by LENA DIAZ,
She glanced around the room she’d slept in for the past six months. It wasn’t much to look at, just big enough for the full-size bed. Her clothes were normally folded in cardboard boxes inside the closet. The rest of the rental was pretty much the same—a three-piece bathroom, galley-style kitchen with laminate counters, and a living room barely big enough for the worn love seat and a folding chair. The peeling fake-brass fixtures in the kitchen and the stained brown carpet had gone out of style decades ago. But the place still had more pluses than minuses.
Like the single-car garage with an automatic door opener that kept her from getting soaked in the rain or snow when she brought groceries home.
A charming foyer that boasted a surprisingly large coat closet.
A deep front porch with gleaming white railings and a swing. She sat out there most evenings, watching the neighborhood children play, wistfully wondering what it would have felt like to be so carefree when she was a little girl—instead of looking over her shoulder all the time, trying to stay out of the clutches of her mother’s constant stream of “boyfriends.”
In a word, the duplex was home. The first place that had ever felt that way. She’d started a life here, a real life, with a real job as a restaurant hostess at one of the resort hotels overlooking town. She’d even managed to tuck a little bit into savings. At twenty-one, she was finally her own person, making her own decisions, and looking forward to the future. Leaving this place would feel like she was going backward, starting over. Worst of all, it would mean not seeing Ian every day, maybe never seeing him again.
She dropped her head in her hands. It had taken months for him to work past her defenses. Months of gentle smiles, front porch hellos, the half-dozen times he’d insisted on fixing her pathetic car then refused to let her pay him. He’d earned her trust and had begun to wiggle his way into her heart.
After a few too many glasses of wine one evening, she’d confessed all the dirty secrets about her past. Instead of being disgusted, he’d been furious on her behalf. He held her through her tears, vowed to keep her safe and demanded nothing in return. She was the one who’d pushed for more, breaking down his defenses over time. Eventually, he too had confessed about the turmoil with his father, before his parents had been killed and he’d been put in foster care. It was his deepest secret.
Or so she’d thought.
It turned out he hadn’t told her the most important secret of all—that he was a cop, and that his interest in helping her find her friend Maria was all about his job, not that he cared about Shannon and wanted to help her. Was anything they’d shared real?
Was what he’d told her about his father true or had he made that up too? If he’d grown up in foster care, how could his three brothers have been at the hospital today? None of it made sense. She didn’t know what to believe. Or what to do. Because in spite of everything, she still cared about him.
“What’s with the suitcase?”
She jerked her head up. Over six feet of mouthwatering male lounged in her doorway, looking so handsome it nearly shredded her heart. The cuts and bruises only made him look tougher, cooler. She hated the relief that flooded through her, the yearning that had her curling her fingers against the mattress to keep from jumping up and throwing herself into his arms. Ever since the police had hauled him away, she’d been terrified that she’d never see him again.
And equally terrified that she might.
“How did you get out of jail so fast?” Score one point for her. She’d managed to speak without bursting into tears.
His mouth curled in one of those sexy half smiles of his. “The old-fashioned way. I made bail.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “A judge set bail at eight o’clock in the morning?”
“I might have had my boss pull a few strings behind the scenes.” His smile faded. “You okay? My brother didn’t harass you, did he?”
She shook her head. “No. He was...nice. For a cop.” She waved toward the sling on his left arm. “And for a guy who beat the crap out of his own brother.”
He straightened and took two steps forward, which placed him squarely at the foot of her bed, forcing her to look up to meet his blue-eyed gaze. She used to think no one could possibly have eyes that particular gorgeous shade of blue, like a mountain lake after a summer shower. Until she’d met his brothers. She clutched the bedspread harder, this time to keep from slugging him for all the lies he’d told her.
“All my brothers and I have beaten the crap out of each other over the years. It’s pretty normal, or so I hear. Too much testosterone, I guess. There’s a lot more fighting than hugging in my family. But we don’t mean anything by it. Usually.”
She shook her head. “You have three brothers. And every one of them is a cop. What are the odds of that?”
“It’s a family tradition. My dad’s a retired federal judge. And very much alive, in spite of what I told you.”
She stared at him in shock, more freaked out over his father’s occupation than to learn that he wasn’t really dead. “He’s alive? And he was a federal judge?”
“He is. He was.” He drew a deep breath, let it out. “My father was a force to be reckoned with, back in the day, for more reasons than you and I ever spoke about. Everyone looked up to him, happy to do his bidding. He had tentacles in every alphabet agency and attorney’s office this side of the Mississippi. Governors, state legislators, attorneys on both sides of the aisle came to him for advice. They probably still do. They don’t call him Mighty McKenzie for nothing.”
She blinked. “Mighty McKenzie? Good grief. What did your mom think of all of that? Oh, wait. She’s probably still alive too, right? The orphan, Ian Savage, seems to be overflowing in the family department these days.”
