Even through the thin shirt he could feel the heat of her skin, and his fingers tightened.

His temperature spiked as his gaze lingered on her. He justified the need rumbling through him by thinking about the adrenaline aftermath. Never mind that he’d never had the desire to kiss anyone else but her after a work takedown. Seeing those big eyes and soul-stealing face, he felt his common sense go on the fritz.

It had always been this way between them. Hot and pulsing, both desperate to get the other into bed. They could communicate between the sheets. Real life was the problem.

About the Author

Award-winning author HELENKAY DIMON spent twelve years in the most unromantic career ever—divorce lawyer. After dedicating all that effort to helping people terminate relationships, she is thrilled to deal in happy endings and write romance novels for a living. Now her days are filled with gardening, writing, reading and spending time with her family in and around San Diego. HelenKay loves hearing from readers, so stop by her website, www.helenkaydimon.com, and say hello.

Fearless

HelenKay Dimon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Lara Bart picked up her ice water and used her palm to wipe away the puddle left behind on the coffee table. Drops slid down the side of the glass, making her hand slip. She fought the urge to dump the contents down her shirt or at least close the dull brown curtains outlining the window to the right of her chair. The sun pounded on her, filling the twelve-footsquare room with bright light and an almost unbearable heat.

It was summer in Washington, D.C. Between the soaring temperatures and bone-melting humidity she’d already lost the battle with frizz. She could feel her hair morphing from wavy to wide as she sat in the non–air-conditioned, seemingly airtight Capitol Hill brownstone belonging to Lieutenant Commander Steve Wasserman. She had to interview the man as part of a security-clearance check for Martin Coughlin, a retired navy lieutenant looking to obtain a new position with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

Steve and Martin had been roommates at the Naval Academy years ago, which was why she sat in the rolling heat with the backs of her thighs stuck to the leather chair and the sweat soaking through her silk blouse and seeping into her navy blazer. She had to talk with people from Martin’s past and those familiar with his current life.

And because her luck was at an all-time low, this assignment qualified as a rush. Her boss at Hampton Enterprises, the private firm contracted with the Department of Defense to conduct clearance interviews, said to make this one a priority. Apparently, someone at NCIS wanted Martin hired on there and fast. That meant long hours of searching through records and asking questions, followed by a ton of paperwork.

Not that anyone cared how inconvenient a work rush was for her on top of her regular clearance caseload. That much was evident from the fact Steve had disappeared into his kitchen ten minutes ago and hadn’t said a word or bothered to come out since. A wall blocked her view, but she didn’t even hear him clanging around in there as expected. He’d got a message on his cell and excused himself, and she’d been stuck in the makeshift sauna alone ever since.

So much for the idea of beating the Thursday afternoon rush-hour traffic back to her condo in Alexandria, Virginia. She’d likely sit on the 14th Street Bridge forever. Good thing She’d grabbed that granola bar before she headed out earlier today.

A loud scrape that sounded like someone dragging a chair across tile broke through her internal grumbling. She waited for another sound, for anything, but the narrow brownstone remained quiet except for the loud tick of the antique clock above the fireplace as the minutes slowly passed. Because she hated having her time wasted, she stood up, ignoring the ripping sound of her skin against the chair and the sharp sting. Despite her host’s lack of social skills, this time she put her glass down on a magazine. No need to take her frustration out on his furniture.

Her shoes fell silent on the beige carpet. In two steps she was at the kitchen doorway. Her gaze went to the open back door and the small patio beyond. It took her a second longer to notice the brown shoes and khakis sticking out from behind the butcher-block island.

Guy on the floor. Her mind rushed to fill in the blanks. At fortysomething and in good shape, Steve seemed young for a heart attack. That probably meant he’d somehow fallen without making a sound.

And here she had been sitting in the other room complaining. Tiny pricks of guilt stabbed her as she switched to rescue mode. She grabbed the cell in her blazer pocket as she turned the corner and slipped farther into the kitchen, intending to perform CPR as she called for help. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons so she stopped her rush and looked down, trying to concentrate on dialing something as simple as 9-1-1.

“Who are you?”

The male voice had her head jerking up again. Her gaze bounced to her far right. There in the corner near the sink and tucked behind the oversize refrigerator stood a man. He had brown hair and a furious glare, but the real problem was the knife in his hand.

Her gaze bounced back to Steve’s still form. For the first time she noticed the circle of dark red pooling beneath his body and spreading across the once off-white tiles.

“I didn’t…” She cupped the phone in her palm and slipped it back in her jacket as she tried to maneuver back out of the room. “I’ll just go.”

Before she could turn and run, the man pounced. Just as the scream left her lungs, he grabbed from behind and around her middle, choking off all sound. The move trapped her arms to her sides and squeezed the air out of her lungs. She coughed as her gaze darted around the room for some way out of this strange nightmare.

She opened her mouth again and his beefy palm settled over her mouth. “Oh, no, princess. Not one word.”

She strained and shoved her shoulders against his hold. Her neck ached from stretching and the activity exhausted her, but he didn’t even move. His hand muffled her screams and her lungs burned from the effort. When she finally collapsed against him, she stiffened and moved away from him again just as fast.

Fear threatened to swamp her. She heard a roaring in her ears and her heart thumped so hard she was surprised she couldn’t see it through her shirt.

“You picked the wrong day to visit your boyfriend.” The attacker’s hot breath blew across her cheek as he spoke.

His sick laugh rumbled through her senses and dark spots swam in front of her eyes. To keep from passing out, because that had to be the worst idea ever in this type of situation, she forced her breathing to slow. One more beat at the current speed and she’d be doubled over hyperventilating.

As she struggled to regain control of her body, words raced through her mind, blurred and garbled. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to concentrate and bring them into focus.

Stay calm. Remember what I taught you.

Like that, anxiety stopped pinging around inside of her. Her ex wasn’t in the room but she could hear his voice inside her head. He was an expert at self-defense and at breaking a woman’s heart. Only the former mattered right now. A brief mental review of the skills he’d taught her stopped the room from spinning.

In a span of seconds her brain rebooted. She let her body go completely limp as she gathered her energy reserves for a big play.

The attacker tossed her around as he walked into the family room. When he finally stopped, he lifted his hand from her mouth but kept it hovering there, ready to slap against her lips again. “Are you going to be a good girl, princess?”

She nodded. Relief crashed through her a heartbeat later when the tight constriction around her chest eased. The man still held her, could crush her windpipe or any other body part if he wanted, but she could breathe without panting again. Oxygen flooded her brain as she waited for her chance.

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying to sound grateful and submissive and whatever else this guy needed to feel confident in his power over her.

He spun her around. Only a foot of space separated them as his fingers dug into her upper arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Work.”

He leaned in. “What kind?”

Now. She lifted her knee, putting all of her strength behind it, every ounce of will and the adrenaline flowing through her, and nailed him right between the legs. His mouth moved but nothing except a tiny squeak came out. His hands slid down her arms, all pressure from his fingertips gone, as he fell to the floor in a whoosh.

He groaned and swore as he rolled around. After rocking a few times, he tucked into the fetal position and stayed there. Then his breath came back full force. The furious whispering started, filled with swearing and what he planned to do to her before he snapped her neck.

She blocked the words, refused to be paralyzed by them. She had to move and wouldn’t get a better opportunity. She shifted around his prone body, ignoring the thrashing and threats. She’d almost stepped to freedom when his big hand clamped around her ankle.

With his body still bent over, his furious gaze stayed on her. He twisted and pulled until she hopped on one foot. She let him drag her closer as she fought for balance. It was either give in to his strength or topple over him and she knew if that happened, she was a dead woman. He’d made that clear.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He almost spit as he talked.

