating Jensen into behaving himself was about the best he could offer in this situation.

“We’ll think of something,” he assured her. He would have a talk with the police, then throw a scare into Jensen. That should take care of it.

Those long, graceful fingers of hers worried her trembling lip a second or two before she spoke. “It…it’s not as though I did anything to deserve all this, you know?”

Damien almost reached for her then, but clenched his fists instead. “No, no, of course you didn’t! The thought never entered my mind.”

With a sigh she crossed her arms and faced him again. “I’m not imagining this, really,” Molly told him. “He nearly succeeded the last time he tried to kill me.”

“He what?” Damien demanded, straightening in his chair.

“Tried to kill me,” she said with a shiver. “And he meant business. You should have seen his eyes.”

Damien noted the way her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves where she grasped her upper arms. She paid no attention to the child who was rhythmically banging her palms on the tray of the high chair.

“Find a paper and pen. Begin at the beginning and tell me everything, in minute detail,” Damien ordered curtly. “I want dates, times, names of anyone who was involved.”

Molly pulled a magnetic notepad and pen off the refrigerator, ripped off her grocery list, tossed the leaf in the trash bin and sat down. She pushed the ballpoint and small tablet across the table to him.

“Well, you see, we had this fight,” she said, avoiding eye contact as though the fact embarrassed her. He watched her absently rub the side of her head with two fingers. “Jack did two years in County for assaulting me. He swore I set him up but I had a great lawyer and a very sympathetic judge. She gave him the maximum sentence. When he got out, he called and said he wanted to get back together. I said no.” She uttered a mirthless little half laugh. “Actually, I phrased it a little more harshly than that.”

Damien tensed. Two years? What the hell had Jensen done to her? “How badly were you hurt?”

Molly smiled and made a fist, massaging the backs of her knuckles with the other hand. “I gave almost as good as I got. Landed a good one on his jaw. Amazing what you can do when you’re cornered.” She shook her fist as though it still ached from the blow she had delivered.

“He hit you,” Damien growled.

“Mmm-hmm. And choked me. After I broke away and slugged him back, he got in the parting shot.” She shrugged. “I fell backward and hit my head. Bled quite a bit and had a…concussion. Guess I looked pretty bad.”

Damien clamped down the sudden, murderous fury that shook him and struggled to remain objective. Molly was no frail victim. She was tall, strong, and courageous as hell. But she was still a woman. And, judging by the age of the child, she must have been pregnant at the time of the attack.

Damien decided he had better not dwell on the incident or he’d come totally unhinged. He cleared his throat and concentrated on taking notes.

“After you refused to reconcile, has he done anything overt to make you think he might resort to violence again?”

Molly looked down and flexed her long-fingered hands with their short, unpolished nails. “Oh, yeah. After I had a date.”

“A date,” Damien repeated, writing it down. “Which date and with whom?”

“My first and only since the divorce. The date took place a week ago. I went to a concert with Joe Malia, a guy who worked at the museum where I was a receptionist.”

Damien looked up at her. “I thought you were in graphic arts.”

“I freelance. Brochures, logos, illustrations for ads and such. My day job was part-time at the state museum downtown. I got fired yesterday. Jack’s responsible. Or rather, his father is. The man has connections on the board.”

Damien understood that Molly would probably attribute everything bad that happened to her to her ex-husband and his family. A natural assumption, and he wouldn’t argue it just yet. It might be true.

“You used past tense for the man you dated. Was Malia fired, as well?”

Molly looked directly at him then, her eyes darkened with sadness and roiling anger. “Joe died two days after we went out together. Hit-and-run.”

Damien almost broke the pen. “Murder, you think?”

“Well, Jack called me the next day and warned me nicely to be extra careful crossing the street.”

When Damien said nothing, she swallowed hard and went on. “Look, Jack was always insanely jealous, but I swear he had no reason to be. He wouldn’t believe that, though, and accused me of having someone else’s baby. That’s what the fight was about, the one that he was jailed for.”

The one he was jailed for? That indicated it was not an isolated occurrence.

Damien stared down at the notepad, hoping she couldn’t detect his rage. All she needed was another irate male around her. He had to remain calm about this and get all the facts.

“I see,” he said finally, though he didn’t see at all. How could she have stayed with the man after the first episode of violence? He had never understood it. Why would any woman do that, especially this one?

Damien could understand a man being jealous of Molly, but he doubted Jensen had gone after Malia with a car. The hit-and-run was most likely an accident and Jensen had merely used it to frighten Molly when he heard Malia was dead.

Using a vehicle to murder someone left too much to chance. No one with any sense used that method. Then again, Jensen certainly could be homicidal without being sensible.

The baby broke the silence. Her dainty hands continued to pound the layer of purple pudding she had concocted out of the muffin and juice mixture.

Slowly, Molly got up and began to clean up the mess as though it was a morning ritual. “I really need to get Syd and my mother out of town as soon as possible. Only I can’t think of where they could go that Jack couldn’t find them. He knows everybody we know. Well, except you, of course.”

“That would be wise. I’ll handle it,” Damien said.

Arranging for a safe place would be relatively easy. Getting Molly to go and then stay with them might pose a problem.

“Thanks,” she said quietly with a look of profound gratitude, and reached out to squeeze his hand.

The brief touch, just like the others, triggered something unfamiliar inside him. Not lust. Desire was already a given and had been since she had opened the door this morning. Maybe even before that, if he were honest with himself. There had been a stirring of it when he’d received her message in Florida and remembered her from their first meeting. This other not-lust thing, however, he didn’t want to examine too closely.

He silently observed while she microwaved a bowl of instant oatmeal with cinnamon and sat again, this time to feed her daughter properly with a spoon.

“My mea,” the child announced, sticking her finger in the bowl and addressing Damien directly for the first time.

“Yes, I see,” Damien answered, unsure how to converse with anyone that age but glad for the momentary diversion.

“Seeee!” she parroted, spewing fine bits of the oatmeal through her teeth and onto his favorite jacket.

