by Cathie Linz
Anton hadn’t said a word about his niece having moved to the Northwest. In fact, Anton hadn’t said much at all. Ryan hadn’t even been sure the other man had recognized him. But Ryan had recognized Anton, which is why he’d let down his guard.
It wouldn’t happen again. Anton might look like a shaggy Jimmy Stewart, but he was no Mr. Nice Guy. He was contradictory and complicated. Just like his niece.
A gorgeous blonde with brown eyes, Courtney was emotional, energetic, and passionate. When Ryan had met her, she’d been dealing cards on a riverboat casino outside of Chicago. He’d been twenty-seven and she’d been twenty-five.
The attraction had been instant and intense. She’d accepted his invitation to go out with him, but hadn’t let him kiss her until their third date. Three months later, she’d moved in with him.
Life with Courtney had never been dull. She’d loved him like he was the only man in the world for her and then she’d left him because he’d decided to join the U.S. Marshals Service.
Women. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand them. He’d wanted to make her proud of him, therefore, he hadn’t told Courtney about his plans, until he’d learned he’d passed the tough entrance exam and been accepted into the service. Instead of being proud of him, she’d had a fit and walked out.
He hadn’t gone after her. A man had his pride. She’d left him. All he’d done was pursue his dream of being a marshal, a dream he’d had long before he’d met Courtney. Besides, only a fool loved a woman who hated his job. Still, he’d never forgotten her…
“You need a refill?” the friendly waitress asked him with a flirtatious smile.
“No, thanks.” It was time to get off his duff and take his medicine like a man.
Problem was, he’d never met a woman who made him feel like more of a man than Courtney. But the man wasn’t going to see her, the Deputy U.S. Marshal was.
IT HAD BEEN a slow afternoon, even for a Saturday at the Fell Federal Bank. Working as a bank teller wasn’t the most exciting job Courtney had ever had, and she’d had plenty. But then she wasn’t looking for excitement any longer.
Actually she was now an assistant savings officer, having just been promoted the week before. The difference in pay wasn’t huge, but anything was appreciated at this point. Courtney wasn’t exactly living the life-style of the rich and famous here, more like the nearly broke and inconsequential. After she paid her rent and utilities, there wasn’t much of her paycheck left over.
And then there was Francis Grimshaw breathing down her neck as she monitored Courtney’s work in the savings department. Petite and scarecrow thin, Francis was a perfectionist. She wore her gray hair cropped short and never had a strand out of place. As assistant manager, Francis made it her business to supervise everything, which didn’t make her the most popular person around. Always looking like she’d just sucked on a lemon didn’t help either.
Courtney suspected that Francis was actually a very lonely woman, so she’d gone out of her way to be nice to her. Not that the other woman gave any sign of noticing. If anything, it was almost as if Francis became even more suspicious of Courtney’s kindness.
In an attempt to keep busy, Courtney finished sharpening the last of her five pencils and set them on her desk in a neat row as she’d been instructed to do in Francis’s regimented by-the-book training. One of the pencils broke free and made a run for freedom, rolling off her desk.
“I’d made a break for it, too, if I were you,” Courtney murmured as she leaned under her desk to retrieve it.
Of course the blasted thing had rolled completely under the desk, requiring her to get down on her hands and knees. She would have left the fugitive where it lay, but Francis counted the pencils at the end of the day and if too many were missing the disgrace was noted on the employee’s record. Courtney had already lost a dozen pencils in her first week; she suspected the sticky-fingered customers.
Not that Francis had bought that story. She was convinced Courtney was hoarding pencils. No doubt Francis suspected her of selling them to make a profit.
From her cubbyhole beneath the desk, Courtney she saw a pair of male shoes come into view. They weren’t the shiny leather shoes of a businessman, they were big-ticket running shoes worn for comfort. And they were standing directly in front of her desk. Which meant someone was standing in front of her desk, while she was scrounging around under it.
