“All right, all right.” The voice sounded frustrated. Then a head popped around the side of the bush. “Paige Worth?”
A young man in his mid-thirties with shaggy blond hair gradually revealed himself. He had a smile on his face that Paige immediately didn’t trust. He looked—oily was the word that popped into her head.
Dylan didn’t look like he was too happy to see the guy, either.
Paige narrowed her eyes and drilled him with a harsh glare. “Why are you hiding in my bushes?” she asked.
The trespasser rubbed his chin and studied her. She saw his eyes settle on the bandage around her head. “Aren’t you the one who saved the little boy yesterday?”
“Again, who are you and why were you in my bushes?” Paige responded without answering the question.
The man held out a hand. “I’m Simon Moore. A reporter for the Bryson City Journal.” Paige shook his hand and felt her insides cool.
His eyes zeroed in on Dylan, and Paige watched Dylan narrow his eyes at the man. “And you’re the doctor, right? The little boy’s dad?”
“Uncle,” Dylan replied.
A “gotcha” look appeared in the reporter’s eyes, and Paige grimaced at Dylan’s slip. He’d just confirmed that the reporter had the right people. “I’m sorry about the hiding thing. You didn’t want to talk in the hospital and I thought I could—”
“—convince me to talk to you by ambushing me outside my home?” Paige raised a brow in disbelief. The man didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.
“Look,” Dylan said before Mr. Moore could open his mouth again. “She’s still not feeling well and needs to get inside and rest. Why don’t you come back another time?”
“Actually, don’t bother. There’s not a story here, all right? Please.” Paige softened her tone. “I have a headache and want to lie down. Feel free to report what happened, just leave me out of it.”
“Why?” A calculating look crossed his face as he assessed Paige, then Dylan. “Do you two have something to hide?”
Paige drew in a pained breath. “No, Mr. Moore, we don’t have anything to hide. Will is a little boy who needs a little less excitement in his life. I simply …” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re just going to write what you want.” She gave a snort of disgust. “Happy reporting.”
She stepped inside, and Dylan followed after one last look at the reporter who stood sideways, speaking into his little voice-activated recorder before stomping toward the car Dylan just now noticed parked two houses down.
Once inside, Dylan shut the door behind him. “He looks familiar.”
Her eyes drilled into his and he raised a brow. She asked, “Where have you seen him before?”
“I think he was the guy standing outside your hospital room earlier.”
“What guy?”
Dylan thought she looked pale, and he wondered if it was from the pain in her head or the thought of the reporter. She definitely hadn’t been interested in any media attention at the hospital. He couldn’t help it that a small part of him wondered if maybe she did have something to hide. His gut twisted at the thought. “When I came to see if you needed a ride earlier, there was someone standing outside your door. I asked him if I could help him and he said he had the wrong room.”
She stood perfectly still, thinking hard about something. Dylan wondered what was going on inside her head.
“What did he look like?”
Shaking his head, Dylan squinted as he thought. “I’m not sure. He had on jeans and a green polo shirt. A ball cap covered his head and face. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
Paige’s eyes met his and he could tell she was processing this information. “That guy had on jeans and a green polo shirt but no ball cap. I’m willing to bet that’s not a coincidence.”
Dylan shook his head. “He was probably hoping to catch you alone in the hospital to try and get a story out of you.” Shrugging, he gave her a smile. “Anyway, I’m relieved you’re not interested in doing the story for that reporter.”
“It’s no problem. I’m not into that kind of thing.”
“You’re right about Will. He has been through enough.
He doesn’t need all the excitement a story and pictures in the newspaper would bring.”
She smiled. “Then I’m glad I told him no.”
Dylan pulled his gaze from the beautiful woman in front of him, put the reporter out of his mind and glanced around. They were in the family room. A breakfast nook and kitchen lay to the left. “Nice place. You haven’t decorated much, but it’s a very functional, open layout.”
She laughed. “No, I haven’t gotten to the decorating part yet, and I just thought the layout was cute.”
“Well, that too, but real men don’t use the word cute in reference to a house.”
Another laugh, followed by a wince. “Don’t. It hurts to be amused right now.” She settled on the couch and leaned her head back.
“You need to be resting and can’t do that if you’re hurting. Where are the pain pills the doctor prescribed? I’ll get them for you.”
“In my purse, but I can get them.”
“You just stay put, I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter where it had landed after her careless toss. Walking over to the couch, he handed it to her.
“Thank you, darling.”
He jerked at the familiar term then caught the teasing glint in her eyes and the impish smile on her lips. Another flush worked its way up his neck, and he shook his head as he realized how his actions had come across. “Sorry, I don’t mean to act so …”
“Husbandly?” The word hung between them, then Paige groaned. He noted her red cheeks as she opened the purse. She said, “Okay, I obviously have brain damage. Or am in desperate need of some sleep. I’m going to take some medicine and get some rest.” He watched her cover her embarrassment by rising from the couch, and heading for the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes in the middle of the room and gave them a halfhearted shove as though to move them out of the way.