The fury in his tone whiplashed around her. Her mind went blank except for one thing—escape. With one hand pressed against the side of the couch, she reached out, trying to grab for the lamp sitting on the table behind it. As he pulled hand over hand, bringing her closer, she stretched out to full length, ignoring his nails as they dug into her skin.

Keeping her focus on the target, she waved her hand and her fingertips brushed against the shade. The base wobbled and thudded against the wood. Her breath caught as she waited for it to bobble then fall out of reach, but luck was on her side this one time.

With one last lunge she slapped her palm around the long stem and held on. Yanking as hard as she could, she ripped the cord from the wall and dragged the lamp over the back of the sofa toward her chest.

A ripping sound cut through the room as the top of the lamp broke through the shade. She ignored the pain shooting up her leg and the heavy weight in her hand. Pivoting, she turned and held her unexpected weapon directly over her attacker’s head. And let go.

His eyes popped wide and he yelled as he moved his head on the carpet. At the last second, he let go of her and folded his arms over his face to ward off the inevitable blow.

Suddenly free, her body went flying from the momentum. She stumbled as balance completely abandoned her. Next thing she hit the floor on her knees and heard a crack. Biting through her lip to beat back the sudden thumping in her knee and scrambling on all fours, she shuffled across the carpet.

The slide against the rug burned her skin and something sharp on the floor dug into her palm. She gave a quick tug to her purse strap where it sat next to her abandoned chair a few feet away, and the contents spilled all over the floor. She grabbed for her keys and left everything else behind.

With a push, she got to her feet. One knee buckled as a sharp sting stole her breath. She ignored it all, keeping her focus on the front door. Freedom sat a few steps away, and she had to get there before her attacker showed off a new weapon. She saw the knife but he could be hiding anything anywhere.

She looked over her shoulder one last time as her hand closed over the doorknob. Her attacker had almost reached a sitting position as he felt around him for something.

Now or never.

Throwing the door open, she tripped across the threshold and down the three steps to the walkway. Every cell inside her told her to look back and see how close he was. She pushed it all away.

After a chirp, the car’s locks clicked. Her hands shook as she opened the door and threw her body across the seat. From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow. The attacker stood in the doorway with his hands braced against the sides of the jamb.

When he started down the stairs her heartbeat kicked up until the hammering filled the car. The keys jangled in her hand as she tried to shove them in the ignition. Once, twice, three times she missed, clicking against the steering column. Finally one fit into the slot and she turned it hard enough to twist the metal.

Just as the attacker reached the side of the car, she slammed her elbow against the lock and jammed the gas pedal to the floor. He smacked his hand against the driver’s-side window and she put all her weight on that pedal. The tires squealed and her nine-year-old car fishtailed out of the parking space and onto the one-way street, barely missing the motorcycle parked across the street.

With fingers locked around the wheel, she wrestled to keep the front end from smashing into a car right in front of her. This area of town consisted of narrow streets packed with brownstone residents who juggled on-street parking regulations on a daily basis. Her only goal at the moment was to keep from pinging through there like a pinball. And to keep moving.

She ran the stop sign and flew down the street at a speed guaranteed to get her a ticket, and right then she’d kill to see a police car. A few people standing on the sidewalks yelled at her and one shook his fist. Their neighborhood-watch outrage was the least of her worries right now.

Taking the corner too fast, she ripped around to the left at the next intersection and didn’t stop while her heartbeat still clanged in her ears. Up ahead she saw a red light and traffic flow in both directions. With her eyes closed or open, no way could she pass through there and live. She needed an alternate route, but she didn’t know this part of town well enough to know the best ways in and out.

Easing over, she hooked a right and flew down another residential street. When she finally eased up on the gas, the shaking in her hands had moved to her entire body. Every cell and muscle trembled. She hadn’t realized she was mumbling and gulping in breaths until the fog clouding her brain cleared a little.

She let the car slow to a stop as she pulled into a space reserved for buses. Checking the rearview mirror for the hundredth time, she scanned the street, looking for anyone who might be following. Cars passed and people walked by—a few even stared at the lady drawing in deep breaths as she sat frozen in place. But all that mattered was she didn’t see the attacker.

Once the air flowed inside her at a normal rate again, she fumbled around in her jacket pocket and grabbed her cell. This time she skipped a frantic emergency call to the police. She needed the one man she’d vowed never to call again—Davis Weeks, her ex-fiancé and the same man who specialized in crazy combat skills and secretive missions.

He would know what to do. He always did.

Chapter Two

Davis Weeks rubbed his eyes as he walked out of his bathroom, fresh from a shower. Thanks to the sticky Maryland summer heat, he didn’t bother changing out of the towel wrapped around his waist. He was tempted to let it fall to the hardwood floor and stand naked in front of the fan. But because he could see the narrow street one floor down from this position, he decided to keep something on. No need to scare the crap out of poor Mrs. Winston next door. The woman had to be over eighty, though from the way she winked at him all the time he wondered if she’d enjoy the show.

Sweat dripped down his back just from the ten-foot march from the bathroom to the bedroom window. Man, it was hot. That would teach him to buy a run-down town house in Annapolis then not be home long enough to fix it up or figure out some sort of air-conditioning solution.

Between the massive summer thunderstorms and the tropical storm that had blown up the coast earlier in the week, the small strip of land behind his house, listed as a backyard on the real-estate sales contract, had morphed into a muddy mess. He’d just burned off some of the extra energy rumbling around inside him by laying gravel over the driveway off the alley.

Why he’d picked a humid afternoon for the task had more to do with being limited to desk-job duties at work than anything else. He wasn’t the sit-around type.

Now his muscles ached and his lower back begged for mercy. Three months shy of his thirty-fifth birthday and his bones creaked. He chalked the new pains up to too many years of chasing, shooting and diving for cover. He used to recover from jobs within a day or two. This time he neared day ten and his ribs still ached from where he’d got hit by that car. At least he’d got the bad guy.

He started to stretch his arms over his head and winced from the pull. Glancing around for a clean T-shirt, his gaze fell on the unmade bed. The blinking green light on his phone caught his attention next. With his job at the Corcoran Team he was on call all the time, and that habit gave him some comfort, but he had forgotten to bring the cell with him when he went outside earlier. He’d been unavailable for two hours, which was a record.

He swore under his breath as he reached over. A few buttons later and a voice he hadn’t heard in months buzzed in his ear. Eleven months and twelve days, but who was counting?

“Davis, it’s me. I’m in huge trouble. I…need you. Please be home.”

Lara Bart, his former fiancée and the sole reason he went off the grid on a job that ended with busted ribs and a bruised jaw. The passing of days didn’t matter. He knew that voice, could hear it every time he closed his eyes.

He also knew something was very wrong. The slight tremor. The stammer. None of that was normal for her. Husky voice, yes. Scared? Never.

The swearing this time included a few extra words and a lot of grumbling. Jamming his finger on the button, he called her back and nearly threw the phone when it went directly to voice mail.

He’d just pivoted and started stalking to his closet when the doorbell rang. He took off down the stairs with his bare feet thumping against each step.

As he hit the foyer, the rapid-fire knocking started. Breaking from protocol and his usual common sense, he entered the code on the alarm as he opened the door. Lara shoved her way inside and pressed up against him. Her arms wrapped around him as her cheek landed against his bare chest.

“You’re home.” She was out of breath and trembling as she mumbled the words against his skin.

The touch had his brain cells misfiring. It took a second for all the pieces to register. Her hair was lighter, with touches of blond through the rich brown waves, but still so soft. And his need for her still kicked hard enough to knock him over.