He gave her a solemn look. “I thank God that, yes, my mom is still alive and doing well. I visit her once or twice a year. It’s all I can stomach because it means seeing my dad too, and sometimes my brothers. She’s a retired prosecutor.”
“Well, of course she is.” She rolled her eyes. “Is the family dog a K9 police officer too?”
He crouched in front of her, close, but not touching. The look of yearning and regret in his eyes nearly stole her breath. “I’m so sorry, Shannon. I never meant to hurt you.”
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “But you did. Hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You lied to me. Not little lies either. Doozies.”
His mouth quirked. “Doozies?”
“Don’t make fun of me. I’m not in the mood.”
He sobered. “Sorry. Again. Yes, I lied. Great big lies. Doozies.”
He reached out as if to brush aside her bangs, but she jerked back before he could touch her. He sighed and dropped his hand.
“I never told you that I was with Homeland Security, that I was working undercover. I fed you the same backstory I’d told others, so I could maintain my cover. But everything else, what really matters, was true.” His gaze searched hers. “Everything.”
The kissing, the make-out sessions on her couch.
“What you told me about your father, about Willow, was that a lie too?”
He winced. “No. That was true, every word. I’ve never talked to anyone about that time in my life. Except you.”
He was being charming, and sweet, and making her want to believe him so badly that she ached. Don’t be a fool. She couldn’t allow herself to fall for his lies, not again.
“You said your father died. That you never knew your mother, that you were an only child.”
“I did. That was part of my—”
“Cover. So that you could catch the bad guys.”
He nodded, his still-sad eyes watching her intently. Did he think she could just work this out of her system? That he’d answer a few questions and they could go back to being...whatever they were?
/> “There’s something that has me stumped,” she said. “I can’t figure out what you got out of pretending to be my friend, pretending to care.”
He blew out a deep breath before straightening. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze never leaving hers. “I wasn’t pretending. I am your friend. I do care.”
She shook her head. “No. You aren’t. You don’t. I told you about my past, and you pretended that it mattered to you. You said you wanted to go after those traffickers, at the truck stop, so you could keep other girls from suffering what I went through. That was cruel, Ian. How could you use my pain like that? You had to be laughing inside the whole time at how gullible I was.”
He was shaking his head before she finished. “I’ve never laughed at you, Shannon. You’re a strong, independent woman. Most of all, you’re a survivor. I admire you.”
She stiffened. “Don’t. Don’t stand there trying to charm me and tell more lies—”
“No lies. No hidden agendas. Ask me anything. I promise you I’ll tell the truth.”
She blinked. “Anything? You’ll answer any question?”
He nodded. “I owe you that.”
She thought a moment, then asked, “Why did you befriend me?”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
She glanced at the cracked oval mirror hanging on the wall beside the door, thinking about what she saw every time she looked at her reflection. “I see an average-looking woman with hair that refuses to lie the way I want it to. I’m short, too skinny, flat-chested with almost no butt. I’m the exact opposite of what guys like you look for in a woman.”
His dark brows arched. “Guys like me?”
She refused to flatter his ego by stating the obvious—that he was the definition of gorgeous. Tall, buff, with a smile that could melt butter. It had definitely melted her on more than one occasion. She crossed her arms and waited.
“Okay, truth. You’re the perfect height for me to tuck you against my side. You’re slim, not skinny. Most girls would kill for your flat tummy and those curvy hips. Your...ah, chest is perfectly proportioned for your frame. And the rest of you, well, in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve revved my engine plenty of times. There’s absolutely nothing lacking about you in the looks department. Guys like me—whatever that means—would line up just to get a woman like you to smile at them. Top that off with your brains and a great sense of humor, and you’re basically irresistible.”
All the warm squishy feelings flooding through her at his words died a quick death with his last statement. She crossed her arms. “Irresistible? Right. That’s why you always came up with an excuse whenever we got hot and heavy. Instead of taking things to the logical next level—” she motioned toward the bed “—you always came up with a reason to leave. That’s not what I’d call irresistible.”
He pushed away from the wall and knelt in front of her again. Before she realized what he was going to do, he’d taken her hand in his. With his intent gaze locked on hers, he slowly drew her hand to his chest, then slid it down, down, down. She sucked in a breath when it dawned on her what he was doing, and that he was giving her the opportunity to stop him if she wanted to.
She couldn’t have stopped him any more than she could have given up air.
With his hand on hers, he cupped himself through his jeans. The hard length of him warmed her fingers. She let out a shuddering breath.
“That’s what you do to me, Shannon. Just thinking about touching you, kissing you, loving you, I get a hard-on. That’s not something I can fake or lie about.”
Her pulse was rushing in her ears. All this time, she’d craved touching him this way. But it wasn’t right; nothing was right anymore. She drew a ragged breath and forced herself to tug her hand away.
He dropped his hand to his side. “It would have been wrong to make love to you while my fake identity stood between us. It was torture keeping my hands off you.” He searched her gaze, then let out a deep sigh and stood again. “You can’t forgive me, can you?”