Dylan heard her rummaging in the refrigerator and thought about that word.
Husbandly.
Pain kicked him in the heart. He’d almost been a husband. And then he’d gotten custody of Will. Erica, his fiancée, had decided she didn’t want a package deal and dumped him the day Will came to live with him. The day after the fire.
He focused on Paige. “Do you need any help? Anything to eat?”
She came to the door of the kitchen looking incredibly cute—he felt fine using that word in reference to her—with her bare feet, hair around her shoulders and not a touch of makeup on. He finally noticed her height. She was about five inches shorter than his own six foot two. She offered him a water bottle and he took it.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry right now. I’ll get something when I wake up.” Popping a little white pill in her mouth, she took a swig from her bottle and motioned him into the den area. As she headed that way, she stepped on one of her shoes and almost tripped.
Moving fast, Dylan caught her by the upper arm and pulled her against him. Water sloshed from the bottle and caught him on the chin. Wide, green eyes blinked up at him. “Oops. I’m so sorry!” She glanced at her shoes. “That’ll teach me not to pick up after myself.” A warm hand reached up and wiped the water from his chin.
Dylan swallowed hard as he found himself entranced, speechless and very aware of the warmth of her. His gaze dropped to her lips and, for a brief second, he considered seeing what she would do if he kissed her.
She caught her breath and stepped back. His arms dropped. Then Paige wiggled her fingers at him and said, “I think you need a towel. I’m not doing much good.”
Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “I’m fine.” He wiped his chin on his shirt and smiled at the flush on her cheeks. So, these feelings catching him off guard weren’t one-sided. That was good to know.
Dylan walked toward the couch. “Are
you sure you don’t want me to get out of your hair so you can rest?”
Lying down and closing her eyes sounded wonderful. She’d pushed herself too hard today and was feeling the effects of it. However, Paige was determined to get some answers first—and push away the delicious feeling of being in his arms. Not that it was surprising that she’d enjoyed being there considering her instant attraction to the man. What surprised her was the desire to get to know him better on a personal level, not just in conjunction with her job.
And because of that desire, she had to tread carefully. Find out what she could about the fire and his sister, before she could even admit she was interested in him.
She had about twenty minutes before the pain pill would kick in.
“In a few minutes. Please, sit.”
He did, watching her with that concerned look on his face that made her do things she hadn’t done in a really long time. Like giggle. Really, what was up with that?
Paige told herself to focus on what he had to tell her—not the fact that he was looking better and better every minute she spent in his presence. She still had to rule him out as a suspect for the fire that had killed her friend and fellow agent.
And his sister.
But his background check had come back clean. She was here simply checking up on him as a formality. The fact that he had acted to save her life after her collision with the car, the fact that he was straight-up honest with her about his sister’s drug use and the fact that he didn’t seem to have a deceptive bone in his body had her convinced he’d had nothing to do with the fire.
But she’d press on with a few more questions and confirm her beliefs. As much as she would like to go with her gut, she needed some hard evidence that said he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Paige hated this deception, the lying to him, the constant watching of her words around him. She shoved the feeling aside.
Deception was the nature of the career she’d chosen and she’d do it well.
“So …” she settled on the other end of the couch “… what happened that night? I’d ask how Will is handling it, but I guess that’s pretty obvious.”
Grief clouded his eyes and she felt a pang of guilt for poking around memories that weren’t that old and were obviously painful. But she had to.
It was her job and she needed to find Larry’s killer. But she couldn’t help offering, “I can see the pain in your eyes. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Biting her lip, she continued her role. “But I’m going to be working with Will at school. It might help me with him if I know some of the story.” She’d prefer the whole thing, but would take what she could get for now.
Pulling in a deep breath, Dylan rubbed a hand over his eyes and said, “Whatever Will saw scared him enough—
traumatized him enough—that he hasn’t said a word since.”
Paige winced. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” He looked down at his hands. “Sandra, my sister, and her boyfriend, Larry, were at home when the fire started. I don’t know why they couldn’t get out.” His words slowed. “At first, I thought Sandra must have been smoking something and it was her fault the fire started, but the autopsy report showed she was clean.”
“Wow, you said she was trying to get off the drugs. Looks like she was successful.”
He shrugged and looked up to meet her eyes. “Maybe. She’d gotten clean before and gone back to it, so …”
Moved by his pain, she reached over and clasped his hand in hers. “I really am sorry.”
“Anyway, I don’t know what Will saw or heard that night, but until he deals with it, he’s never going to get over it … or stop having nightmares.”
“Poor kid.”
“Yeah. Some nights are rough.”
“Where were you that night?”
He grimaced. “I was with a patient at the hospital almost all night in Bryson City. I didn’t find out about the fire until the next morning when the social worker brought Will to me.”