Ignoring the feel of her in his arms, he set her away from him and scanned her body, trying to remain as detached as possible as he checked for obvious injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Well, except for my knee.”

Looking down, he noticed the ripped hem of her skirt and red knee. That, along with the untucked and torn silk blouse, signaled trouble.

“What happened to you?” He almost dropped to the floor and checked her leg, but her next comment stopped him.

“I was attacked.”

“What?”

She conducted security-clearance interviews, but there was nothing inherently dangerous about her job. He knew because he’d checked out her company and its independent contractor ties with the Department of Defense when she’d taken the position. Not that she knew that.

And it didn’t matter that they’d broken up. He watched over her and always would.

“I should have called the police, but all I could think about was getting to you.” Her hands were a blur of constant motion. Her gaze bounced all over the room, and she pushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes.

“Okay.” Good, even. Being her first thought certainly didn’t suck, but he needed her to calm down. “Take a deep breath.”

Her chest rose and fell as she took his advice, but her hands kept shaking. “There was blood everywhere.”

Dread ripped through him. Didn’t sound as though this, whatever “this” was, had happened at the office. It took all his considerable control to focus the energy pinging around inside of him.

He wanted the information fast and clean, but she wasn’t a field agent with the sort of delivery skills for that. Then there was the problem where her words kept jumbling together.

He cupped a hand over her cheek and lifted her head until her almond-colored eyes met his. Even terrified and twisted up, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tall and trim with high cheekbones and a face that you could slap on a magazine cover without makeup.

But none of that mattered now. He needed information. Without it, he couldn’t step in and fix whatever this was.

Skipping over the “blood” comment because he’d probably be hearing that one in his sleep, he went for the broader picture. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“My jacket is in the car.” She looked around as panic moved into her eyes and turned her movements into uncontrolled jerks. “My briefcase.” She turned to head back outside.

The last thing he wanted was her out in public until he ferreted this out. “Wait…”

A shadow moved in the open doorway behind her and the facts clicked together in Davis’s head. The adrenaline started pumping through him a second later.

Jeans and a jacket, much too warm for the weather. And the gun with the convenient silencer screwed on the end. No question what that was for.

Davis assessed and acted. With a hand on Lara’s arm, he tugged her around him. She practically flew as he shoved her against the wall and into the small corner at the bottom of the stairs wedged next to the coat closet. Her back hit with a thud, but he couldn’t worry about that now. His concentration centered on the guy with the massive body and bald head aiming right for him.

As the attacker stepped inside, a flood of tension filled the air. Davis kicked out, trying to catch the door and knock it into the guy’s head. Maybe make him drop the gun. The attacker was quicker. He caught the edge and slammed it shut behind him.

Davis reached for his weapon and touched only the cotton of his towel. No gun, not even any pants. The closest weapon was hidden across the room by the fireplace. That left few options.

He dived for the attacker’s stomach. The guy groaned as he crashed into the door and Davis smashed his hand against the knob.

Heavy breaths echoed through the room as each threw punches and aimed kicks. Davis’s landed awkward because of his position and the need to keep the barrel of that gun aimed at the empty center of the room.

He slammed the guy once then twice into the hardwood, but he didn’t drop the weapon. Barely looked winded.

The guy’s knee came up, catching Davis in the jaw. His head snapped back and pain shot down from the base of his neck. Impressive training but Davis’s was better. He rammed his elbow into the side of the guy’s head and heard a sharp crack.

With the attacker off balance and reeling, Davis connected with a punch to the stomach, then one to the jaw. The guy went down hard on his knees, yelling. The gun flew across the room before spinning under the coffee table.

Davis scrambled, but the other guy wasn’t going down easy. He dropped and crawled on his elbows and knees. Blood dripped on the floor from his split lip.

Knowing it was going to hurt like hell, Davis did a jumping dive, landing on the attacker and sending a knee plowing into his back. The guy howled in pain as his head tipped back and he bared his teeth.

Davis didn’t wait. He threw his upper body out, ignoring the tearing he felt along his injured ribs, and reached out his hand. The pain smacked him hard enough to close his eyes, but he forced them open again. He couldn’t stop. Hesitating meant death for Lara and that was not going to happen on Davis’s watch.

Just as he collected his strength and shimmied closer to the weapon, the attacker grabbed his leg. Twisting and sucker punches to the back of the knee came before Davis could brace for the attack. A shocking agony spiraled through him and his breaths came in rushed pants, but he refused to give up.

His fingers brushed against the metal. A few more inches and he’d have it. To get leverage, he balanced a hand against the floor and lifted his sore body up. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Lara move. She sneaked up behind the men as they fought, carrying the heavy glass lamp that usually sat on the small table right near the double window at the front of the house. The same one she had bought right after they’d put an offer on the town house and he now used to hold his discarded keys each day.

Sensing something, or maybe reading the not-so-secret approach in Davis’s eyes, the guy whipped around. He kicked out as he lunged for Lara. In panic, she jumped to the side and threw the lamp. It missed the attacker by a few inches but it gave Davis the diversion he needed. Stretching those last few inches, he grabbed the gun and wrenched around again.

He concentrated, blocking out everything—Lara and the pain shaking through him—to hit that target and nothing else. “Hey!”

The guy pivoted and his eyes went wide. With a roar of fury, he made a final leap for the gun.

Davis didn’t hesitate. A crack split through the wrestling sounds of the room. Lara’s surprised inhalation followed the guy slumping over on his side, pinning one of Davis’s legs underneath.

Blood pooled, seeping into the small carpet. The room, ringing with activity a second ago, fell deadly quiet.

Davis kicked the guy off him then climbed to his knees. He pressed his free hand to the guy’s neck, checking for a pulse. Next came a quick search of the attacker’s pockets for some sort of identification. Davis peeked up at Lara, standing a few feet away with her hands over her mouth.

“Is he dead?” she whispered through her fingers.

The thump of a pulse grew faint then slipped away as Davis checked. “Yeah.”

Her gaze searched the room, over the newspapers stacked on the edge of the couch and the four coffee mugs lined up across the coffee table. “Call an ambulance.”

“Too late.” With an arm wrapped around his ribs, Davis stumbled to his feet.

Out of the line of sight of the window, he crept around the family room and pulled her out of range at the same time. With his back to the door’s edge, he scanned the outside for another gunman. Last thing Davis needed was another attacker blindsiding them.

When he turned back around he saw Lara watching his every move. Time to get her attention off what may be a second burst of gunfire. “Is this the guy who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t even look at the downed attacker.

Davis reached out to her but it was as if she didn’t even see the gesture. Her body closed in on itself as she put her hands on her shoulders, swinging her body from side to side and nibbling on her bottom lip. All while she carefully avoided looking at him or the guy on the floor.

The ache inside Davis was no longer about the death match. It was for her. For the sadness he saw pulling at her face and the tiny tremors that moved through her from the second she’d walked in the door and into his arms.

He was all too familiar with death on the job. She interviewed and wrote reports. She was normal. This was a nightmare, complete with splashes of blood and a body. “I know this is hard.”

Her gaze went to the attacker then bounced back up again. “No.”

“What?”

“It’s not him. This is a different guy.”

Now, that was a load of bad news. Davis exhaled as he tried to juggle all the questions in his mind. Rapid firing them at her would only shut her down. They had enough history for him to know she didn’t react well to the interrogation thing, even if it was well-meaning. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“Definitely not.”

Because she still avoided looking at the man in question, Davis tried again. “Are you sure?”