“Stop that, Sydney!” Molly ordered firmly. “Don’t spit on the nice man.”

She shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Syd’s only nineteen months, but I think she’s hitting the Terrible Twos a little early.”

Damien watched the small lips quiver. Poor little thing. She hadn’t meant to spit.

“It’s all right, really,” he said, hoping to avoid another test of his tolerance for high-pitched sound. “She did stop when you said she should.” He smiled at the child to reassure her he wasn’t angry.

Molly nodded. “Yep. Syd’s brilliant.”

“Mmm,” Damien murmured noncommittally. It seemed a typically mother-like thing for her to say.

Damien had never thought much about motherhood and all it entailed, likely because he couldn’t remember the woman who had given birth to him. His uncle, a widower in his fifties, had adopted him when Damien was orphaned at age three.

A succession of housekeepers had provided only glimpses of what a mother around the house must be like.

Damien suddenly felt a tremendous lack, where before there had been only a blank space inside him he hadn’t realized existed.

He couldn’t chance that what had happened to him might happen to this child. Losing a parent must be the worst event possible for a little one.

Unless, of course, it was a parent like Jensen. He had to keep Molly safe so she could continue to give all she was giving to her child.

“You’ll go with your mother and daughter, of course,” he informed her.

She shook her head firmly. “Can’t do that. Jack would just wait until I came home and start all this again. I think we’d better get this settled while you’re around to help me, don’t you?”

She had a point, he admitted reluctantly. Molly was right about one thing, the police would not intervene unless her ex-husband did something they construed as dangerous.

Maybe he should allow her to stay here. Together, they might draw Jensen out, make him lose his cool in front of witnesses and threaten her publicly. Even if that was not enough to get the local cops to arrest him, Damien might be able to frighten him severely enough so that he’d give up his plan for revenge and leave Molly alone.

It was a long shot and probably not a permanent fix. The success of it would depend directly on Jack Jensen’s sanity. Unfortunately, there were few alternatives.

“Do you have an extra room by any chance?” he asked.

She laid the spoon down and looked at him with such hope, he felt guilty that he had ever considered not helping her even if his hesitation had lasted only seconds.

“You’ll stay here? With me?” Her relief was nearly palpable. “You’re terrific, you know that? I am so grateful, Damien. Ford will be, too.”

As if anyone could drag him away, Damien thought with a wry twist of his lips. Regardless of the reason for it, that brother of hers might not be all that thrilled with the idea of a virtual stranger bunking in with his sister. From the way they had acted in the hospital, Damien knew Molly and Ford must be quite close.

How would it be if Molly touched him with a bit of that caring she showed so easily to her daughter and her brother? She must have some to spare. It needn’t be anything permanent, or anywhere near the depth of what she felt for her family.

Love certainly wasn’t necessary, or even something he wanted from her. That would be a little too deep for comfort. He only wished for a taste of how it would feel to know someone cared a bit, that was all.

“I have an idea,” he said, using his most business-like tone. “How do you think Jensen would react to your having a live-in lover?”

Her beautiful mouth dropped open and her eyes widened with shock. Then she laughed. Ah, that full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughter he remembered from when he’d first met her. His own smile widened in response to it. Even the child giggled and patted its sticky hands together.

Was it so ridiculous, his suggestion?

“Jack would go berserk, if he’s not there already,” she said with a droll expression. “Not that he still cares about me, even in a twisted way. But he sure wouldn’t want me to find anybody else. After him. He always said…” Her voice trailed off and her expression darkened. “No, I don’t want what happened to Joe to happen to you, Damien. We’d better scratch that plan.”

“We have to draw him out somehow and I believe this will work. I can take care of myself, Molly. And I’ll take care of you, as well. Trust me?”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, then nodded.

He stood and held out his hand to her. Molly hesitated only a moment and then shook it to set their deal. To his surprise, she held on.

“Me!” the baby demanded, reaching for him. Hesitantly, Damien extended his left index finger. The small oatmeal-coated hand closed around it, wagging in parody of a handshake.

For a moment Damien stood there speechless, a part of something for which he had no frame of reference. But it felt incredibly good.

Then he cleared his throat, disentangled himself and rested his hands on his hips. “Fine, then. Why don’t you pack some things for the child while I make some arrangements by phone? Then we’ll collect your mother and—”

“We’ll have to wait until she comes home from work at six,” Molly interrupted.

He nodded. “Better to make the move at night, anyway.”

She turned away then and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll miss Syd.” Damien watched her supple fingers knead her upper arms. A self-comforting gesture, he supposed.

Before he knew what he was doing, Damien had placed his hand on her shoulder to add what he could to that comfort. “Everything will work out, Molly,” he assured her. “I’ll see to it.”

Her sudden smile was a thing to behold. “We’ll see to it together,” she said. Then she patted his hand and moved out from under his grasp to retrieve the child from her high chair.

“Go stow your gear in the guest room, lover,” she quipped with a brave chuckle that sounded forced. “I have to wonder if anybody in the world’s going to buy this hoax.”

Again, she laughed, ruefully this time, as she shifted the baby to one hip. “You…and me together? An unlikely match, for sure.” She shook her head, rolled her beautiful eyes heaven-ward and sighed as though the whole idea seemed incredibly bizarre to her.

Damien wasn’t laughing. “Oh, they’ll buy it,” he said softly, seriously. Then to himself, “I’d buy it if I could afford it.”

The hours crawled by as they waited for six o’clock. Molly tried to make the time comfortable for Damien, while he seemed determined to make her even more nervous that she already was.

Instead of watching television to while away the time, he watched her. Everything she did, from unloading the dishwasher to folding clothes, he apparently found fascinating.

Syd got the same treatment. She might as well have been an alien from another planet under close observation by a scientist. Damien kept his distance, but rarely let either of them out of his sight for long.

The few breaks they’d had from all that attention were trips to the bathroom and once when he excused himself to make a fairly lengthy phone call to arrange a safe place for her mother and Sydney.

