by Paula Graves
“I’m not who you think I am.”
While his rodeo days have come and gone, cowboy Jack Drummond is in for the ride of a lifetime...with life itself hanging in the balance. An unexpected encounter with his old flame, Mara Jennings, triggers a series of events that Jack never could have predicted. There’s just one problem: Mara isn’t the same woman Jack remembers. She looks like Mara. And sounds like Mara. But reignited passions aren’t enough to hide the fact that she’s harboring a big secret—and hiding out from an even bigger enemy. Now, learning the truth might be the only way to stay alive. Or it could tear them apart—permanently.
“Maybe you should let them find you,” she murmured, her gaze dipping to his mouth. Her own lips trembled apart, her breath quickening.
Answering heat flooded his body. “I told you. If you go, I’ll follow.”
“You’re crazy.” Somehow, she was even closer to him, her breasts brushing against his chest. He didn’t know if she’d stepped closer or if he had been the one to close the distance.
He didn’t really care.
“I rode bulls for a living,” he answered, sliding one hand around to press against her spine, tugging her closer. “Crazy’s baked into that cake, sweetheart.”
She slipped her hands under the hem of his T-shirt, her fingers cool against his skin. She traced his muscles and the ridges of his rib cage with a light, maddening touch. “I don’t need you.”
“I think maybe you do.”
DECEPTION
LAKE
Paula Graves
Paula Graves, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website, paulagraves.com.
Books by Paula Graves
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
The Gates
Dead Man’s Curve
Crybaby Falls
Boneyard Ridge
Deception Lake
Bitterwood PD
Murder in the Smokies
The Smoky Mountain Mist
Smoky Ridge Curse
Blood on Copperhead Trail
The Secret of Cherokee Cove
The Legend of Smuggler’s Cave
Visit the Author Profile page at
www.Harlequin.com for more titles
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Mara Jennings—Working at The Gates as an administrative assistant is just a cover for her real assignment: using her own computer skills to find an elusive hacker who may hold the key to a terror plot. But someone knows her secrets—and is willing to kill her to stop her.
Jack Drummond—The retired rodeo cowboy’s past is littered with regrets—and breaking Mara’s heart is his biggest regret of all. Now she’s in danger, and protecting her may be his best chance of paying for his sins.
Mallory Jennings—Mara’s twin sister was murdered four years ago. Could her unsolved murder be connected to the threats against Mara?
Alexander Quinn—The former CIA agent has kept Mara’s real assignment secret, even in his own agency. But can he protect her when she goes rogue?
Riley and Hannah Patterson—Jack’s brother-in-law and his wife are the only family Jack has left, and when he’s in trouble, they’re ready to help.
Endrex—The mysterious computer hacker seems to be right in the middle of a terror plot. But is he a good guy trying to stop the crime? Or has he gone to the dark side?
Carlos Herrera—Mallory Jennings’s former lover turned out to be a very bad guy. Could he have been behind her murder—and the current threat to her twin?
Nick Darcy—One of two agents at The Gates who knows Mara’s secrets. Could he have leaked the information to the people now targeting her?
Anson Daughtry—The computer guru at The Gates, fun-loving and laid-back, seems unlikely to be the leak at the agency. But are appearances deceiving?
With thanks to Bill Clifton, the computer guru who answered all my questions with patience and kindness. All errors in this book are mine, not his.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt
Chapter One
The weather was warm for March in the Smokies, or so the woman at the diner counter informed Jack Drummond when he commented on the heat as he took a seat at the counter and scanned the large menu board behind her. She was a broad-shouldered woman in her late thirties, with work-worn hands and a plain but pleasant face devoid of makeup. The name tag over her left breast read Darlene.
“Won’t last,” Darlene warned in a hard-edged drawl as she pulled a pen and order pad from her apron pocket. “We’ll get another frost in time to kill off all the daffodils that’ll be blooming.” She shrugged. “Spring in Tennessee.”
Jack could tell Darlene a few stories about spring in Wyoming that would curl her lanky brown hair. Late-season snowstorms piling up in feet, not inches. Winds so strong and cold they seemed to blast the skin right off your face. But he refrained, ordering a steak sandwich and a sweet tea, his gaze sliding past the beer menu without snagging for even a second.
Progress.
The bell on the door behind him tinkled as another customer came in from the March sunshine. A woman’s voice called out, husky and lightly tinted with a Texas twang. “Darlene, do you have the to-go orders for The Gates ready?”
The skin on Jack’s neck prickled, and he swung his head slowly toward the newcomer, certain he’d imagined the familiar tones he’d heard in the feminine voice. She’d be too old or too young, too tall, too short, hair too red or not red enough, wrong eyes, wrong face, wrong build.