Her hands dropped to her sides as her cheeks flushed. “How can you stay so calm?”

The look was not a mystery. Just like always, anger slowly replaced the other emotions clashing inside her. Lashing out was her natural reaction.

If they had ten extra minutes to do this dance, he’d probably welcome anything that took her away from being scared, but right now he needed her to focus so he could get her out of there.

“Practice.” He glanced through the house and out the back door right before he did another visual sweep of the front. Next he turned to the clock above his fireplace and calculated the lead time they’d need if this guy had a partner.

“That’s your response?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Good. He could handle that reaction. “I was being honest.”

She snorted as she stepped around the downed attacker and came closer to Davis. “Right.”

Yeah, she’d definitely shifted to the anger phase. He’d seen it coming. He welcomed it but he also knew he’d have to sit down soon.

He had taken a huge body blow and all that scrambling had knocked something loose inside him. His breathing hovered at the wheezing point. Fearing the damaged rib had slipped from aching to broken, he walked, partly doubled over, to the edge of the couch.

The color left her cheeks as quickly as it had come. “Davis?”

“I need a second.” He had to think. Somehow his work life had once again intruded on her safety. She didn’t even know about the guy who’d threatened her a few months ago and ended up in the morgue. That guy learned the hard way not to come after the woman of a former Defense Intelligence Agency agent turned private-security expert.

Before Davis could blink, she was at his side. Her hand went to his hair and her eyes filled with concern. “Oh, my…your stomach is black-and-blue. We need to get you to a hospital.”

He hissed a sharp breath through his teeth when she tried to wedge her shoulder under his armpit and get him to his feet. “Whoa, honey.”

“I’ll call 9-1-1.”

He caught her around the waist before she could race through the room looking for a phone. Even through the thin shirt, he could feel the heat of her skin and his fingers tightened.

His temperature spiked as his gaze lingered over her breasts. He justified the need rumbling through him by thinking about the adrenaline aftermath. Never mind that he’d never had the desire to kiss anyone else but her after a work takedown. Seeing those big eyes and soul-stealing face, he felt his common sense go on the fritz.

It had always been this way between them. Hot and pulsing, both desperate to get the other into bed. They could communicate between the sheets. Real life was the problem.

“The ribs are from my last job.” And Davis doubted they’d heal anytime soon.

“You got jostled.”

He slipped his hand over hers, trapping it against his stomach. The dull ache caused by the touch was totally worth it. “Jostled?”

This time it looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes. She refrained but likely not by much. “Davis, don’t do that thing where you grab on to words I say and then repeat them back to me in order to ignore or stall a tough discussion.”

Most important to Davis, she didn’t pull away. Not even when he slid his fingers through hers. “You know me too well.”

“Exactly.”

“Then you know what I’m going to say next.” He pulled her in a little closer and her eyes sparkled with that compelling shade of light brown. “I need to call my team and we need to get out of here.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Police.”

“Not until my people—”

“You have ‘people’ now?”

“—check for identification and scan records to see what hole out of my past the guy crawled up and out of.” She glanced down at their joined hands and he thought he saw a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, though what she could possibly find amusing about the situation was beyond him.

“You’ve never referred to the team at the DIA that way before.”

“I’m not working there now.”

The smile vanished as fast it had come. “What?”

He understood the tension that suddenly appeared around her mouth and eyes. His job had been a huge wedge between them. Truth was his current position was much more dangerous than the old one, and she’d made it clear the old one had scared her to death. “I’ll explain that later, but the ‘people’ I plan to call first is Pax. He’s my brother and, like you, he could be a target, too.”

“You think the attack is about you?”

“What else could it be?” With the Corcoran Team, a private group contracted out to government agencies and private companies to assist in high-priority but under-the-radar kidnap rescue missions, the bad guys were very bad.

Davis and his team worked off the grid, taking on the missions others couldn’t do within legal parameters. That slapped a bull’s-eye on their backs, and it looked as if someone had come looking for payback.

The only question was why they’d included Lara in the plan. Knowing who the attacker was and whom he worked for might answer that question. Until then, Davis was not letting her out of his sight, no matter how much she argued. And he was pretty sure she’d fight the protection.

“You’re forgetting the guy who killed the lieutenant commander didn’t even know I was in the house,” she said, acting as if the out-of-context comment explained everything.

But the news crashed through Davis’s mental walls. He’d just come up with a plan, and then she threw this new information at him. Kind of an important piece, too. “Go back. Someone was killed?”

“I mentioned that.”

“Uh, no. That’s a fact I’d remember.”

“I’m not going to argue about who knew what when.” Her hand left his stomach and she started pacing. When she got close to the body, she came scurrying right back to Davis’s side. “For a second I forgot there was a dead guy on the floor. What does that say about me?”

The conversation threatened to veer off course again, so he brought it back. “You were talking about the murder of a naval officer?”

“Let’s just say that’s the second time today I fought a guy off with a lamp.”

The information nearly stopped Davis’s heart. The idea of her injured and scared tore through him with the force of a hurricane, leaving behind a hollow emptiness in his gut. He could go a lifetime without seeing the look he had seen on her face a few minutes ago. But this went beyond fear. She’d been forced to defend herself, and that unleashed a fury inside him that had his head thumping.

He needed details. “Lara—”

“We’ll come back to that when we discuss your new job.” She put a hand under his chin and let her thumb brush over his lips, which stopped what he was going to say. “And, yes, I will follow you out of here. You’re the expert.”

Not sure of her game, he closed one eye and looked her over. “That’s good to hear. A little surprising, but the right answer.”

“I learned some things once you left…” That thumb made one more pass before her hand dropped. “And don’t gloat. It’s not attractive.”

Words backed up in his throat. He had no idea what to say. In his head, the answer was clear—get her out of there now. The rest of his body had a different idea. “I’ll call Pax and the rest of the team to deal with this guy and start investigating.”

“Only you would use the word deal, like a dead man is a broken mug or something. He’s a person, and being this close to him is creeping me out. Like, my insides are shaking so hard I might throw up.”

That possibility didn’t scare Davis, but he trod carefully with his answer because they’d had this argument before and he’d lost—big. “He tried to kill you. Once he crossed that line, I didn’t care who or what he was.”

When she continued to stare at him, he steered the conversation back where he needed it. “I need the phone.”

She slipped away from him only long enough to grab it off the far table—then she was back at his side. “Here.”

His hand slid around her waist to rest on the sexy dip of her lower back. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You should do one more thing before the cavalry comes.”

He doubted anything mattered all that much except getting somewhere out of sight. “We’ll be long gone by the time they arrive. That’s the point.”

“Well, before we go, you might want to put on some clothes.” Her gaze traveled to his lap. “You’re naked.”

The words registered in his brain and he jumped up. A visual sweep down his body confirmed her comment…and the amusement in her voice. “What the…? When did the towel come off?”

“Very early in the battle.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“Impressive, by the way. I had no idea you knew how to bare-body fight.” This time the back of her hand pressed against her mouth to stop what looked like a smile.

He had no problem with her looking all she wanted, so he played along. “I’ve told you before that my talents are endless.”

Her gaze took another bounce down and up, then she smiled. “I can see that.”

Chapter Three

Less than ten minutes later, they slipped through the kitchen and out the back door. Lara watched as Davis caught the screen before it could slam shut. Always thinking and rarely unprepared. That was how she thought about him, and her mind wandered there often.

They hurried across the porch, the boards creaking under her sensible pumps. His sneakers didn’t make a noise. It was as if he placed each step with precision, including his run down the four steps to the muddy square of a backyard.