He also checked her security. She already knew it was little better than adequate. There were no fancy cameras or laser beams installed, but there would be an alarm at the police station if anyone broke in.

She’d known she couldn’t depend on simple door and window locks and so had bought an inexpensive alarm system. Under the circumstances, she would have gone without groceries to finance that.

And speaking of groceries, it was time to buy some if she planned to feed a full-grown man. He’d been a sport about eating the peanut butter sandwiches and macaroni and cheese for lunch, but that wouldn’t satisfy a guy his size for long.

She plopped down onto the sofa beside him and plumped up the pillow next to her. “What shall I buy to cook while you’re here? Any preferences?”

“We’ll eat out,” he said decisively.

“Not every meal, surely!” she exclaimed. “That’s way too expensive.”

“I’ll take care of it. We need to be visible as a couple if we want Jensen to find out about us.”

She punched the pillow. “Oh, Jack will find out, all right. Don’t worry about that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knows I have a man in the house.”

“If he really was responsible for Joe Malia’s death, then we should expect him to react to this fairly soon. Probably within the next few days.”

With effort, Molly tamped down her fear enough to sound matter-of-fact. “I almost hope he will, just as soon as I get Syd and Mama somewhere safe. This waiting for the other shoe to drop is making me crazy.”

“I can well imagine,” he said.

She sighed. “I’d sure like to get this straightened out before Ford gets home. I’m afraid he’ll go after Jack and get himself in trouble.”

“How long will he be away?” Damien asked.

Molly wondered if they ever discussed their cases with each other when they weren’t working together. “A month, maybe more. He’s on that detail as liaison with your European counterparts.”

“Ah, the car smuggling ring?” he asked.

“That’s it. Mary’s there in Bonn with him. They said they’ll be going on to Switzerland for a vacation after he’s finished working.”

“Well, they should enjoy that,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m surprised they didn’t send you, too,” Molly commented. “After all, I expect you’re more familiar with that part of the world than Ford is.”

Damien smiled and fiddled with the stack of magazines on her coffee table. “I was busy with another matter. We take whatever lands in our laps. That’s the way it goes. Not often do we have much choice.”

Molly touched his arm, willing him to look at her. “Damien, I feel like I’ve jumped the gun, asking you to do this. I appreciate your coming when I called, but you do have a choice here if you want to back out. Ford wouldn’t hold it against you. He’d understand and so will I. Your work is dangerous enough, but this could be downright deadly.” She shuddered, just thinking about what had happened to Joe.

He looked her straight in the eyes and his were full of concern. “Nothing is more important to me right now than ensuring your safety, Molly. Ford being your brother has nothing to do with it.”

That surprised a little laugh out of her. “Then why? Why are you doing it?”

Damien looked away and shrugged. “You said you needed me. That’s reason enough.”

It wasn’t, of course.

Unbelievable as it seemed, she suddenly wondered if Damien might want to become involved on a very personal level with her. She had to admit, Damien Perry was a very tempting man. However, at this point in her life, she couldn’t even afford to think about anything like that happening.

It was one thing to weave fantasies about a guy like him, quite another to take those imaginings seriously.

Yet how could she make that clear to him right up front without talking about it? She couldn’t very well do that when the yearning she thought she saw in him might only be a projection of her own. Wouldn’t that be the most embarrassing blunder in the world, if he hadn’t even considered…?

Molly prayed this was only her imagination working overtime.

Chapter 3

You can’t kill her now. Jack Jensen argued with himself as he forced his foot to remain on the accelerator of his dark blue Mercedes Benz. Reluctantly, he cruised by the house again.

He would just love to slam on the brakes, tear up that walkway, kick in the front door and strangle the bitch right now. The jerk she had in there with her, too.

But he had to be careful. So far, he had been. No way was he spending another hour behind bars because of that tramp. He could wait. Play it just right. He backed into the driveway of a vacant house just down the street where his car would be concealed by the shrubbery.

Shadows hid him as he got out and made his way back to the driveway where the bastard had parked his car. He could risk doing this much now, just in case they decided to take off together somewhere. Nobody was getting away from Jack Jensen.

He quickly set his device under the bumper and hurried back to his own car, needing a little something sweet to keep him alert and on top of things.

All he had to do now was wait until the boyfriend left and Molly went to bed, he thought with a quick sniff.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she had another man around somewhere, now was it? Molly always had a man. She’d suckered him into proposing by being stingy with that body of hers. And looking innocent as a kid.

Damn, she’d made him feel stupid, but he wasn’t stupid anymore. He sniffed again and smiled at the thought.

The phone calls were a start, but he was ready to escalate now. The hit-and-run that killed Joe Malia had been a godsend. Jack couldn’t have planned that better if he had arranged it himself.

He relished the sheer horror in her voice every time she’d answered the phone after that had happened. But it was no longer enough. No, he had big plans for Molly.

Jack fingered one of the keys hanging from the ignition, grinding his teeth and watching the house.

“C’mon, babe, why don’t you send him home and go to bed? Turn out those lights and give me some dark time. A half hour’s all Jackie needs to plant your little surprise. Just a tiny something to make you think about me.”

The oak mantel clock struck ten. Molly had called her mother earlier and explained the plan. The problem now was to explain to her mom why she wouldn’t be staying with them herself.

“It’s time to go,” Damien said as he stood. He glanced from his thin gold watch to the playpen where Sydney talked to and wrestled with her teddy bear. “Does she need to, uh…”

“Go potty?” Molly said, laughing at his refusal to repeat the kiddie lingo she knew he’d heard her use with Syd. “No, she’s fine.” Sydney hadn’t quite learned what was expected of her yet, but was very vocal about her bathroom training nonetheless. “She’s suited up for bed and goes out like a light when you crank up the car. Great traveler.”

“That’s good,” he said, lifting the large suitcase and over-size tote that Molly had readied. He headed for the back door that led out through the garage.

Molly flipped on the outside lights and followed, carrying Sydney and the teddy bear. She looked longingly at the new steel-gray Lexus sitting in the driveway.

“We’d better take my van,” she suggested.

