by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan
Closing the door behind him, Dylan followed Matthew to the leather chairs that were set beside a window that offered a stunning vista of snowcapped mountains. Suddenly Dylan understood why the man didn’t pay attention to the paneling or shag carpets. The view more than made up for the lack of fashion.
“Kristen told me that you’re FBI?” the older man abruptly stated, waiting for Dylan to settle in one of the chairs before taking his own seat.
Dylan stretched out his long legs, appearing completely relaxed even as his holstered gun pressed into the small of his back. He didn’t travel anywhere without his weapon. Not ever.
“I was,” he said.
Matthew arched a brow. “Was?”
“I put in my notice,” he admitted, although he didn’t add that his boss had insisted he remain on the payroll until after the new year. He was hoping that he could convince Dylan to return to D.C.
“Why?” Matthew demanded, clearly not a man who beat around the bush. Not at all what Dylan expected from a lawyer.
Dylan decided to be equally blunt. “I’ve come to a point in my life that I want a wife and family,” he admitted. “Something that was difficult when I was doing field work.”
Matthew steepled his fingers beneath his chin, studying him with an unwavering gaze. “So you’re here as a civilian?”
“As a friend.” His jaw tightened. “And I hope more.”
“Hmm.” Matthew remained skeptical. “I’m going to be honest. I wasn’t pleased when Kristen told me how you hurt Meg. I love that girl as if she was my own.”
Dylan grimaced.
When he’d traveled to Vegas it’d been with one thing in mind—stop a serial killer before he could strike again. And he’d been willing to do whatever necessary to find the bastard and arrest him. Including making friends with a young, vulnerable woman.
He’d done undercover work a hundred times before, and while he occasionally felt a pang of guilt for deceiving people who trusted him, he could always shake it off with the knowledge that the ends justified the means. After all, he’d put some very, very bad people behind bars.
But this time…
This time he might very well have destroyed his future.
“No one regrets the fact that I hurt Meg more than I do. I thought—” He bit back his instinctive urge to claim he hadn’t had a choice. That the need to capture a killer excused any sins. But the words didn’t change the pain he’d caused. “It doesn’t matter. Just know that there’s no way in hell I’ll ever hurt her again.” He deliberately paused. “And I’ll give my life to make sure no one else hurts her.”
“Kristen said that I was welcome to castrate you if I thought you were playing games,” the man warned.
Dylan gave a short, humorless laugh. Meg’s friend was a ruthless corporate lawyer who had the temperament of a viper.
“That sounds like her. She’s terrifying.”
“Just like her daddy,” Matthew murmured with pride. Kristen’s father was Matthew’s younger brother.
“I’m here to help,” Dylan said, his tone indicating he was done discussing the past. He would make his plea for forgiveness to Meg. “Tell me why Kristen is worried.”
There was a short pause before Matthew gave a sharp nod. “It started about four weeks ago,” he said, suddenly all business.
“What started?”
“Little things.” Anger tightened the man’s bluntly carved features. “Meg woke up to find the tires slashed on her car. Then two weeks ago someone broke into her house.”
Dylan grasped the arms of his chair, his gut twisting with dread. He’d been intent on wrapping up his caseload without thinking for a second that the woman he loved might be in danger.
“Robbery?” he demanded.
Matthew shrugged. “There wasn’t anything missing. It looked like someone had just come in to make a mess, pulling out drawers and overturning furniture.”
Dylan knew from the edge in his companion’s voice that he didn’t think it was some random vandal.
“Or someone was looking for something?”
The older man gave a slow nod. “It’s possible, but I can’t imagine what it would be. Hattie lived on a fixed income that barely covered her monthly expenses, and she was too stubborn to accept help from anyone.” Matthew heaved a rueful sigh. “And Meg is just as stubborn. I doubt she carries more than ten dollars in cash.”
“Any antiques?”
“No,” Matthew instantly denied. “Most of the furniture was made by Hattie’s husband, and any valuables were sold after he died.”
Dylan filed the information in the back of his mind. It was possible there was some heirloom that had been overlooked by the family.
He’d check into it.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“A couple days ago someone spray-painted the windows of her shop,” Matthew said.
Dylan blinked in surprise. “Gang?”
“In Holly?” Matthew gave a sharp laugh. “No. There’s no gang here.” His amusement abruptly faded. “It said ‘you can’t come home’.”
Fury blasted through Dylan. “That sounds like a threat,” he growled.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Matthew held his gaze. “That’s why you’re here.”
Dylan forced himself to take a deep breath. Whoever was responsible for bothering Meg was going to pay.
But first he had to find them.
“There’re no obvious suspects?”
“There was a developer who tried to buy the house after Meg’s grandmother died. They claimed they wanted to turn it into a B&B.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “My guess would be that they were looking for a tax write-off. That old house would need some serious investment to bring it up to code.” Matthew sent Dylan a warning glance. “Still, they were very insistent.”
“Do you have a name?” Dylan asked.