But not this time. In the middle of Purgatory, Tennessee, on an impromptu fishing trip with his brother-in-law’s family, he’d finally tracked down Mara Jennings.
He’d been looking for her for four years to make amends.
It was one of the twelve steps, one he hadn’t taken where Mara Jennings was concerned. But now that she was standing right in front of him, so close that he could lean forward a few inches and touch her arm, his tongue felt like lead and his pulse began to roar in his ears.
She must have felt his scrutiny, for her cool blue eyes flicked his way, her own gaze resting a brief moment on his face before sliding back to the waitress at the counter.
She hadn’t recognized him.
Was that possible? He’d been a little lax about getting his hair cut since he left the rodeo circuit, and he’d put on ten pounds now that he wasn’t shooting through gates on the back of a thousand pounds of pissed-off beef and trying to hang on for eight seconds of sheer adrenaline. But it wasn’t his face that had gotten crushed under Coronado’s rolling body. His looks hadn’t changed that much.
Then her gaze snapped back, her brow creasing slightly as her eyebrows dipped to a V over her nose.
He managed to find his voice. “Hi, Mara.”
She froze in place for a moment, her expression going completely blank. Then she gave a short nod. “Hi.”
“So, this is where you disappeared to. I wondered.” He licked his dry lips. “I was so sorry to hear about your sister.”
A flicker of pain da
rted across her still face, so brief that he wondered if he’d imagined it. But when she spoke, her voice came out on a soft rasp. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about everything, really. Especially the way things ended.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Forget about it, Jack. I have.”
The hardness in her tone shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given how badly he’d messed up the last time they saw each other. And the cool indifference should have been a relief, a reassurance that his selfish stupidity hadn’t crushed her spirit completely.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong with Mara Jennings.
“I know it’s been a long time, but I’d really like to talk to you a little more, try to explain a few things. Could you make some time for me?”
She shook her head. “Jack, I’ve moved on.”
“There’s still the matter of the money.”
Her brow furrowed again, her eyes darting toward him before sliding away. “This is about money? Really?” She sounded confused.
Now he knew something was wrong.
“Seven thousand dollars, Mara. Plus four years of interest?”
Her lips pressed to a thin line. “Was there anything in writing?”
He stared at her, unease twisting a knot in his gut. “No, of course not. You know there wasn’t.” He took a step closer to her, unable to stop himself. “Are you okay?”
Alarm flickered in her eyes before she turned toward the waitress, who’d just returned to the counter with a box filled with individual brown paper sacks. She didn’t answer his question as she pulled out a credit card and handed it to the waitress to process.
While Darlene was running the credit card through the system, Mara continued to ignore him, her small, round chin lifted with a hint of haughtiness he’d never seen in Mara Jennings during the year he’d known her.
He might not have changed much in four years, but clearly she had.
She took the credit card back from Darlene, signed the slip and picked up the box of lunch bags, then turned toward the door without even glancing his way. She was going to leave without saying anything else, he realized.
Part of him argued to just let her go. If she didn’t want to deal with the past, he shouldn’t make her.
But there was still the issue of the money.
Before he could keep his feet from moving, he’d stepped into her path, forcing her to stop so quickly she almost dropped the box of lunches she carried. He caught the sliding box and steadied it for her, his fingers brushing over hers.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and she took a quick step backward. “What do you want?”
“I get that you don’t want to deal with the past. I’m not asking you to forgive me or anything like that. But seven thousand dollars is a lot of money—”
“And you just said there was nothing in writing.” Her husky voice was edged with disdain. “So you can’t prove I owe you a damn thing. Now excuse me.”
She passed him quickly and left through the front door of the diner, passing Jack’s brother-in-law, Riley Patterson, and his wife and child as they entered. Riley’s craggy face split with a grin at the sight of Jack standing in the middle of the diner. “What did you do, strike out with the redhead?”
Riley’s wife, Hannah, lowered her son, Cody, to the floor so he could hurry over to Jack. Reaching down, he picked up the three-year-old, tucked him close and looked over his head at Riley. “Do you remember me telling you about needing to make amends to a woman I hurt in Amarillo?”
Riley’s smile faded. “Was that her?”
“I thought it was,” Jack answered, remembering the cold, haughty air of the woman he’d just watched leave the diner. “I guess it is.” He waved toward an empty booth, inviting them to take a seat. He settled onto the bench seat across from them, setting Cody down beside him. “But something very strange is going on.”
“Strange how?” Hannah asked before Riley could speak.
“Well, I brought up the seven thousand dollars, and she acted like she didn’t remember it at all. Which was weird enough. But when I pressed her on it—” He shook his head, the flutter of unease in his gut returning. “She asked me if we put anything in writing, and when I told her of course not, she said I couldn’t prove she owed me a thing.”