“You can trust me to drive,” he said coolly.

Molly clicked her tongue impatiently. “I do. I was thinking about the car seat.”

“Oh. Well, those things are portable, aren’t they? I’ll change it over.”

The very idea of watching that exercise in frustration appealed to Molly in a very devilish way. Riding in something other than her boxy rattletrap appealed even more. “Okay. Have at it.”

Molly took pity when, a good quarter of an hour later, he backed out of the car to catch his wind from all that under-the-breath cursing. She whisked Syd off the fender where she’d perched her and held her out. “Hold her for a minute and I’ll fix it. It is tricky.”

He grasped Syd under her arms and held her out from him as though Molly had handed him a full-grown rattlesnake. Molly hid a laugh as she crawled into the back seat and began wrestling with the seat belt that he had twisted through the wrong holes.

When she emerged, her breath stilled at what she saw. Damien held Sydney close, her face tucked into the curve of his neck. He leaned against the side of the car with his eyes shut and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. One large hand applied gentle, irregular pats to Syd’s back.

This was the first time he had held Sydney and the man looked transported. She hated to interrupt.

“Want me to take her?” Molly asked softly.

His eyes flew open and he appeared confused. Reluctant, too, which amazed her. “I believe she’s nodded off,” he whispered, making no move to give her up.

Molly laughed and reached to take her. “She’ll go right back to sleep, I promise.”

“You’re a very good mother, aren’t you?” Damien commented thoughtfully as he carefully handed Syd over.

“Don’t know how good, but I am dedicated,” Molly answered, snuggling Sydney against her and kissing the side of her face. “And I mean to make sure she’s safe from Jack. No way am I going to let him hurt her.”

He grasped Molly’s arm gently and turned her to face him. “Do you really think he might hurt her just to get back at you?”

“That’s about the size of it,” she admitted. “As far as Jack’s concerned, she’s just an extension of me and an embarrassment to him.”

“Be honest with me, Molly. Are you certain she is Jensen’s daughter?”

She looked him straight in the eye, angry that he would ask, but also understanding why he had to do so. “Absolutely. Jack’s the only man I ever had. And, believe me, one was quite enough.”

There. That should crush any intentions he might have of starting anything between them. If she had read him right. If not, he’d probably think she was a total idiot.

Damien nodded. Whether that meant he believed her about Jack being Syd’s father, or that he accepted her word she was through with men, Molly didn’t know. Both, she hoped.

Molly put Syd in her car seat and tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach Damien had caused, the same quivering she felt every single time he touched her or she touched him. It unnerved her more than she wanted to admit, but she couldn’t seem to help inviting the feeling.

Once they were on their way she turned on the radio, which was already tuned to a classical station. She automatically punched the seek button until it landed on Garth Brooks. Good ol’ Garth was always playing somewhere.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to give Damien another clue as to how different they really were. Just in case he still thought they were from the same planet or something.

He merely shot her a look of amusement and began softly tapping out the beat of the song with the forefinger resting on top of the steering wheel.

“Where does your mother live?” Damien asked as they left her subdivision.

“About six miles from here. Turn left at the next light and hit the Loop.”

Damien asked for the specific address and exit number off the freeway, then deliberately took a roundabout course to make certain no one tailed them.

Finally they reached a group of modest-looking condominiums and Molly pointed to the second set of buildings. “You can park in that space beside her Taurus.”

Molly had the car door open and was out before he shifted into Park. He knew she was eager to get her mother and the baby out of town.

“Get Syd out for me, would you?” Without waiting for him to answer, she slammed the door and dashed up the front walk.

Damien exited a little more slowly, figured out the intricacies of releasing the sleeping baby from her upright bed, and gently lifted her out. She burrowed against him and then went boneless. He followed Molly’s path to the door.

The women were standing just inside the doorway, hugging. He could see where Molly had gotten her height and coloring. These were two very attractive women, Damien thought. Striking, rather than classically beautiful. They were somehow very…real.

If he’d met the mother when he shared a hospital room with her son, Damien didn’t recall it. But he had been under sedation until the day before Ford Devereaux was released.

The woman must be at least fifty. She appeared much younger than that, though her short red hair was lightened with gray and he could see fine laugh lines around her eyes.

Damien closed the door behind him. The living room possessed the same comfortable, lived-in quality as Molly’s place. Quirky accents—pillows, paintings and such—in bright colors, somehow fit beautifully and gave the heavy, antique furniture a decidedly feminine touch.

Mrs. Devereaux disentangled herself from her daughter and looked at him quizzically. Molly reached out and clutched his arm. She did that so naturally, so familiarly, as though they’d known each other forever. Damien found himself wishing they had.

“Mama, this is Damien Perry, Ford’s friend.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Devereaux?”

“Call me Brenda, please. I remember you from the hospital, though you were asleep when I saw you.”

At the moment Damien could think of no good reason to disabuse either woman of the notion that he knew Devereaux well. They might send him packing if he admitted that he had no right to be here in the middle of all this. And Damien definitely didn’t intend to leave.

“Molly told me Jack’s threatening her. Surely the FBI’s not getting in on it,” she said, frowning.

“No, I’m not here to help officially, only as a friend,” he admitted. “Molly and I have been in touch before tonight.” Let her think what she would of that.

“Aha, now I see.” She smiled cryptically.

She took the baby from Damien and cuddled her close. “We’re going on a little trip, Syd!” she whispered, swaying, obviously enjoying the feel of the child against her. “Just you and Mommy and Gran.”

Damien watched as the grandmother took the baby back toward what he assumed were the bedrooms.

“Oh, God, how will I stand being away from her?” Molly groaned, and turned to him. “I’ve never left Syd with anyone longer than one night, even with Mom. I’ll miss her so much.”

Without even thinking about it, he enfolded her in his arms as naturally as she had squeezed his arm earlier. She allowed it, and rested there, her face buried in the curve of his neck, just where the baby’s had been a few moments before. This felt right, Damien thought. Very right.

“What will she think if I leave her?” Molly murmured against his neck.