“No.” Matthew flattened his lips, as if annoyed with himself. “Meg just said a man pestered her with calls until she finally disconnected the landline.”
“Did they ever call her cell phone?”
“I don’t think so. To be honest, I didn’t ask. It wasn’t until later that I realized it might be important.”
Dylan made another note to have the phone records sent to him. It would have been easier if they’d called her cell, but he had a contact who could help him trace the old line.
“Anyone else?”
Matthew glanced toward the window, silently deciding whether to share his thoughts. At last he gave a faint shake of his head and returned his attention to the waiting Dylan. “She has an old boyfriend, Brad Fulton, who hopes to pick things up where they left off when Meg went to Vegas.”
Dylan’s fingers dug into the soft leather. Some man was trying to make the moves on his woman?
Oh hell no.
With an effort, he squashed the blast of jealousy. First thing was making sure Meg was safe. After that he would deal with anyone stupid enough to think they could try and take her away from him.
“If Fulton wants to get back together with her, then why try to frighten her away?” he demanded.
“He’s the local sheriff.”
Dylan scowled. It didn’t make any sense.
“But…” He snapped his lips together as he was hit with a sharp realization. “Ah. Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “He’s hoping she’ll be scared and turn to him.”
Matthew looked guilty, as if he suddenly wished he hadn’t mentioned his suspicion. “It’s just a wild guess.”
Dylan wasn’t so sure. Often people didn’t understand why they thought something was hinky, but it was their subconscious offering a warning. If more people listened to their gut, the world would be a safer place.
“But that’s the reason you didn’t contact the local authorities,” Dylan pressed.
“Yes.” Matthew abruptly shoved himself out of the chair, his expression impossible to read. “Plus, I hoped fresh eyes could
see what I missed. Trust me, that’s the only reason I allowed you to come.”
Dylan was smoothly on his feet. He didn’t bother to tell the man that his trip to Holly had been inevitable. And that no one, including Matthew Roth, could have kept him away.
Instead he reached out to shake the man’s hand. Matthew was an important person in Meg’s life. Dylan preferred to earn his approval, if possible.
“I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of who is behind the attacks,” he instead said.
Matthew studied him with a piercing gaze. “I’m counting on you.”
“I won’t disappoint you,” he swore. “Or Meg.”
Assuming the conversation was done, Dylan turned to head toward the door and pulled it open. He was about to step out of the office when Matthew spoke from behind him.
“Are you going to tell Meg why you’re here?” he demanded.
Dylan grimaced. It was a question he’d wrestled with since Kristen had first called to tell him that Meg was being harassed.
“If she asks. I won’t lie to her again,” he said. “But I’m hoping to avoid the subject for a day or two. I’m assuming she’s still pissed.” Matthew’s brows lifted, assuring Dylan that was an understatement of Meg’s level of anger. He swallowed a sigh. It’s what he’d expected, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t harbored a small hope that she’d actually missed him. “If she knows that Kristen called me she’ll assume I’m only here because she’s in danger.”
Matthew folded his arms over his barrel chest. “She’s not going to be happy when she discovers the truth.”
“Maybe not, but she’ll be alive,” Dylan said. “Right now that’s all that matters.”
Chapter 2
Meg was exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion.
She’d not only had her best day in sales, but she’d had a number of late orders come in that meant tomorrow would be as good or even better than today. Just maybe she was going to make a success of her return to Holly after all, she acknowledged with a tired smile.
Pulling into her driveway, she ignored the light snow that she could see dancing in the beam of her headlights. Instead her gaze was locked on the soft glow that came from the windows above the garage.
At one time, the rambling Victorian house had boasted a chauffeur and housekeeper, complete with their own private rooms. Those days of prosperity, however, had been long gone by the time her grandfather had inherited the monstrosity, and the servants’ space had been left empty.
A perfect place to convert into an apartment for a little additional income.
Relieved that her new tenant had managed to find the key and get settled, Meg slipped out of her van and headed toward the stairs that were on the far side of the garage. Her aching feet were begging for a hot bath and a few hours of relaxing before she headed back to the store, but she knew that she should at least take a few minutes to welcome Lisa Burnett to her home.
She sent the pickup parked in the narrow alley between her house and the neighbor an approving glance as she climbed the steep steps. People who didn’t often drive in snow tended to underestimate how difficult it could be to get around in the winter months.
Reaching the door, she gently knocked. “Ms. Burnett? This is Meg Anderson,” she called out, not wanting to frighten the woman. “Hello?”
She heard the sound of approaching footsteps before the door was abruptly pulled open. For a second the light from the apartment cast a shadow that made it difficult to make out much more than a silhouette.
Then the smile froze on Meg’s face and her heart ricocheted against her ribs. The large form was far too male to belong to her tenant. And worse—much, much worse—there was something familiar about the broad shoulders and tilt of his head.
“I’m afraid Ms. Burnett couldn’t come,” a dark, gravelly voice drawled.
Dylan Cain.
The man who’d stolen her heart and then stomped on it.