Curses!
Hurriedly backing up, she narrowly avoided banging her head on the bottom of the drawer as she sat up. The blood rushed to her head at straightening so quickly, but she still managed to summon a smile. “Can I help…you?!”
Ryan Knight, the man she’d given her heart to only to have him stomp all over it, showed no such surprise at seeing her.
She blinked, thinking perhaps she’d conjured him up because of light-headedness. No such luck. He was still standing in front of her when she opened her eyes a moment later.
He’d been everything to her, and meant everything. He’d starred in all her dreams, answered all her hopes.
The last time she’d seen him had been in the pouring rain in Chicago. She’d tried to wipe the words from her memory but they still remained, three years later. “This isn’t about you, it’s about me,” he’d shouted. “About my future.”
Even now, she had the strongest urge to leap across the sedate oak desk, grab him by the collar of his flannel shirt and demand to know why he’d had to break her heart. And why did he have to look better now than he had three years ago? What was he doing in Oregon? Why couldn’t he have stayed in Chicago? Why couldn’t he have gained fifty pounds and gotten a beer belly? Was there no poetic justice?
Apparently not. His low-pitched voice was as seductive as ever. “Nice to see you again, Courtney. You’re looking—” he quirked an eyebrow at her “—different.”
She glared at him, still knowing him well enough to know that his words were no compliment. She was well aware that she looked rather washed-out in the plain beige suit she wore with a prim white blouse. Her long blond hair was twisted into a tight knot on top of her head. She knew she wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but this was how she was expected to dress for her job now. Conservative attire was a requirement at the Fell Federal Bank.
Apparently the same right-wing dress code didn’t apply to U.S. Marshals. He was casually dressed, looking ruggedly handsome in jeans and an open flannel shirt with a T-shirt underneath, standard attire for men in the Northwest. It didn’t look at all standard on Ryan. Her anger rose. Why had he shown up now, after all this time? Unless…
Could it be? Was it possible that he’d tracked her down to declare his love for her, to say how sorry he was to have let her go, that he wanted her back? For months after their breakup, she’d dreamed of that. Had it really come to happen? She couldn’t speak.
“Is there a problem here?” Francis inquired as she hovered over them like a hyperactive hen.
“No problem,” Ryan answered on Courtney’s behalf. “You’re lucky to have a diligent employee like Ms. Delaney working here at your bank.”
Francis didn’t know what to make of that, so she made do with a humph noise, meant to be innocuous without offering agreement. Slowly she returned to her own desk—out of eavesdropping range.
Courtney gave Ryan her perkiest employee-of-the-month smile as he plunked himself down onto the chair across from her. “What are you doing here?”
If he was going to declare his love, now was the time. It could happen, it could…
“I’m here on business.”
The wild fantasy came crashing down. Nothing had changed. Ryan’s work still came first. Which was fine by her. She’d moved on, figuratively and literally.
“I don’t have any business with the U.S. Marshals Service. Is this one of your warped practical jokes?”
“Does it look like I’m laughing?”
No, not at the moment, although it looked like he’d gotten more laugh lines at the corners of his e
yes since she’d seen him last. Ryan had never been as classically handsome as his brother, Jason. But he had a rugged look that grabbed your attention and kept it. His face was angular, his brows wide. His brown hair had never obeyed the commands of a comb and it still showed an inclination to rebel.
As for his mouth…She used to tease him that it was crooked, listing just a tad to the left. He’d respond by kissing her until she begged for mercy.
Curses, he was here only five minutes and already she was thinking of orgasms? This wouldn’t do at all!
“How did you find me?” She managed to get the question out without it sounding too breathless.
“It wasn’t difficult. I’m here on official business.” Taking out his wallet, he showed her his badge. “When was the last time you saw your uncle?”
“Uncle. Anton?”
“That’s right, your uncle Anton.” Ryan’s expression reflected his exasperation. “The only uncle you have.”