“She’ll be fine,” he murmured. “They both will be. It shouldn’t be for long.” Damien liked being her refuge, he decided. She slid her arms beneath his jacket and encircled his waist so that her breasts pressed comfortably against his chest. He liked that, too.

Damien could have held her that way all night, but her mother returned. He gently grasped Molly’s shoulders and moved her away from him.

“I put Sydney down to sleep so we can talk about this,” Mrs. Devereaux said softly. “Where are we going?”

“Clarkston,” Damien told her. “I arranged for a house there.”

“Are you sure it’s necessary for us to leave town? We could go to a motel or something for a couple of days until you or the police can talk to Jack and calm him down.”

“That won’t do it, Mom. They can’t arrest him unless he does something to us. And I really am afraid Jack might. I want you and Sydney where he can’t find you.”

Brenda Devereaux rolled her eyes and puffed out a breath. “Molly, I don’t like the man any better than you do, but surely after what Jack’s just been through, he wouldn’t dare—”

“Ma’am?” Damien interrupted. “For whatever it’s worth, I believe she’s right.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Surely you’re exaggerating, Molly. Jack wouldn’t risk arrest again!”

Molly dropped to the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you he’s been following me, Mama. Making phone calls and laughing at me. He got me fired. Or, at least, his daddy did it for him. Worse than that, I think Jack killed Joe Malia.”

Brenda met Damien’s gaze over Molly’s head. She looked even more frightened than Molly.

When she spoke, her voice was hushed with horror. “Oh, my God. Jack?”

“You know he’s abusive, Mama. He hit me. Hard. He threatened to kill me that night and he meant it. The only reason he stopped was because he thought he’d succeeded. It’s a small step from that to this, don’t you think?”

Damien tensed. Molly had tried to soft-peddle her description of that fight when she’d told him about it. “What about the other episodes, Molly?”

“There were only three, counting the last one. I fought back. I tried to leave him several times, but he said he would find me and destroy me. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to get away from him, no matter what. He caught me packing that night.”

“And before?” he asked.

“The first two times weren’t all that bad.” She shrugged. “Just slaps, a few bruises. It wouldn’t have gone that far if I hadn’t stood up to him. He hated it when I defended myself. Both times, he cooled off and apologized, promised it would never happen again. I warned him if it did, I would leave him for good no matter what he said.”

Damien ground his teeth so hard it hurt. She went on. “Neighbors heard the row the last time. By the time they got there, I was conscious and told them what happened. They called the police who caught Jack and arrested him.

“My lawyer showed the judge medical records from the other times. Jack pled guilty. He knew if it came to a jury trial, everything would be public.”

“I still say we should have told Ford everything,” Brenda said.

“Ford would have killed him. It was all I could do to keep him from it when he thought the fight was partly my fault. I didn’t want my own brother arrested for murder. Jack had counted on that before. He told me so and joked about it. Why do you think he didn’t post bail? Think the Jensens couldn’t afford it? The jerk was scared to get out, afraid Ford would come after him.”

“He doesn’t seem worried about that now?” Damien asked.

Molly sighed. “No. That’s why I think Jack’s really lost it.”

“I certainly understand your brother’s probable reaction,” Damien admitted. He flexed his fists. “I have an urge to kill Jensen myself.”

“Oh, great!” Molly groaned. “I break my neck trying to keep Ford out of it, and now you want to kill him.”

She shrugged, a helpless little gesture he’d not seen her make before. Then she settled that teary green gaze on him and blinked. Her voice was softer than he’d heard it yet. “Damien? All I want is for him to leave me alone. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid. I figured you wouldn’t act as rashly as Ford would. That’s why I asked you to help.”

He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. So, Molly did have regard for him, after all, just as she did for her brother. She didn’t want either of them to risk a murder charge because of what her ex had done and might yet do.

But Molly was depending on his finding some way to stop the madness and make certain she, her daughter and mother were safe from Jensen.

Damien knew killing Jack Jensen would be a simple matter. He could, and get away with it, too. God knew he wanted to right now. Jensen deserved death probably more than some men Damien had killed in the line of duty. But Damien always tried to work within the law. He hated to turn rogue this late in the game. Not as long as there were other options.

“I won’t do anything stupid, Molly,” he said with a half smile he had to force. “I promise you that.”

Molly had faced the shame she felt pretty well, she thought. She lifted her chin and dared both Damien and her mother to feel sorry for her.

Jack was a bully, or worse, and she’d been his victim for nearly a year. Degrading as that was, she figured she might as well lay it all out and be done with it. She would not be a victim again.

Damien seemed almost as likely to get himself into trouble over this as Ford was. Molly felt torn between talking him out of it and spurring him on. Something had to be done.

“Clarkston’s not that far away, but you and the child should be safe there,” Damien told her mother, neatly changing the subject back to their trip.

Her mom nodded. “After Molly and I talked on the phone, I told Josie she would need to take over the shop for a while. As far as she knows, I’m going on a buying trip up to New England. No point in letting everybody and his brother know where we’re going, right?”

“Right,” Damien agreed, smiling his approval. “We’ll try to get this straightened out soon so you won’t be away for too long.”

Molly agreed. “We’ll have to get things rolling right away. Damien can’t afford to hang around here forever.”

Those azure eyes seemed to ask, Why not? She quickly looked away.

Her mother smiled. “This is really good of you, Damien. I guess Ford will owe you one, won’t he?”

“He won’t owe me anything,” Damien said truthfully. “I’m doing this for Molly and Sydney. And now you, of course.”

Uh-oh, that went over like a helium balloon, Molly thought. Sent all kinds of hopes soaring. Her mother’s glance darted from one to other of them, that calculating gleam in her eye.

Molly decided she’d better head this off before Mama rented the church and started sewing Syd’s flower girl dress.

“C’mon, Mama, let’s get your things, so we can go,” she suggested.

Soon afterward, Damien loaded Brenda’s two suitcases into the trunk of his rental car while Molly strapped the baby into her car seat. Much to his disappointment, Molly climbed into the back and offered her mother the front passenger seat.