“No.” Shock exploded through Meg as she took a hasty step backward, nearly tumbling down the steep flight of stairs.
“Careful.”
With a fluid speed, Dylan had his arm wrapped around her waist and was tugging her into the apartment. Kicking shut the door, he gazed down at her with a pair of warm brown eyes.
Still stunned, Meg tilted back her head to gaze at the ghost from her not-so-distant past.
She blinked. Then blinked again.
It was Dylan, but not Dylan.
Gone was the sleek, upwardly mobile lawyer he’d pretended to be, with his hair smoothed back and his face closely shaven. Even the thousand-dollar suit had been left behind. In his place was a man who would have scared the hell out of her if she’d met him in a dark alley.
Had she ever known him at all?
The question jolted her out of her strange sense of unreality. Lifting her hands, she pressed them against his chest and arched backward.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she rasped.
His arm tightened around her, urging her against his hard body as he studied her pale face with a brooding gaze.
“Unpacking.”
She shivered, a renegade heat streaking through her. God. It’d been so long. She hadn’t been touched by a man since she’d left Vegas over six months ago. She hadn’t wanted to be touched.
But now she felt the familiar aching need to wrap herself around this man and drown in his heat.
The knowledge only pissed her off.
She gave a shove against his chest, futilely trying to break free of his hold.
“If this is supposed to be a joke, it isn’t funny,” she snapped.
His gaze continued to move over her face, as if he needed to remind himself of each line and curve.
“It’s no joke, Meg,” he warned, his fingers splaying against her lower back as his other hand lifted to brush a stray curl from her cheek. “I’ve rented the apartment.”
The searing pleasure of his fingers touching her skin had Meg jerking her head back.
“No way,” she denied. “You’re the last person I would let in my home. A Lisa Burnett—”
He interrupted her words. “Is my sister.”
She stared at him in horror. “Sister?”
His lips twisted in a wry smile. “I do have a family, Meg.”
Her teeth snapped together. He’d told her that he was an only child. Which was just another lie. Like his name being Dan Edmonds and his career being one of a corporate lawyer.
“Really?” She gave another shove against his chest. For all the good it did her. “I assumed that you crawled from beneath a rock each morning.”
Something that might have been regret flickered in his dark eyes. “That’s not nice.”
“Good. I don’t want to be nice,” she told him. And she didn’t. She wanted to scream at him for coming to Holly. How the hell was she supposed to forget about him if he decided to pop into her life whenever he wanted? “I thought after I discovered you were an FBI agent that you told me your real name was Dylan Cain? Or was that another lie?”
“It’s Cain.” There was another flash of emotion in his eyes. “My sister’s married to Tom Burnett. She lives in San Diego with her husband and children.”
She glared at his lean face. Even with the changes he was still impossibly beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful.
There was something intensely male about this version of Dylan Cain.
“So this was a trick,” she accused. “You used your sister’s name to fool me.”
He shrugged. “Would you have rented me the apartment?”
“No way in hell. I…” Her words trailed away as she was struck by a new, horrible realization. “Oh my God. Does Kristen know?”
There was a brief hesitation before he gave a reluctant nod. “Yes.”
Meg sucked in a pained breath. She’d spent every summer with Kristen since they were ten years old.
They’d snuck out of her Uncle Matthew’s house together. They’d giggled over boys. They’d
gotten drunk and suffered through their first hangover together.
Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of girl-code?
“I thought she was my friend,” she said in husky tones.
“She is.” His hand moved up and down her back in a soothing motion. Once it would have made her melt against him. She’d been so certain there was more between them beyond just the sizzling sexual attraction. She’d felt as if he was the rock she could cling to in times of trouble. Instead he’d been nothing but a fraud. Which proved her judgment, when it came to men, was shitty. “I convinced her that I intended to come here and earn back your trust.”
Meg flinched. Was he for real?
What the hell did he care whether or not she trusted him? It wasn’t like their paths were ever going to cross again.
Or at least…they shouldn’t have.
“Why?”
He leaned down until his warm breath brushed her cheek. “You know why, angel.”
She froze at the soft endearment. They’d met when she’d been leaving her job at Kristen’s law firm. He’d dropped a pile of files and she’d instinctively hurried to help him collect them.
It was, of course, a setup so he could start a relationship with her. He needed access to her condo. Or more specific, to her roommate, Monica Tantaros.
Monica had refused to help the authorities track down her brother, unable to believe he was responsible for the string of killings along Route 95. Dylan, however, had been convinced he was responsible. He’d also been convinced that Monica’s brother would eventually contact her, and he was right. Dylan had been curled on the couch with Meg when Phil Tantaros had strolled through the door.
From being cuddled in her boyfriend’s arms, she’d been shoved behind the couch while Dylan shot across the room and tackled the strange man. Minutes later, Dylan had Phil Tantaros cuffed and was calling for backup while her dreams of happily-ever-after shattered around her.
Two days later her grandmother was dead and Meg was back in Holly.
She tilted her chin to an aggressive angle. “Actually, I don’t know why. And don’t call me angel.”