Hannah and Riley exchanged a quick look. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?” Riley asked.
“Believe me, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “Four years after the fact, she doesn’t remember that I scammed seven thousand dollars from her. How is that even possible?”
* * *
DON’T PANIC. THERE’S no need to panic.
She entered through the front door of the two-story Victorian mansion on Magnolia Street, breathing deeply through her nose and releasing both air and tension through her mouth with each determined step. The office conference room was about ten paces down the narrow central corridor, and she timed her respiration accordingly—one breath, three steps. By the time she knocked on the door and received the invitation to enter, she had managed to present an outward air of calm.
But inside, she was freaking out completely.
Of all people to run into here in Purgatory, Tennessee—Jack Drummond? The cowboy with a heart of stone.
God, she’d been loathing that name for four years, loathing even the mere thought of what he’d done, the wreckage he’d left behind. She’d even wished him a painful end underneath some bucking bronc or twisting bull more than once, but she’d never figured she’d actually find out what happened to him after he left the dust of Amarillo behind him.
Well, now she knew. He was alive, well and disgustingly handsome.
But what the hell was he doing in Tennessee?
She entered the conference room quietly and set the box on the long credenza that took up most of the length of the nearest wall. Someone had already started a pot of coffee brewing, and she slipped back out of the conference room to retrieve a cooler of ice cubes for the two dozen bottles of water, juice and soft drinks lined up like soldiers at attention on one end of the sideboard.
Halfway there, she heard footsteps behind her and shot a quick look down the hall. The Gates’ CEO, Alexander Quinn, was coming up the hall behind her, his expression impossible to read. As usual.
She turned to face him. “Did I forget something?”
“What happened while you were out?”
She thought about trying to lie, but Quinn had spent a couple of decades in the CIA. Seeing through lies was part of his business. “I ran into someone from the past. From Texas.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
“He wanted me to fork over seven thousand dollars. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I sort of faked it, but—”
“But you’re not sure he believed you?”
“No.”
Quinn was silent for a moment, his hazel eyes holding her gaze without making her feel uncomfortable. For a man who had lived on lies and adrenaline, he had a calming effect on most people, and she wasn’t immune herself. “What’s his name?”
“Jack Drummond.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“Black hair, worn kind of longish. Brown eyes. Olive-toned skin. I believe he’s part Shoshone—he’s from up in Wyoming originally. He’s not super tall—maybe six feet, six-one. Big shoulders, narrow waist and hips. Cowboy.”
Quinn arched one eyebrow.
“No, literally a cowboy. He was on the rodeo circuit back in Texas and the Southwest.”
“What’s he doing in Tennessee?”
“I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say.”
Quinn looked at her a moment longer with that calm, thoughtful expression that made her feel as if he were trying to hypnotize her. Then he gave a short nod. “Go ahead and get the ice. Don’t worry about Jack Drummond. He won’t be a problem.”
She knew Quinn had the means to protect her from her past. And because he nee
ded the skills she offered when she wasn’t playing office gofer, she knew he’d be diligent about it.
But Quinn couldn’t erase the memory of Jack Drummond’s dark eyes or sexy voice from her brain as she grabbed the clean cooler from the storage closet and started scooping ice into it.
She might hate Jack Drummond’s guts and never want to see him again. But she doubted very seriously she could ever stop worrying about him, now that he’d invaded her world again. Had meeting him here in Purgatory been nothing but a strange coincidence?
Or was something a lot more sinister at work?
* * *
“THE GATES?” HANNAH looked up from wiping Cody’s lunch off his hands and face at Jack’s question. “I wonder if she was talking about Alexander Quinn’s private investigation agency. It’s right here in Purgatory.”
Riley returned from grabbing more napkins from the counter and handed them to Hannah. “What about Alexander Quinn?”
“That private-eye agency he runs now—isn’t it called The Gates?”
“Yeah, it is. Sutton Calhoun works there now.”
“Right.” Hannah made another swipe at the mess Cody had made with his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. “He used to work at Cooper Security, but I think he was from up this way to begin with.”
Jack tamped down his impatience and kept his tone even. “So The Gates is a detective agency?”
“Yeah. Well, investigations and security, I guess. Maybe your friend Mara works there. You could probably ask that waitress and she could tell you where to find the place.” Riley’s gaze sharpened. “If that’s really what you want to do.”
“I need to give her the money. It’s sitting in my bank, taunting me.”
Hannah’s lips twitched at his description, and he didn’t really blame her for finding his description a bit melodramatic. When his sister-in-law had met him, not long after he’d left Amarillo, he was sober only a couple of months, and the call of the rodeo still roiled in his blood. She’d been in Wyoming on vacation, ended up in the middle of a serial murder investigation and had come close to losing her life.