As he drove, Damien executed a number of unnecessary detours and kept a close eye out for anyone following them.

He only half listened while Brenda Devereaux enumerated Molly’s long list of accomplishments and threw in a few incidental brags about her grandchild.

He smiled to himself, suspecting there was a bit of matchmaking going on here. While that should have made him nervous as hell, Damien felt flattered by the attempt.

A moment later he checked the rearview mirror again and his lingering smile died a swift death. “Check your seat belts, ladies,” he warned, “we have company.”

Chapter 4

The Lexus careered around the curves of the county road and flew headlong into the darkness. Molly surrounded Sydney with one arm and braced her other hand against the back of the front seat.

She glanced out the back window and saw the headlights behind them fade into the distance. A few moments later she couldn’t see them at all.

“For a rental, this thing really…moves,” she gasped. Damien slowed down a little, but her heart was still traveling at least ninety miles an hour.

She and her mother gave a little scream in unison as Damien cut the lights and bumped off the main road onto one that was unpaved. How he could see where they were going mystified Molly. She closed her eyes and held on, one arm braced across Syd’s car seat.

Only a few minutes later, he suddenly braked and shut off the motor.

“Lock the doors and stay where you are,” Damien instructed. Then he exited the car, closed the door and disappeared into the night.

“Not one to dawdle, is he?” Brenda whispered with a nervous laugh. “Wonder if he’s that quick about everything.”

“Hush, Mama!”

“How’s Sydney?”

“Out like a light,” Molly answered absently, craning around to look out the back window, seeing only the dense blackness surrounding them. She felt claustrophobic.

“Can you see anything, Mama? I wonder what he’s doing.”

“Don’t you trust him to look after us? He seems very capable to me.”

“It’s not that,” Molly answered. “I just wonder where he went.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that boy getting lost.”

Molly huffed. “‘Boy’?”

Brenda laughed again. “I like him.”

So do I, Molly thought. Entirely too much. She stared out into the night, seeing and hearing absolutely nothing. “He must have eyes like a cat!”

They sat silently for a few minutes listening to Sydney’s light snoring. That’s when Molly noticed the faint light flickering indirectly against the foliage on either side of the car.

Something began bumping and scraping underneath, a sound that continued for some time. “What in the world is he doing?” she whispered.

In the stillness, the sound grew louder, making its way around the entire vehicle. Then the beam of light reappeared, illuminating Damien’s face as he rapped on the glass with his knuckle.

Her mother popped the locks and Damien got in. He handed her the penlight. “Hold this. Shine it on my hands.”

“What are you doing?” Molly asked when she saw him open the pocket knife on his key chain.

“Deactivating this,” he muttered. “Tracking device.”

Seconds later he calmly fastened his seat belt. “All clear now.”

He cranked up and slowly began backing out of the woods and onto the dirt road. Expertly, he maneuvered the car to the main highway, switched on the lights and continued as though nothing had happened. In the opposite direction.

“What did you do to the car?” she asked.

“I was looking for this,” he said, holding up a small black object he had been working on. “It was attached underneath the bumper. I knew Jensen wasn’t following us as we left the city. Not closely enough for me to detect, at any rate.”

Brenda clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Now where the devil would Jack get a thing like that?”

Damien shrugged. “It’s just a simple device, nothing sophisticated that he would need any real connections to obtain. Only a cut above a radar detector.”

Molly scoffed. “I can’t believe he did this!”

“First bit of evidence,” Damien said, dropping the gadget into his jacket pocket.

Molly suddenly realized that Jack would have had to approach her house this very night to put the tracker in place. He would have been right there in her driveway, fiddling with Damien’s car while they sat in her house waiting to leave. He could have done worse. What if he had tampered with the brakes? Or put a bomb under the car?

“But how did he know we were going anywhere? Could my house be bugged? Did he hear everything we said?”

“No, I checked all the rooms for listening devices. Your phones, as well. Best guess is that he’s watching your place or has hired someone else to do it. I think he just wants to track you wherever you go and then turn up unexpectedly. I’d be willing to bet he’s had a tracker on your van for some time now. When I showed up, he probably decided to place one on this car for the same reason.”

Molly pushed back in her seat and covered her face with her hands, willing her anger to overcome the fear. Then she looked up at the rearview mirror. The dash lights provided a dim reflection of Damien’s eyes, those wonderful blue eyes.

How in the world could he calm and reassure her with a glance and create such turmoil in her at the same time?

Shortly after one in the morning, Damien drove through Clarkston, the small town where he had rented the house for Brenda Devereaux and the baby. He swung into the parking lot of a Texaco station, chose a shadowy corner, and cut the engine.

“They’ve rolled up the sidewalks, I see,” Brenda remarked, propping her elbow on the window and resting her head on her hand. “Don’t see a soul.”

She sounded and looked exhausted. Hell, they were all fatigued except for the baby. Little Sydney slept on, unaware that her father had caused such a ruckus. Hopefully Jensen would never locate them in this place. Still, one could never be too careful.

No cars cruised the streets. Even the convenience store opposite the gas station was closed for the night. Except for a few lighted windows in a house here and there—late-night readers or late show enthusiasts—it appeared the entire town of Clarkston was asleep.

Satisfied they had not been followed or anticipated, Damien pulled out onto the street, counting the houses north from the first traffic light until he came to the one he sought.

The streetlights illuminated the typical, small, Southern-town cottage, a modest one-story, its fat square columns supporting the roof of a wide front porch. The house sat near the end of Main Street, sandwiched between two others that appeared similar in style. An added benefit was the proximity to a three-man police station situated only two blocks away.

Though everyone knew it was much easier to hide someone in a large city, Damien figured now was definitely the time to do the unexpected. Jensen probably wouldn’t bother looking for Brenda and the baby anyway when he realized Molly hadn’t accompanied them into hiding.

He made a mental note to thank the local Bureau office and especially the agent whom he had contacted earlier. When he had explained the situation, and told her about Ford’s sister, Agent Kim Avery suggested this place and made the arrangements. It certainly fit all his specifications. The location was perfect.

