by Sandra Brown
And, it seemed, she would be cooperating with and even contributing to the government’s ongoing investigation. It was little enough for her to do in recompense for her brother’s crimes. Civic duty demanded it. She also felt a moral obligation. “Possibly I can help restore some of the losses to Josh’s victims.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t restore what she most wished she could: Shaw’s parents.
Wiley nodded, but uncomfortably shifted his stance again. “As to your personal loss, Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“I’m not.” Seeing his surprise, she smiled wistfully. “Before you start thinking what a wretched person I am, let me explain. I mourn my brother’s life far more than I do his death. What other outcome would have been better or more merciful?
“The indignity of a trial where he would be on constant display, gaped at? Years spent in prison where he would be subjected to God knows what kind of cruelty? No, Agent Wiley, that would have been torture of the worst sort. When I pulled that trigger, I wasn’t saving myself. I was saving Josh. I can’t mourn that his torment has ended.”
“The torment he caused you is over, too. You must feel freed.”
“I do. Actually what grieves me most,” she said, her voice cracking, “is that I don’t grieve him. That makes me truly sorrowful. For both of us.”
His look of compassion and understanding touched her deeply and brought tears to her eyes.
Discomfitted by them, he coughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest. You’ve got my number if you need anything.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Agent Wiley?”
He stopped and turned but had trouble meeting her gaze. When he finally did and saw the unspoken question there, he heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know, Jordie,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “He pulled a lot of stitches and was brought here to be stitched up again, then came to the office last night and filled out all the required paperwork. I stepped out to grab a coffee. When I came back, he was gone. Nobody’s seen him since.”
She pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Nobody will.”
Epilogue
Three months later
Jordie and her Extravaganza staff celebrated the transfer of ownership.
The party commenced at four o’clock when they presented her with a crystal-studded Mardi Gras mask as a going-away gift. They ate canapes. They raised toasts. They said their collective and individual good-byes and swapped promises to stay in close touch.
At five o’clock, she called an end to the farewell party before it became maudlin. “My last official act as boss—former boss—is to send you all home. I’ll turn out the lights and lock the door when I leave.”
They must have sensed that she wanted to spend a few moments alone in the space in which she’d built her business. One by one, they hugged her and left. Her personal assistant was the last to go. As she swiped at her tearful eyes, she said, “As we were uncorking the champagne, a package was delivered to you. Probably from a grateful client. I left it on your desk.”
When Jordie was alone, she went into her private office. All her personal things had been packed and removed already, but the space was still so familiar. She listened to the whistle in the AC vent and noted that the crack in the floor tile was the same length it had been the day she moved in. The window blind had never hung straight, no matter how often she’d tried to balance it. She would look back on these imperfections with fondness.
For the last time, she sat in her desk chair. She reached for the FedEx envelope, opened it, and dumped out the contents.
A heap of camouflage-print bandanas landed on her desktop.
“They come twelve to a pack.”
He was standing in the open doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb, dressed very much as she’d seen him the first time. The pearl snaps on his shirt winked in the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window with the crooked blind.
She found her breath, her voice. She’d lost her heart three months earlier. “Wasn’t it I who owed you a twelve-pack?”
“Was it?” He shrugged. “Who’s keeping count?”
Afraid he would see the emotion threatening her eyes, she looked down at the bandanas, picked up one and rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “This supply should last me awhile.”
“Depends on what you use them for.”
“They have lots of uses.”
In a voice husky with suggestiveness, he said, “I can think of several right off.”
She stood up and rounded the desk, but that was as far as she got before her knees went too weak to go farther. He pushed away from the doorjamb and walked toward her until only a few feet separated them. For the next few moments they just took each other in. His scar stood out against his scruff. His hair was uncombed and needed cutting. He looked completely disreputable and altogether desirable.
“How did you get past the guard in the lobby?” she asked.
“I’m a fed, remember?”
“Oh, right. You’re carrying an ID now?”
“No. I just got past the guard in the lobby.”
Naturally he had. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She motioned toward his left side. “How is it?”
“Good. Only pinches every now and then.”
She took a swift breath. “I’m so sorry for that.”
“I had it coming.” His eyes were as incisive as ever as they scaled down her and remained. “First time I’ve ever seen you in a skirt.”
“Shaw?”
“Damn. Those legs.”
“Shaw?”
“Hmm?” His eyes tracked back up to hers.
“I…I…” She stopped, then said on a gust of air, “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Your sign is gone.”
“What?”
“The one on the freeway. Extravaganza. Glitter letters. Fireworks. I came down to get some work done on the cherub. As I was driving in from the airport, I noticed your sign had been replaced by one with a bucket of fried chicken.”
“The billboard rental came up for renewal. I declined because the advertising budget is no longer up to me. My former employees pooled their resources and bought me out.”
“You sold your house, too.”
“Joe Wiley told you?”
“I called him from the car. He said y’all have been tying up all the loose ends.”
“I think—hope—that my part in the Panella-Bennett case will soon be over. But for a while yet I may be needed to verify this or that.”
“Wiley said Hickam’s able to put in half days now.”
“He’s thinner.”
“His happy tailor will get backlogged.”