Her gaze focused on his butt. Not a bad focal point and certainly less scary than looking up into the eyes of another attacker. Two were enough for one day. Davis also made the staring easy. He had put on jeans and a T-shirt and carried a bag Lara wanted to believe was loaded down with clothes and essentials like shampoo but probably only contained weapons. He did love his big-boy toys, but at least he had clothes on now.

Through the haze of panic enveloping her and the sick ball of dread bouncing around in her belly, she smiled. It was not as if seeing Davis naked had ever been a hardship. He stood six foot one with long, lean muscles. If there was an ounce of fat on him, she defied anyone to find it. If anything, he was even more toned, more fit, than when she’d left all those months ago.

Looking at him now and holding his hand while they crept on boards balanced over the big puddles, she watched the muscles on his back tense and flex under his shirt. Nothing new there. The broad shoulders and military-short sandyblond hair hadn’t changed. Neither had the rough edge to his face, complete with a broken nose from years ago that had never healed quite right and a full, kissable mouth.

Put it all together and you got a man who was self-assured and strong, compelling and intriguing without being pretty. He walked by and women turned. He took a woman to bed and she didn’t want to leave again for days. Lara knew that last one from experience.

“You okay?” His question, delivered in a monotone voice, almost blended into the sounds of traffic blocks away.

“Except for the whole thing where people are trying to kill me? Yes.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “That’s the spirit.”

They walked to the six-foot fence running between his house and the next-door neighbor’s then followed it to the very back end. Unless he planned to chew his way through it, she didn’t see this as a viable way out. “Uh, what are we doing?”

“Escaping.” He trailed his hand over the wood planks.

“Did you develop the power to walk through walls?”

He shot her a sexy smile. “If only.”

Refusing to get sidetracked by the shine in his green eyes, she glanced around the yard. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You’d never know a dead man lay only a few feet away.

The strangeness of life going on, the sun shining and a lawn mower running nearby, struck her. When a person died, the world should stop, if only for a second. But nothing changed.

“Here we go.” There was a click and a panel of boards slipped open.

“A hidden door? Of course. Everyone has one.” She rolled her eyes, but his back was to her so he missed it. That was a shame because it really fit here.

Davis had a contingency for everything. Well, everything but her, which was part of the reason she’d handed back the ring and still cried over the loss.

“It’s my get-out-of-Dodge-fast plan.” After ducking his head inside and taking a look around, he held the door open and motioned for her to pass through. “After you.”

It was not as if she had a choice. Her life had careened out of control hours ago. Now she just held on and hoped not to throw up. Her knee throbbed and the drum-crashing thumps in her head promised a killer headache any second now.

They stepped inside a fenced-off square consisting of a small shed and what she guessed was a car under that slipcover. When they reached the shed, Davis flipped open a black box and typed in a code. The gate at the back end of the enclosed space opened. It spilled out into the alleyway that ran behind his house, the same house he’d moved into a week after their engagement had ended.

They were supposed to have bought it together, even put in the offer together, but when the relationship fell apart he went through on his own. Funny how the original sales listing forgot to mention a secret car compartment at the back of the neighbor’s property.

“Any chance you’re going to tell me what’s happening here? I feel like I walked into a movie a third of the way through.”

A door Lara hadn’t even seen on the house side of the enclosure opened and a tiny older woman walked out. “Is it time, Davis?”

Lara couldn’t help but stare. The lady wore a long royalblue robe buttoned up to her throat, dwarfing her under-five-foot frame. Her shocking white hair was long enough to tuck into her collar but thin enough for Lara to see the woman’s pale scalp underneath. Slippers and cheeks rubbed pink with bright blush rounded out the look.

Whoever she was, she knew Davis and wasn’t surprised to see him. She walked right up and put her hand on his forearm. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him.

“Hi, Mrs. Winston.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back. “I need the car.”

“Go ahead.” She patted his arm then turned to Lara. “Well, who is this pretty young thing?”

“This is Lara, my…” He shot Lara a warning glance. “Fiancée.”

“Well, it’s about time, young man. Come here, dear.” Mrs. Winston gave him a squeeze and shuffled over to Lara.

It was her turn. Mrs. Winston hugged her, though her arms barely reached to Lara’s back.

“Uh, hello.” The older woman was so small and thin that Lara worried about crushing her by accident, so she kept the hold loose.

When the older woman pulled back, she took both of Lara’s hands in her curved ones and her smile faded fast. “Did that boy fail to give you a ring?”

Lara glanced at Davis. He stood behind Mrs. Winston with an unreadable expression. Clearly this woman viewed Davis in a grandson sort of way. Lara wasn’t about to unload about all their past problems. It didn’t hurt anything to let this woman think what she no doubt wanted to hear.

“Don’t worry. He gave me a beautiful ring.” And technically that wasn’t a lie. He had. A perfect solitaire with baguettes on a platinum band.

It had broken her heart, actually shredded it in two, to hand it back. Not because she loved jewelry—that sort of thing never mattered to her—but because of what it symbolized. The commitment she so desperately wanted from Davis.

Mrs. Winston reached out and absently patted Davis’s shoulder. “He’s a nice boy.”

He handed her a cell phone. “You remember what I told you, Mrs. W?”

“Stay inside, don’t talk to anyone including anyone in a uniform, put the alarm on, pretend I don’t know you and wait for you or Pax to come back.” She peeked around Davis’s muscled arm. “I guess I can add Lara to the list of people I can trust.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Nicely done, Mrs. W.”

“My mind is just fine, you know.”

“All of you is.” He winked at her. “Now, back inside.”

Mrs. Winston padded away without asking for an explanation. The snide part of Lara figured that was why Davis liked the woman so much. She didn’t ask questions.

He closed the door, sealing them inside the odd parking space. When he turned back and walked to the front of the car, he whistled. The peppy tune continued as he ripped the slipcover off to uncover a pretty boring blue car.

Not Davis’s usual style. He didn’t go for flashy, but he usually chose trucks of some sort. This thing barely had a backseat.

With the driver’s-side door open, he reached under the dashboard and pulled out a set of keys. He smiled as he jingled them in front of her. “Ready?”

The man looked far too satisfied with this little scene. “What, no helicopter?”

“Not on such short notice.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He frowned. “Do you want to drive?”

“I’d prefer an explanation. You involved your neighbor in something dangerous. Since when do you do things like that?” That piece didn’t make any sense. If anything, Davis was overly careful.

He used to talk about contingency plans and had even run through a safety drill with her one time. The second time he’d tried she’d threatened to dump a pot of hot coffee over his head. Not that she would have, but coffee was sacred to Davis so he’d fallen for it.

He insisted civilians were the main problem in most difficult situations. Something about them taking away his options and messing up the fluidity of the operations. People without skills were fine as long as they listened. Mrs. Winston obviously listened. Looked as if she harbored a schoolgirl crush, too, but Lara wondered about her ability to follow directions.

“She thinks she’s my top secret assistant, but really she’s a nice old lady who never gets even a phone call from her deadbeat kids in Delaware. Her husband died more than a decade ago and she’s alone. I mow the back lawn, talk to her and, yes, play along with her active imagination, including installing a security system that rivals most high-tech office buildings.”

She listened but the questions remained. “I still don’t get it.”

Nothing in his explanation sounded like the Davis she knew. With his messed-up background he hadn’t learned much in the way of family coping skills. His bond with Pax was unbreakable, but coddling elderly women seemed outside of Davis’s skill set.

He smiled. “From the time I moved in she tried to wander into the house. More than once she set off my alarm by accident. Almost got shot another time when she snuck in the back while I was out front. It was a problem until she decided I was a spy.”