Even the rent had proved reasonable, though he would never tell Molly this came out of his pocket. As far as she knew, they were making use of a regular safe house.

“Why, this looks lovely, Damien!” Brenda remarked as they pulled into the driveway and the car lights flashed the front of the structure.

“All the comforts of home, I hope.” He shut off the car and got out, opened the back door first and lifted the baby out for Molly.

Damien couldn’t deny how he looked forward to holding the child again. It wouldn’t do to dwell much on just why he felt that way. She was cute, that was all. Cuddly and sweet, like a puppy you could hand back to the owner once you’d admired it sufficiently.

Such trust, to sleep in a stranger’s arms, Damien thought to himself. He could hardly credit it, even in one so young. He had rarely slept in the presence of another person, except in dorms and army barracks when he’d had no choice. Even then, he’d had to be all but comatose with exhaustion to do so.

Under sedation in the hospital, he’d had no problem sleeping. Of course, at that time he had almost hoped someone would sneak in and put him out of his misery.

He smiled inwardly, mocking the inborn caution he often carried to extremes. Damien sometimes wondered if he hadn’t embarked on professions that made his bogeymen very real, just so he could finally confront them face-to-face.

He held the totally limp child, her tiny bum resting on his forearm and her head on his shoulder, until they reached the front door.

“Better let me go in first,” he said. Quickly he shifted Sydney to her mother’s arms, knelt to retrieve the key from under the potted geranium where Kim had said she would leave it.

“Wait here in the shadows where you can’t be seen from the street,” he ordered. The women did exactly as he said without any argument.

He pulled his weapon, released the safety and unlocked the door. His search was not cursory, even though he didn’t believe there was any way Jack could have discovered their destination.

When he found the place entirely safe as he’d expected, he clicked on a lamp in the living room, returned to the front door and pushed it open. “Come in, ladies. It’s actually much more agreeable than I’d hoped.”

“Was that really necessary? Jack couldn’t possibly have been hiding out in there,” Molly snapped as she brushed past him into the house. He immediately forgave her impatience. She was tired and the child was heavy. Her nerves were probably shot.

He smiled at her. “No, but Jack’s not the only bear in the woods, now is he? I was merely being cautious.”

“And we thank you, don’t we, Molly?” Brenda asked with a meaningful nod and a dark look at her daughter. He had never considered that a mother might reprimand a fully grown child with any effect.

“Sorry,” Molly murmured grudgingly. “Thanks.”

Damien turned away so she couldn’t see his grin. “You’re quite welcome. Well, what do you think?” He gestured toward the dimly lit room furnished with Victorian replicas and faded fabrics. Old-fashioned crocheted antimacassars and knickknacks remained where they’d probably been for decades. He rather liked it.

Agent Avery said the owner had died and the heir was delighted to rent until he had time to arrange an auction for the furnishings and the house.

Damien had hired Avery to stock the kitchen, have the beds made up and linens put out. All the comforts of home. This was the agent’s hometown, as luck would have it, and she’d even provided a cover story for Brenda so she wouldn’t be a stranger in town.

“A little bit prissy, but it looks cozy. It’s nice,” Molly said, trailing her free hand along the back of a damask-covered chair. She wandered down the wide hall and pushed open a bedroom door.

Brenda followed. Damien left them to explore the house while he brought in the luggage.

He set it down in the hallway, returned to lock the door and turn out the light in the living room. Then he followed their voices to the master bedroom.

They were exclaiming over the crib placed near the large tester bed where Brenda had declared she would sleep.

He must remember to tell Ford Devereaux how fortunate he was to have such friends as Avery to work with. If he ever saw him again. Like as not, Damien would be gone before Devereaux returned. If not, some tall explanations would be in order when Molly found out they hardly knew each other.

Shrugging off the thought, he interrupted them to proceed with the plan. “Brenda, while you’re here, you are supposed to be Kim Avery’s aunt, so you’ll use her last name. She’s an agent who grew up here in Clarkston, but lives in Nashville. She and your son work out of the same office.”

Brenda frowned. “I don’t believe I know her.”

“It doesn’t matter. Kim will be your contact if you need to reach us. Whatever you do, don’t call us directly. Her number is on the list by the phone in the kitchen.”

“Will I get to meet her?” Brenda asked. “It was very nice of her to do this.”

“She’ll probably check in with you by phone to see if you need anything she didn’t provide. You needn’t be reclusive, but stay indoors as much as you can. The backyard should suffice as a play area so, hopefully, you won’t get cabin fever,” Damien assured her.

“We’ll be quite comfortable here, I think.”

“Get some rest now,” he suggested. “Molly and I will wait in the living room for a couple of hours, just to make certain everything’s safe. We need to be back in Nashville before dawn, but we’ll wake you before we leave and say goodbye.”

To his surprise, the woman came toward him and encircled him with her arms. “Thank you so much, Damien. I know you’ll keep my baby safe, just like her brother would if he were here.”

Then she stood on tiptoe, took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek, a warm, friendly display like none he could ever recall receiving.

“And you be careful yourself, hear?” she added, patting his shoulders firmly before she released him completely and stepped back.

“Of course,” he answered, feeling decidedly off center. Nobody ever gave a damn whether he was careful, unless it affected the outcome of a case.

He looked at Molly to see her reaction to her mother’s gesture toward him, but she was busy making the baby comfortable in the new crib.

At that moment, she leaned over the side and kissed her daughter’s head, much in the same way Brenda had just kissed his face. With caring and worry and affection.

Damien felt something well up inside his chest and throat, a keen ache almost like hunger. He was afraid these little tastes of familial warmth would never be enough if he ever got used to them.

Might as well shake it off, he decided firmly, because he didn’t intend to spend more than two weeks dealing with this problem.

What did a man like him know or even care about family interaction, anyway? He must be getting maudlin in his old age.

He gently grasped Molly’s arm and guided her toward the door. “Sleep well,” he ordered Brenda in a curt whisper. “Molly, you might catch a few winks on the sofa. I’ll keep watch.”