He was with a patient all night. Easy enough to confirm. Her heart warmed. Her instincts were right. He didn’t have anything to do with the fire. Her eyes grew heavy.
Paige reached over and squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry, Dylan, I’m fading. Can we talk later?”
“Sure. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”
She was glad he had. With a pang, she realized she didn’t want him to leave. But he sure couldn’t stay.
Then she couldn’t hold back the yawn that hit her. Her eyelids felt like they had weights attached.
Dylan gave a small smile and glanced at his watch. “You’d better get some rest. I’m going to check in with Eli and see if he’s made any headway on who trashed my office.”
Paige nodded, grateful that her head only protested with a mild squeak instead of the raging scream that had accompanied that movement more than once since she’d awakened in the hospital.
With one last, lingering look that she wasn’t sure how to interpret, Dylan rose and headed for the door. Paige waited at the window until he got in his car and drove off. Then she made her way back to the couch. Light-headedness hit her, and she collapsed onto the cushions.
Grabbing the light blue blanket she kept thrown over the back of the couch, she pulled it over her and let her eyes drift shut.
Her last coherent thought was that she was more certain than ever that Dylan didn’t have anything to do with the fire that had killed Larry and Dylan’s sister. And that was a good thing because for the first time in her career, her heart was getting way too involved.
Thud!
Paige jerked awake. Heart thumping, blood humming in her veins, she sat up.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of pain in her head.
The second thing that caught her attention was the fact that she’d apparently slept all day because the sun was going down just outside the window behind the couch.
The third thing made her freeze, all senses on high alert.
Someone was in her house.
Her drug-induced haze had evaporated with the sudden rush of adrenaline. She needed her gun.
But it was in her bedroom in the end table in the gun box.
Making a mental note to keep it with her from now on, she slid off the couch and her bare feet hit the carpet. Her left hand grabbed the cordless handset from the end table.
She might need it.
Paige’s eyes scanned the open room, registering each detail. The family room blended into the kitchen separated by the large countertop. The breakfast area looked undisturbed. That left the two bedrooms.
One of which contained her gun.
Throat dry, breathing controlled into shallow breaths, thoughts slid through her mind as she crept on quiet feet toward her bedroom. Who would be in her house? And why? Had her cover been blown? If so, how? And where had the sound come from?
The laundry room? The only way to access that was through the breakfast area.
She just wasn’t sure. And she didn’t want a confrontation without her weapon. Physically, she didn’t think she could handle it. Not today.
Pulse pounding doubletime, all senses tuned for another noise that didn’t belong, she used the moonlight filtering through her still open blinds to guide her.
Paige passed the kitchen and paused at the door that led to the hallway. Cautiously, she peered around the edge, thankful she’d left the small night-light burning.
Nothing.
Pulling in another breath, fingers clutched around the cordless handset, she slipped through the door and into the hallway. To the right was the guest bedroom. The left, hers.
She turned left.
Stomach swirling, Paige slid the few steps to the door and again, peered inside from around the edge of the frame.
No one. Her stomach relaxed a fraction.
Moving quickly, yet still doing her best to stay quiet, she set the phone on the end table then pulled the drawer open. Inside lay the box sheltering her weapon. Paige punched i
n the code and the door opened with a soft pop. Curling her fingers around the butt of the gun, she flipped the safety off.
The hair on the back of her neck bristled and she spun, eyes probing the shadows of her room.
And still nothing stood out to her. Her heart pounded, adrenaline rushed. The bathroom door stood open and she could see inside. The shower curtain was still open, slid to one side, just the way she’d left it. A glance in the mirror above the sink showed no one hovering behind the door.
And yet …
Shivers danced up her spine as she assessed the window. The closed curtains looked untouched, pulled together, also just like she’d left them.
But the bottom of one fluttered.
Paige chilled. She hadn’t opened that window.
But there was no place to hide, except …
Her eyes dropped to the bed.
A hand shot out, clamped around her left ankle and jerked.
FIVE
Crashing to the floor, her elbow cracked against the hard wood sending shooting pain up to her shoulder and all through her head again.
Her gun flew from her suddenly numb fingers, and Paige knew without a doubt, in spite of her taller-than-average height and training, she was in no shape to ward off an attack.
Stunned, she lay on the floor, fighting the pain and pretending the fall had knocked her out. She gathered her wits and scrambled for a plan, as she hoped her attacker wouldn’t put a bullet or a knife in her while she lay there.
Movement to her left. A subtle shift in the air around her told her whoever had been under her bed was now crawling out—on the other side.
Darting to her feet, she spun, ignoring the raging pain in her arm and the little men with jackhammers in her head. “Who are you? What do you want?” As she spoke, she moved backward, using her bare foot to feel for the gun.
Her brain registered what physical details she could see in the darkened room. About her height, wide shoulders, black mask, black clothing.
Paige felt her heart thudding in her chest and worked to control her breathing and the nausea clawing in her throat.
Agent Undercover Page 4