The word clunked in Lara’s brain. “Spy?”

“International James Bond type.”

They used to laugh about televisions shows and how they portrayed law-enforcement officials, especially those who worked undercover like he did. Expensive drinks and cars were so out of the realm of reality for Davis that he often swore his way through a program.

“You hate that term.”

He shrugged. “I tolerate the whole spy thing for Mrs. W because it makes her happy.”

The idea of Davis playing into that sort of nonsense to make an old lady happy made Lara’s stomach do a little dance. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“It was necessary. But, yeah, Pax also thought it was hysterical.”

The game came together in her head. “So, naturally, you told her Pax was a spy, too.”

Davis flashed her that sexy smile that had sent more than one woman into an eye-fluttering swoon. “I wasn’t about to go down alone. Point is, she loves it, and the wandering-around thing stopped. Now she watches the house for me and is much more careful because she’s helping me.”

“And she lets you keep a car here.” Lara ran her hand over the roof, marveling at how clean it looked for being held outside of a garage.

“I actually bought the spot. Money was tight for her and it worked well with the spy story. Also gave me a place to store the car that I prefer to keep for emergencies.”

The little dance turned into a full-fledged stomach jig. He presented this tough-guy tarnished image but underneath he was about helping people. Maybe it came from being abandoned by his mother that he never let anyone else get stuck out there all alone. Whatever the origin, it was one of those things that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.

“You rescued her,” Lara said.

“Uh, no. I came up with a way to neutralize her.” He walked around to the passenger’s-side door and opened it. “Get in.”

It was just like him to duck a compliment. He saw admitting to the existence of his bone-decent good side as some sort of weakness. She’d never been able to make him see that the size of his heart was much more impressive than the size of those biceps.

Rather than fight, because, really, there was nothing for her to win on this one, she slid into the seat. She waited until he’d climbed in before asking the obvious question. “Where are we going?”

“Pax’s boat.” Davis slid the key in and turned. The engine roared to life.

“Is being surrounded by water really the safest choice?” Then there was the problem that she got queasy if the boat rocked too much.

She’d never been on this one, but they’d gone boating with friends before. She’d tried that focus-on-a-spot-in-the-distance thing and ended up losing her lunch over the side of the boat. Not the best impression on his then–work friends.

“It’s not registered to Pax. Only a few people know about it and all of them have brutally high security clearances. Whoever is behind this shouldn’t have a clue.”

She waited until he’d pulled out of the spot and relocked the gate to talk about the point nagging at her. “I notice you didn’t ask if I had a boyfriend before you added me to your spy story.”

The car grew deadly quiet as she traced a pattern on the inside of the window. When the silence stretched, she glanced over. The rigid jaw and tick in his cheeks told her what she needed to know. This was not his favorite topic. Understandable, but she thought she knew his response, so she was prepared to wait all day. And she let him know that when she glanced over and lifted her eyebrows but didn’t say a word.

He exhaled in that women-are-so-annoying way men often did when they were cornered. “Do you?”

He didn’t even try to make it sound like an honest inquiry. “Oh, please. I know you know exactly what’s going on in my life. Or at least you think you do.”

A smile broke over his mouth. “Yeah, I’m single, too.”

CLIVE EBERSOLE BROUGHT his car to a slow crawl and stopped behind the designated warehouse on the southwest waterfront in Washington, D.C. He didn’t have to look at his watch to know he’d lost some time on this job. Took him longer to clean up Steve Wasserman’s row house than expected. Clive had wiped the place down, except, of course, for the evidence he needed the police to find.

Remembering the scene brought Lara Bart to the front of his mind for about the hundredth time in the past two hours. He hadn’t counted on her. That one proved to be a fighter and a significant complication.

Good thing she’d left her work case file when she’d run off. The documents inside helped him track her identity and find her apartment. She hadn’t run back there, so he couldn’t tie up that end, but the trip hadn’t been a total waste. Not after he borrowed a few items.

And it had only taken him a few minutes to find exactly what he needed to take back and plant in Wasserman’s bedroom. A few pieces of underwear and her address book, along with her laptop and a brush. With all of those pieces, one would hang her.

The move was off script but to his mind brilliant. And perfect in the execution. Not even the best lawyer would be able to dodge the reality of her property and DNA being all over the crime scene, as well as all over the house. She was supposed to have been there for a simple interview, but Clive had created something much bigger. A false past that tied her directly to the dead man.

It would only take a few fake emails to establish the rest of the secret life and a lover’s spat. One well-placed hair from the brush and she’d be spending the rest of her days in prison. That would teach her to take him on, to think that she could actually win.

Idiot woman. She may have escaped, but she’d left enough behind for him to implicate her in the naval officer’s murder.

His orders hadn’t mentioned her. She’d been an unwelcome surprise, but he’d improvised. Wiped his fingerprints and any evidence of his presence away. Instead of framing the murder as burglary-gone-bad as planned, he had a new answer—her.

The question was whether his employer would see it this way. When he’d confirmed the Wasserman termination at check-in everything was fine. Delivering the news about Lara Bart’s interference had caused a hiccup. Clive had been directed to appear at this destination at this time. That was rarely a good sign.

He heard the crunch of tires and glanced in his rearview mirror. A black sedan now idled behind him. He didn’t wait for the phone to ring on this command performance. Taking the offensive always worked for him, and the two guns tucked within easy reach would even the balance of power.

Exiting the car, he scanned the area for witnesses. He’d been tripped up by one already today and refused to have it happen a second time.

The passenger’s-side window rolled down and a thin file appeared in the space. No words, just a tap of a folder.

Pompous and dripping with an overactive ego, his employer continued to act as if he could separate the things he did from who he was. A typical smarmy blowhard dressed in a too-expensive suit. From the sunglasses to the shiny watch to the annoying way he held his head an inch too high, the man’s overblown sense of self begged for Clive to put him down.

His usual business philosophy faltered with this guy. Usually, as long as he was paid Clive ignored the overdose of attitude. The second an employer failed to transfer the payment on time and in the right amount, Clive would cut him down—literally. It had happened only twice, but his reputation remained intact. Both of those disloyal men were dead and Clive promised the same to anyone who tried to screw him.

He leaned down but didn’t grab the papers. “What’s this?”

His employer continued to stare out the front window. Didn’t even bother to turn down the news on the radio or give eye contact. “Your one chance to fix your mess.”

Clive decided he could do without the overwrought drama, but that was what this guy did best. “I already did.”

“You left a witness. Worse, you opened the door to more trouble than you can imagine.”

Clive kept his one hand behind his back, next to his weapon, and grabbed the file with the other. “Meaning?”

The employer finally faced Clive, but the dark glasses hid any reaction. “Your backup failed to tie up loose ends, so I am reluctantly trusting you to do it.”

The words made the nerve in the back of Clive’s neck twitch. “What backup?”

“I always have insurance.”

“So do I. That’s why Ms. Bart will now take the fall for the murder. Problem solved.”

“She is the least of your worries now.” His employer turned the radio volume up and looked forward again as if to ignore Clive’s very existence on the Earth. “The man referenced in that file is your main concern. Neutralize him immediately.”

The car took off before Clive could move away. Only luck and quick reflexes prevented him from becoming a victim of a hit-and-run or losing a foot.

But he would remember. When this was over, his employer might need a lesson. One at the end of a knife, and Clive did so enjoy his knife work.

There would be time for that later. Now he needed to focus. He flipped open the file and read the name at the top and the job history.

Davis Weeks.

Looked as though Ms. Bart had a built-in protector. That was fine with Clive. This Weeks guy would bleed out like any other man…slowly and with as much pain as possible.