But Damien couldn’t dismiss the feeling that gripped him, the powerful need for human contact these three somehow had awakened. Loneliness overwhelmed him all of a sudden, a bleakness he had accepted as his due for so long that he hadn’t even realized it was there.

As soon as he and Molly cleared the hallway and stood in the darkness of the living room, he turned and enfolded her in a fierce hug. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips against her temple and simply held her tight. Much to his surprise, she allowed it.

“Try not to be afraid,” he whispered. “I will keep you safe from him.”

“I know,” she answered softly. Her voice quavered, but not with fear. Damien wondered if he had made a total fool of himself and it amused her, or if his holding her this way pleased her as much as it did him.

He realized they couldn’t stand there all night locked in an embrace. Eventually, he had to let her go. He did so with as much dignity as he could manage to recoup, and led her to the overstuffed sofa.

“Better get some sleep, if you can,” he advised, looking down at her, sounding gruff when he hadn’t meant to.

“Come sit with me,” she offered, patting the cushion next to her.

Damien looked down at her strong, capable hand with its long, flexible artist’s fingers. His gaze traveled up her arm, noting the soft fleecy shirt with the brightly colored hearts embroidered just above her left breast. “Not wise,” he answered with a self-deprecating laugh.

Molly grabbed his hand and tugged. He sat.

“Do you feel it, too, Damien?” she asked, her voice soft, worried.

He could pretend he didn’t understand her, but what was the use? Every time they touched—however lightly, whatever the reason—blood rushed though his veins at warp speed and heated to a boil. Of course he felt it, too. How could he not? And it was certainly more than familial warmth he wanted when he did. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

“Nothing can come of it,” she said. “I know I already warned you once, but I just wanted to make sure you understand that I mean it. I’m not playing games here, Damien.”

“Oh, I believe you. No games.” He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to draw on his professionalism or anything else that would rein in these impulses that were so new to him.

He couldn’t count the people who had accused him of being cold, dispassionate. Never in his life had he been so near to losing control, so close to saying and doing things that would be totally out of character. He wanted this woman more than his next breath.

Molly threaded her fingers through his and squeezed his hand, placing her other palm on top. “Trust me, Damien, this will go away. It’s probably just the…situation or something causing it. In the meantime, I think…I think we should just ignore it.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at him. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “If you want.” Her face looked so earnest in the faint glow of the streetlight through the sheer-curtained window. “However, if you do want that, my darling, then I have to get up from here and sit somewhere else. If I don’t, I am definitely going to kiss you.”

Her silence and absolute stillness seemed to imply consent. God, he hoped it meant consent.

Slowly, giving her time to escape, Damien lowered his mouth to hers. A tentative touch of lips, and then all hell broke loose.

He just lost it. His brain reeled with relief at her eager response, the lush texture of her mouth, her tongue, the unique and heady taste of her. A fire broke out within him that consumed them both.

Molly threw herself into the blaze, grasping him as urgently as he was holding her. Her heart thundered against his chest. He stretched out, pulling her entire length parallel to his, half on, half off the sofa.

Dimly, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he realized he should be holding back, letting her lead the way. But she followed so passionately and with such abandon, he refused to heed the instinct for self-preservation that had protected him for so long.

On and on they kissed, turning this way and angling that, their lips and bodies seeking better purchase, a closer melding, a oneness….

“I guess a pot of coffee’s out of the question!”

The lamp came on and Damien and Molly broke apart like teenagers caught by the cops.

Brenda laughed. “I could almost hear the pop! Well, I’ll just—” she waved one arm aimlessly “—toddle on back to bed, I guess.”

“No! Wait!” Molly gasped. “Mama, I swear this is not what you think—”

Her mother flapped a hand in their direction. “Oh, can it, Molly. You’re too old to owe me any explanations. Sorry I interrupted.”

“Brenda?” Damien was stymied when she actually stopped and turned around to face them, grinning wickedly. In the dim light, she reminded him so much of Molly that he shook his head to dispel the comparison.

“Yes, Agent Perry?” she drawled.

“Uh, coffee would be good.”

“Exactly what we need!” Molly proclaimed a little too loudly. She scrambled up off the sofa and dashed toward the hallway, halting suddenly.

“Kitchen’s the other way,” Brenda advised her drolly. She glanced at Damien, shook her head and winked. “The girl needs a keeper.”

Damien bit his lips together and nodded, totally at a loss as to what he should say. He wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t exactly funny. Not now, anyway. Molly certainly wasn’t amused.

Brenda linked her arm through his and sighed as they followed Molly through the dining room to the kitchen. “You can bypass the red-faced apology, sweetie. It’s not like I’m gonna drag out my shotgun and demand that you marry her just because of a little kiss.”

Little kiss? He didn’t know what to say to that, either. If she’d been a scant two minutes later, she might have seen a more justifiable reason than a kiss to make her demand. And Brenda knew it, too.

What was the big deal here? Molly was nearly thirty years old, not some witless little innocent he’d been about to deflower. They were free to do whatever they pleased, wherever they wanted to do it, two consenting adults.

His conscience reared up even as he had the defensive thoughts. Molly was not one to take lovemaking as lightly as all that. To tell the truth, he didn’t think he could, either. Not with her.

And had she really consented? Or had he sort of forced the issue a little. She was depending on him to protect her. Had he given her the idea that a little payment was necessary in lieu of the money she’d offered him at first?

Well, he certainly wasn’t about to bring that up for discussion. They hadn’t made love and it was highly unlikely that he would find himself in this predicament again with Molly. She had made it quite clear that she did not want a relationship with him other than his extending her protection.

Brenda nudged him with her elbow. “I like you, Damien.” She whispered low enough so that Molly couldn’t hear. “But if you’re just playing, it would be wise to back off.”

Damien kept his mouth firmly shut and nodded once. He had not been playing at all.

Brenda was right about one thing, however. Backing off definitely should be his next step, the wisest move all the way around.

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