“You never asked.”
He hesitated, studying her. “Will you forgive me?”
Yes. No. She wanted to, so badly. But would she be letting him back in her heart to hurt her yet again? She drew another ragged breath, then shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Not ever?”
“Maybe. I honestly don’t know.”
His jaw tightened. “I understand. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Once this case is over, I’ll go on to another one, in another town, maybe another state.” He shrugged. “You’ve made a good life here. And one day you’ll meet the perfect guy for you, one who’s willing to give up his career and settle down. You deserve that. You deserve to be treated like a queen. You deserve to be happy.” He stepped forward and pressed a kiss against her forehead, then moved to the doorway.
His words were still tightening like a band around her chest when he looked back. “I never got a chance to tell you last night. But Butch showed me more pictures in the garage. One of them was Maria.”
She pressed a hand to her throat. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. Same build and general features you described. And a pink butterfly on the right side of her neck. Wolverine’s supposed to contact me at the shop sometime today to agree on where to make the exchange. If everything goes as planned, your friend will be freed by this evening.”
He started to leave, but she jumped up and grabbed his good arm, stopping him. “Wait. Your arm was nearly broken, your gun arm. And you’ve got a concussion. Doesn’t Homeland Security have someone else who can take care of this?”
He shook his head. “It took me months to gain Wolverine’s and Butch’s trust. That trust is hanging by a thread. If I leave and someone new tries to get in on the action, that thread will snap. Butch and his guys will take their victims somewhere else, and I’ll lose my chance to help those girls. Your friend Maria will disappear again. No telling how long it would take to find her, or if she’ll even still be alive the next time we get a lead on her whereabouts. You know how violent and unpredictable the sex trade can be. I have to do this, try to rescue all of them, including Maria.”
“No.”
He frowned. “No? You don’t want me to rescue your friend?”
“Of course I do. But it’s too dangerous for you to do it alone. If Homeland Security won’t help you, then I will.” She held up her hands. “I still have the use of both my arms. And I didn’t escape the sex trade through brains and tenacity alone. I can fire a gun as well as or better than you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve never mentioned that before.”
She lifted her chin. “It didn’t seem relevant.”
He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “I wish we had more time to discuss this. But I have to get going or risk missing Wolverine’s call at the shop. Don’t worry about me, Shannon. I may be the only agent in plain sight, but I’ve got backup ready to go the moment I need them. I’m not in this alone. I’ll be okay. And there’s no way that I’m going to take you with me into danger again. Yesterday could have ended in disaster for you. I don’t need, or want, your help.” He left her sputtering as he disappeared down the hallway.
She ran after him. “Ian.”
He ignored her as he opened the hall closet door where the panel between the two sides of the duplex was hidden. He slid it open and she grabbed his arm.
“Ian, wait.”
He looked back at her, his expression hard. “You could have been killed yesterday, Shannon. Butch and his men know where I live. They could be watching this place even now. You should lie low. Stay inside. Don’t go out on the porch. Keep the shades drawn. Until this is over, you stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine. I don’t want to see you anywhere near the shop. No arguments.”
He stepped through th
e panel and slid it shut.
She stood there fuming for several moments. Then she shoved the panel, determined to finish their discussion. The panel didn’t budge. She frowned and pressed it again. Then she remembered the locking mechanisms on both sides. Neither of them had ever locked each other out. Until now.
Chapter Ten
Ian slid his ID badge through the card reader hanging on the shop’s wall to clock in.
“Seven o’clock was two hours ago, Savage.”
He turned around to see Ralph Sanders, owner of Sanders Auto Repair, standing beside the 1969 red Mustang whose carburetor Ian was supposed to rebuild this morning.
“Sorry, boss. Had a little trouble last night.”
His boss motioned toward Ian’s face. “What’s the other guy look like?”
“Unfortunately, a lot better than me.” He’d left his sling in his Charger and downed several pain pills, determined to force his way through the pain since he’d need both hands to work on cars today. But there was nothing he could do to hide the cuts and bruises on his face. He nodded toward the Mustang. “I’ll get right on that. Shouldn’t take long to get it running like new.”
“The owner’s leaving town this morning. I didn’t know if you’d show up or not, so I had Andy work on it.”
Ian groaned. “You didn’t.”
“There wasn’t anyone else available. I didn’t have a choice.” He checked the old-fashioned gold-toned watch on his wrist. “You’ve got forty-three minutes to figure out what our beginner mechanic screwed up and get that car purring like a kitten.”
“Where’s the kid now?”
“After he put the fire out, I assigned him to delivery duty for the day. He’s on his way to pick up a set of tires for a customer.”
“Fire?” Dread shot through him as he glanced at the classic sports car that would have been the envy of every boy with a pulse back in high school. Its current owner kept it in pristine condition, coddling it like a baby. “I don’t see any burn marks. What’s the damage?”