Then Clive would pay his employer a much-needed late-night visit.

Chapter Four

Davis sat across from Lara on the back deck of his brother’s twenty-six-foot cruiser. The gentle rock of the boat and slosh of water against the side had a hypnotizing effect. So did watching the guy four slips down stack enough supplies on the dock for a four-month voyage. Never mind that his boat was small enough to get tossed around in the ocean. Davis hoped the guy had the smarts to limit his trip to close-in on the Chesapeake Bay and have the coast guard on standby just in case.

But Davis had enough to worry about without adding another person to his Watch List. With his elbows balanced on his knees, Davis looked down at the rough white floor under his sneakers and listened to Lara’s description of what had happened at the Capitol Hill town house.

A knife wound. A dead naval officer. An attacker with a gun. Lara wrestling free and going on the run.

It was a lot to take in.

With each word, the adrenaline increased in speed as it raced through him. The need to find the guy and rip him apart nearly swamped Davis. He jammed his teeth together to keep from letting his rage out.

She wound down when she hit the part about leaving the city and heading for Annapolis. With an arm stretched over the top of the back bench, she stared at the locked gate separating the public area from the boat slips. Her mind clearly wandered to other concerns.

He knew where. “No one is coming in here who shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” She blinked as she looked at him.

He nodded in the direction of the mounted camera on the dock. “My team is watching the area through closed circuit.”

“When did that happen?”

The woman could stand to have a bit more faith in his skills. “The second after I called Pax.”

She shifted sideways and put her legs up on the padded seat. Thanks to a quick stop at the discount store, she’d changed clothes. Gone was the ripped and professional outfit. He preferred her this way. Relaxed and at ease. With her itinerary today, she’d earned a few minutes of peace.

She now wore jeans and one of those tops barely held on her shoulders with thin straps. It slipped past her waist but not by much. Another twist and he’d get a peek of her sexy bare skin and flat stomach. Not that he needed a reminder. He remembered every inch of her with his eyes open or closed.

She tipped her head back, and the fading sun streamed through her hair. Her husky voice echoed around them as she closed her eyes. “Are you in charge of this team?”

Damn, she was beautiful.

“No.” The word caught in his throat, but he pushed it out.

Also fought the urge to make her tell the entire story again. She’d run through it three times, the last one while grumbling and frowning at him through all but the end. She didn’t understand the importance of those tiny details that became clearer with each telling. He did.

“When did you take the job with Hampton and start doing security-clearance checks?” He knew her official start date, but the reasons for the change were a mystery.

“When I decided being an office manager at an intellectual-property law firm was not the most exciting career ever.”

He’d left her in a safe job with benefits and no danger, other than falling into a boredom coma or getting her shirt caught in the copier. Now she walked in and out of situations with people she didn’t know. Yes, she asked questions and collected data for a living, which should be relatively safe, but going into a stranger’s house was a whole different level of danger. One he didn’t accept for her.

“Isn’t protocol to meet interviewees in public places?” he asked.

“Have you been reading my employee manual?”

“I’m serious.” And about a half step away from being furious with her for taking huge chances.

“Usually, but this was a rush job and my boss asked me to fit the Wasserman interview in.”

The sequence seemed clear to Davis. She broke protocol this one time and the world came crashing down around her. Either her being there was pure coincidence, or someone had set her up. If the latter was true, then the second attack of the day made less and less sense.

So did her sudden change of position on job-related risk. She’d hated that he took them, but now she was plunking that perfect butt right into the middle of some sort of war.

The realization made his hands shake with the need to yell. The growl roared up from his stomach, but he tamped it back down. “So, you switched jobs because you wanted something dangerous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m thinking it was implied.” She was making this conversation more convoluted than necessary, and they both knew it. The fact she didn’t give him eye contact gave her away. “And you used to say I was the one with the communication issue.”

She made a choking sound as she lifted her head and swung around to face him again. “Speaking of that, what’s with all the team stuff? Last I checked, you were flying around the world conducting investigations about military intel.”

The brunt of his anger smoothed away. Okay, this part promised to be difficult. He shot the other boater a look just to see if he was listening in. Davis looked in time to see the guy trip over his cooler. That was about as smooth as Davis felt at the moment.

Rather than dance around it, he said it straight. “I quit that job and went with a private firm.”

“Oh, really. The same job I begged you to leave.” The flat line of her mouth and dead eyes suggested she’d reached the end of her patience.

He couldn’t really blame her. They’d gone around and around on this topic when they’d been together. She hated his work and the life-threatening situations it threw him in. That last DIA-related assignment broke them apart. He’d sat there in San Diego, listening on the phone while she begged him to come home. He’d almost crushed the cell under his hand in frustration because he couldn’t get to her.

The crying and pleading had been new. Anger he could handle, but hearing the desperate tremble in her voice shredded him. Even thinking about it now started a hollow rumbling in his gut.

She hadn’t cared that his old boss was trapped in a nightmare because his fiancée had gone missing or that his boss’s twin brother nearly had got killed in an explosion. She asked him to turn his back on everything he knew to be right, and he couldn’t do it.

After the tense discussion, Davis and Pax had agreed they needed to finish the job. Just a few more days. Davis had justified it in his head until he blocked out the sound of her voice. The operation ended but Davis had come back to Lara and her packed bags and the engagement ring on the kitchen counter.

He couldn’t deal with any of that now. “I see the irony.”

“It’s more than that, Davis. We broke up over your habit of picking your job over me.” In the past, she’d deliver a line like that in a moment of pure female fury. Now she said it with all the emotion of reading a grocery list.

“We broke up over a lot of things.” Her lack of support and refusal to accept who he really was being some of the points he remembered.

She opened her mouth twice but nothing came out. Without warning the tension left her shoulders. “I am going to let that go because you saved my life today.”

Not sure he’d actually won that round but unwilling to get her riled, he nodded. “Much appreciated.”

“I’m guessing you don’t sit at a desk at this new job.”

There always had been so much about his job he couldn’t explain. This was part of that. “I’m sitting now.”

“You always were the best at dodging a question.” She lifted her hair off her neck. If she was hoping for a breeze, none came.

The air stood still. The heat was actually wet, choking as it burned down your throat. Having her sit there, sun-kissed and hotter than he remembered, made his temperature spike into the danger zone. This heat had nothing to do with anger or the temperature outside. This was pure, unfiltered need. All the fighting and months apart hadn’t crushed that.

“Ask me anything, but first answer one question.” He rubbed his hands together, debating if this was the right time. “Why me?”

“What?”

“You could have called the police or a friend. You were thirty miles away and you’d had a huge scare and you got in a car and drove to me.”

Amusement lit her brown eyes and a smile inched over her lips. “You’re the only spy I know.”

He really did hate that word and she knew it. “I’m serious.”

“You weren’t the best fiancé but you were great at your job. I knew I needed the best.” She glanced at the radio on the deck next to his foot. “Anything on the news yet?”

“No.” The answer was automatic. It wasn’t as if the radio was even turned up loud enough to hear it. At this level it sounded more like static or a low mumble, but he knew how this game was played. “Wasserman was in the military. NCIS probably dropped a net over this while the experts come in to collect evidence.”

A different emotion moved over her face. One that looked suspiciously like doubt. “Explain to me again why we aren’t reporting the murder.”

“I don’t want questions from anyone, including NCIS, the FBI or the police, until we know what happened in that kitchen and why.”

“I don’t get it.”

Of course she didn’t, because he was purposely not explaining it. That plan might have worked on another woman, one not as smart or intuitive. One who let things slide and accepted things just because someone said them with authority. Nothing about that description fit Lara.