“Why do you want to know?” Experience had taught her to be cautious giving out any information about her unconventional relative.
“I’m asking the questions.”
“And I’m not answering them.” Her uncle had raised her after her parents had died in a car crash when she was ten. Since then, she and he had lived in twenty different states. Before immigrating to the U.S., Anton had been an actor in Prague and he’d retained his flair for the dramatic, passing it on to Courtney—along with a love for music by Dvořák, Smetana and, in tribute to his new country, the Everly Brothers.
Uncle Anton had done everything from selling vacuum cleaners to managing a print shop. In between he’d been involved in a few slightly shady dealings. While he may have bent the law a little, he’d certainly never actually broken it.
“What do you want with my uncle?” Courtney wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“He’s a material witness in a federal trial.”
“A witness to what?”
“He hasn’t told you about this?” Ryan arched an eyebrow at her. “I find that hard to believe, given how close the two of you are.”
“You and I were close once, that didn’t mean we knew everything about each other,” she said icily. “In fact, you turned out to be very different from the man I thought you were.”
“I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here because of your uncle. And because you might be in danger.”
“From Uncle Anton? Never!”
“Not from him, no. From the people he’s testifying against. The Zopo brothers.”
She couldn’t help it. The name made her smile. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” A flash of humor gleamed in Ryan’s hazel eyes. “Brutus and Caesar Zopo. Seems their mom was a big fan of ancient Roman history.”
Ancient history was what she and Ryan were. Now her thoughts had to remain focused on her uncle and his safety. “What did you get my uncle into?”
Ryan looked at her in surprise. “Me?”
“United States Marshals are supposed to provide personal protection to important witnesses.”
“Most people don’t know that.”
“I checked into it when you snuck out and took that entrance exam behind my back. I wanted to know what would make you go from something as secure as corporate security to a bounty-hunting job like the U.S. Marshals Service.”
“I did not sneak out behind your back and we’re not bounty hunters.”
She stuck to her guns. “You most certainly did. You didn’t tell me anything about what you were up to. But that’s not relevant. Right now my only concern is my uncle.”.
“Same here. We want to track him down as quickly as possible.”
“My uncle isn’t some kind of wildlife that you track down. How did you lose him? And what did you threaten him with to make him agree to be a material witness in the first place?” Courtney bristled with indignation. “My uncle avoids the authorities like the plague. A material witness to what?”
“To counterfeiting.”
His answer filled her with astonishment. “My uncle is not a counterfeiter.”
“I never said he was.” In contrast to hers, Ryan’s voice was calm. “But he worked for people who are suspected of being in charge of a large counterfeiting ring.”
Courtney restrained the urge to hoot in derision. “My uncle managed a print shop. What happened, did someone photocopy a ten-dollar bill?”
“No,” he replied, “the Zopos forged a million dollars worth of cashiers’ checks. And they own the print shop your uncle worked in.”
Courtney didn’t know what to say. It was true that her uncle wasn’t always the best judge of character. But then who was she to throw stones? She’d thought Ryan was a man of honor, a man who was as true as the day was long.
“I haven’t heard from my uncle in a week,” she said with obvious reluctance and more than a hint of anxiety. “When did you lose him?”
“He’s only been missing for six hours.” His voice was curt.
“Then go out and find him and protect him.” And stay away from me, she silently continued. Far away. Japan would be nice.
“I do plan on finding him. By staying close to you.”
Ryan’s words struck fear in her heart. “I’ve told you, I don’t know where he is.”
“I heard you the first time. And you may be telling the truth.”
“May be?” Her voice rose, gaining Francis’s attention.
Ryan waved the older woman away with a smile and a few loudly voiced assurances. “We’re doing fine here. Talking about the wisdom of investing my money in a bank, that it may be safer than stocks. Ms. Delaney is assuring me it is safer.”