She smiled. “Hickam does credit you with saving his life.”
“He’d’ve done the same for me.” He paused, then said, “So you’re leaving?”
“After everything…” She made a small gesture with her hands. “I have to make a change. Start fresh.”
“I get that.” He looked around the empty office before coming back to her. “Where are you going?”
“I haven’t decided.” Then she blurted, “You had work done on the cherub?”
“Oh. Yeah. It would’ve been cheaper to buy another one. But Mom put her there, and she loved the thing, so I had the missing arm replaced. Also had a landscaping service come in and clean up the courtyard, paint the staircase. It looks almost respectable.”
To cover the catch in her throat, she asked if he was going to make the townhouse in the Quarter his permanent address.
“No. It’ll still be a place I come back to.”
“When you need somewhere to lay low.”
He slid his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans. “Actually, I’m not working undercover these days.”
That goosed her. “What?”
“You remember the girl in Mexico?”
“Who would die bloody without better training?”
“I said that so many times to so many people that it finally made it to the wrong ears. Or the right ears, I guess. The right ears said if I didn’t want people dying bloody, why didn’t I start training them better? Piqued my interest. But I laid down some conditions.”
“Such as?”
“No relocation to Quantico. I’d get final say on accepting or rejecting a candidate, and I’d be a hard-ass because I’d be teaching them stuff that’s not in the handbook.”
“And?”
“No bureaucrat looking over my shoulder and harping about policy or proper procedure. I won’t have my methods second-guessed by someone who’s never wallowed in the gutter with the Panellas of the world.”
“And?”
“No necktie or haircut like Wiley’s. That would have been the real deal breaker.”
“What did they say?”
He raised a shoulder. “They said, ‘You got it.’”
“They must value what you have to offer.”
“Galled Hickam no end. Anyhow, I’m working out of a facility near Atlanta, the location of which is classified. Of course most of the training takes place outside the classroom.”
“That sounds exciting. Will you be—”
“Jordie?”
“What?”
“Enough of this shit.”
He was on her in an instant, his hands clasped around her head, his mouth on hers. They kissed with such heat and hunger that she was surprised when he ended it way too soon. “Jordie, when it all went down, I had to walk away. I—”
“I know.”
“I was still undercover. It was about to become a zoo.”
“I understand that. I do.”
“You weren’t seriously injured. I made Wiley swear to that on the heads of his children. So after completing all the official BS, I split.”
“And stayed away,” she said in a voice that was unexpectedly husky with emotion.
His regret plain, he sighed. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
He looked away, took a breath, came back to her. “Because I didn’t know how you felt about Josh and the way it ended. My bullet took him out.”
“They don’t know which—”
“I do. He didn’t feel it or any that came after. I couldn’t stand to see you hating me for that.”
“I don’t.”
He clasped her head tighter between his hands. “You need to know this. You need to accept it. If I had it to do over again, I still wouldn’t hesitate. I would do—”
She laid her fingers vertically against his lips. “I would do it over again, too. It ended the way it had to. Josh was liberated, and so was I.”
“Wiley told me that was your feeling.”
“To the bottom of my soul.”
“Years from now you won’t—”
“No.”
He searched her face and seemed satisfied that she was speaking honestly. Then his expression turned wry. “Then Wiley—who’s like an old woman busybody—said that as long as I was in the neighborhood, I might want to touch base with you.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Remind me to send him a bottle of wine. Fine wine.”
“I want to touch base, all right. Especially third.” He slid his hands to her bottom and brought her up against him. They kissed again and when he at last raised his head, the sharp eyes she loved speared into hers. “They throw fancy parties in Atlanta. I’ve never been to one, but that’s my understanding.”
“That sounds like a promising market. Certainly worth exploring.”
“I’ve been giving thought to upgrading my accommodations. You know, buy some furniture. A kitchen stove.”
She laughed.
He smiled, but then turned serious. “Jordie. I was lousy at this before, and I may still be lousy at it. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my days wondering about what might have been with you. With us. I for damn sure don’t want to spend another night without you. I already formed the habit of you. I want you in my bed and under me every night. Even if it means tying you up with those hankies and hauling you off like I did before.”
She kissed the C-shaped scar on his chin. “What if I want you under me?”
He grinned, swept his thumb across her lower lip, and just before kissing it, whispered, “Still mouthy.”
Novels by Sandra Brown
Friction
Mean Streak
Deadline
Low Pressure
Lethal
Mirror Image
Where There’s Smoke
Charade
Exclusive
Envy
The Switch
The Crush
Fat Tuesday
Unspeakable
The Witness
The Alibi
Standoff
Best Kept Secrets
Breath of Scandal
French Silk
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Novels by Sandra Brown
Newsletter
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Sandra Brown Management, Ltd.
Cover design by Design by Black Kat Design
Photography by George Kerrigan
Imaging by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
Image of Man and Car © Arcangel Images
Image of Road and Trees © Vault Archives
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First edition: August 2016
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBNs: 978-1-4555-8120-7 (hardcover), 978-1-4555-6617-4 (large print), 978-1-4789-4405-8 (signed hardcover), 978-1-4555-8123-8 (ebook)
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