She picked and checked and he’d loved that about her from the beginning. A whiny, clingy type didn’t suit him. He wanted vibrant…then he’d had it and lost her anyway.

The least he could do was let her see how this would go. “How many people knew you would be at Wasserman’s house today?”

She shrugged. “A few. Why?”

“Did you touch anything?”

“I don’t—”

“A table. The door. A glass.” He ticked the possibilities off on her fingers.

“All of them. What is your…?” She blew out a long breath. “You think I’ll be blamed for this?”

“Possibly.” Definitely. The police would look at the forensics, and Davis feared those results would only point in one direction. Hers.

“But not coming forward will only make me look more guilty.”

“That depends on why Wasserman was killed.” A question Davis wanted answered as soon as possible.

“What are you saying?”

A bell dinged in the distance as birds squawked. “Someone took him out before he could talk with you. Who knows what information he had or why someone would want it silenced.”

“Yes, so—”

“He asked specifically to speak with the investigator.” Davis switched seats. Instead of sitting across from her, he slid in next to her with his arm running along the back of the bench seat. “Coughlin, the guy you’re investigating, didn’t put Wasserman on the list. He got there because he came forward. He had something to say and specifically asked to say it that day.”

“How do you know this?”

His hand brushed against her back, right near her shoulders. When she didn’t pull away or wince, he kept it there. “I know people.”

“I’m serious.”

His fingers touched her soft hair. The gentle waves wrapped around his thumb. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“I don’t believe this.” She bent forward with her arms wrapped around her waist. When she started rocking, he moved in closer.

“Hey, come here.” That arm slid around her and pulled her in tight against his side. Seeing her confused made bile rush up the back of his throat. “It’s going to be fine.”

She stared at his wide eyes, and a strain pulled across her cheeks and mouth. “How can you say that?”

“As you pointed out, I’m very good at what I do.” His fingers threaded through her hair as his mouth hovered just inches from hers.

“What is it you plan to do?”

Kiss her, deep and hard, and not stop while either of them could still move. He wasn’t one to mix business and pleasure, but control deserted him when she was around.

Even after she’d left, he kept the memories of her alive. He wanted to be pissed and still seesawed back and forth, but he couldn’t hold on to the rage. The hurt and disappointment, well, those lingered.

But she was talking about work and he forced his mind to focus on that. She needed protection, not pawing. “We’ll figure out why Wasserman is dead and why, coincidentally, people tried to take both of us out on the same day.”

“I’m confused. Do you think this is about my work or yours?”

He was still deciding. “Until I know, you are pinned to my side.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She said the words even as her hand traveled over his chest and down to his stomach.

“Then you should have called your imaginary boyfriend.” He kissed the very tip of her nose, thinking the soft touch would satisfy him.

He was dead wrong.

“I had a hard enough time handling the flesh-and-blood type.” Their heads bent so close together that her whispered words blew across his lips.

“From my memory you handled that quite well.”

He gave in. One small press of his lips against hers. Quick and gentle, with barely any heat.

“Your ribs.”

“I’ll let you know if you’re too close. So far, we’re good.”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Davis—”

“Trust me.”

The second kiss blew the first away. This one sent energy arcing between them. His mouth over hers, pressing, touring, tasting. His hand in her hair and her cuddled against his chest.

He could feel her fingers slide over his shoulder and trail down his back. Any closer and she would be on his lap. He no sooner thought it then his arm slipped under her legs and tugged them up and over his thighs.

The kiss exploded and devoured. Any idea that they were done flushed out to the bay. When her head fell back and he started to push her down on the bench, he knew his control had snapped and it would take an army to put it back together again.

He’d just decided to tease the edge of that thin shirt and tunnel up when the nerve ticked at the back of his neck. At first he felt more than saw movement on the walkway down to the dock. Then he heard the clang of the gate and thumps of footsteps. If the person wanted to sneak up, they’d failed. No way was this a professional killer. Well, not the enemy kind.

Davis lifted his head and, after a quick look over the side, stared down into Lara’s cloudy eyes. “Company.”

The boat shifted in the water and the footsteps fell louder. The chuckle came next. “Probably not the best timing on my part, but hello.”

Davis looked away from the woman who meant everything and over to the brother he’d called for help. Pax stood on the ladder with a bag of what looked like food in one hand and a folder in the other.

After a quick mental assessment Davis decided all of that, whatever it was, could wait. “Get lost.”

“Pax!” Lara jumped off the seat and straight into Pax’s arms. He dropped his packages just in time and her smile beamed. “It’s good to see you.”

Lara had the power to lighten even Pax’s darkest moods. They had a sister-brother relationship. They joked and she made fun of the way he hid his dates from her. And put either of them near a tub of raw cookie dough and it would be gone before you could get a spoon and jump in.

The stab of guilt over losing her extended to Pax. Davis had lost the love of his life. Pax had lost someone he cared about, and that list was not very long.

“You, too, though the circumstances need some work.” Pax looked at Davis over the top of Lara’s head and mouthed the word sorry. “You guys okay post guns and knives?”

“I was better five minutes ago,” Davis mumbled.

Pax kept an arm around Lara. “And look at you beating up the bad guys. I hear the lamp is your weapon of choice.”

“Kind of hard to hide in my pants, but yes.”

Accepting the fact the kiss was over and not going to be revived anytime soon, Davis motioned for Pax to sit. “What did you find out?”

Pax guided Lara back to the bench next to Davis before grabbing his dropped belongings and dropping in the seat across from them. “NCIS is on the scene at Wasserman’s house. Agents are looking for Lara.”

The blip of happiness disappeared. She looked back and forth between the men. “What?”

“And the dead guy on your floor is, or I guess I should say was, a gun for hire. Former military with a dishonorable discharge. Apparently, your boy liked to shoot a bit too much.” Pax handed the file to Davis. “So, it looks like we have some work to do.”

Lara slumped back in the seat. “I almost hate to ask what all of this means.”

The notes were few, but Davis read enough to be concerned. He flipped the pages but put the file down when he realized Lara’s total attention was focused on him.

Prettying it up wouldn’t help, so he shot right to the truth. “Pax is saying you’re likely to be the number one suspect in the murder of Wasserman.”

She shifted until her feet hit the floor, then she pulled them up, then they went back down again. Something seemed to be pinging around inside her and making her squirm. “But why would I kill him? I don’t have a motive.”

Davis switched to his game face—all is well and easy to handle—to try to calm her down. Her switch to panic mode would only make the job tougher. “We need to figure out who did and why.”

“And then get to the bottom of Davis’s attacker,” Pax said.

Lara reached for the file but dropped her hand. “The attacker could have followed me. He came in Davis’s house right after.”

Davis had already thought about that possibility and discarded it. “Did you see him following you?”

“No…” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

Pax looked out over the boat slips and exhaled loud enough to start a tidal wave. “What a mess, but at least some things never change.”

“Like?”

“Ken.” Pax pointed at the man still struggling with his pile of equipment, this time a net he’d accidentally stepped into and got caught around his feet. “Thinks he’s a boater.”

More like a menace, as far as Davis could tell. “I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself or, more likely, someone else.”

“The chances are limited. He never leaves the dock. He gathers stuff, sits on the boat and then goes home. It’s an expensive hobby.” When Ken glanced up, putting his hand over his eyes to block the sun, Pax waved. “Weird but harmless. But back to the attacker issue.”

Her body fell. “So, what are you guys saying?”

“Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.” And that idea didn’t bother Davis at all.

She gnawed on her lip again. “Oh.”

He winked at her. “Welcome back.”

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