“She’s right” Francis looked as if she wanted to say more, but Ryan turned his back on her as he leaned across the desk to speak to Courtney once again.
“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do,” he informed her. “But the bottom line is that I’m not leaving your side until your uncle is back in my custody.”
Their gazes were locked in silent combat a moment or two before Courtney vocalized her feelings. “Over my dead body!”
“STILL THINK THAT dealing with Ryan and Courtney is going to be easy?” Betty Goodie mocked her sister Muriel as they both perched on a black file cabinet in the corner of the bank’s savings department surveying the heated exchange between Courtney and Ryan.
“Nothing seems to be easy about being a fairy godmother,” Muriel noted glumly, her blue eyes flashing in her weathered face. “Especially being a fairy godmother for triplets.”
“Don’t blame it on them being triplets.” Betty impatiently shoved her white bangs out of her eyes by using the tip of her magic wand. “We were triplets and we were never this much trouble to anyone.”
“We still are triplets,” the ever practical Muriel corrected. “And goodness knows what trouble we caused in our day.”
“I can’t believe how they’ve decorated this place,” Hattie declared, entering the conversation for the first time. Holding up a gilded hand mirror, she quickly checked her appearance, as if afraid her dreary surroundings might wear off on her. She patted her silvery curls and rearranged the wide brim on her fuchsia-colored hat. Her nails and lipstick were a matching shade. Ditto for her frothy frock. “It looks more like a funeral parlor in here than a bank.”
“Look at the guy running this place and you’ll see why,” Betty retorted. “Fred Finley is hardly the stylish type.”
Hattie frowned. “Then why is Courtney dating him?”
“Because she wants security in her life,” Betty explained. As the oldest she hated having to explain anything, preferring to give commands and be obeyed. “She’s sworn off passion since she broke up with Ryan.”
“I can’t believe I’m supposed to bring these two back together after they split up. That’s a tough gig, even for a fairy godmother. Doesn’t seem fair to me,” Muriel grumbled, reaching into one of the many pockets of her khaki photographer’s vest for h
er bag of granola, her favorite munchie. “That’s harder than having him meet someone new.”
Hattie fixed her with a reprimanding look. “His soul mate is Courtney, not someone new.”
“Then why didn’t they stay together three years ago?” Muriel asked.
Betty answered. “Their time hadn’t come.” She tapped an oversize EZ-Read watch on her arm. “Now it has. So let’s get moving.”
“We already set things into motion by getting Anton to take off the way he did. I certainly hope we didn’t put him in real danger,” Hattie worried. “He was rather dreamy-looking, don’t you think?”
“I think that we’re going to have our hands full with this case,” Betty replied.
“So what else is new?” Muriel muttered as she studied their two charges, standing practically nose to nose. “I should have gone into banking instead of fairy godmothering. The hours are definitely better.”
2
“DON’T YOU THINK you’re overreacting just a bit?”
Ryan’s words made Courtney see red as she flashed back to the last time he’d said them to her—in the rain in Chicago. “You seem to have that effect on me.”
Something dark. and hungry flickered in his hazel eyes as he murmured, “I seem to recall having a better effect on you.”
“That was a different woman.”
“Apparently.” He leaned back to give her the once-over. “The Courtney I knew wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing a suit like that.”
“The Courtney you knew doesn’t exist anymore,” she snapped. “Deal with it.”
“Just like you’ll have to deal with the fact that we’re stuck with each other until I find your uncle.”
Courtney didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Define stuck with each other.”
“I plan on being your shadow. Where you go, I go.”
She refused to let his proclamation fill her with panic. The trick to dealing with Ryan was to stay cool, calm and collected. Hard to do when he drove her nuts, but she was determined to give it a try. “You can’t sit here in the bank day after day. I’ve already said that I don’t know where my uncle is. I’ll tell you what. Leave me your business card, and if he checks in with me I’ll give you a call.” If she thought it was in her uncle’s best interest, which was a big if.