by Alison Kent
He couldn't have that happening. Not in his line of work. Not if he expected to be successful, if he expected to remain alive. That was the reason he'd come here, to figure out how he'd managed to give himself away. He couldn't name another woman—woman, hell, another person—who'd scrambled his instincts so completely.
He wanted to know why Nevada Case did.
Still she said nothing, though she'd stopped with the pacing. Now she simply leaned against a porch post and stared out toward the barn that seemed to be the root of her trouble. He wasn't clear on any of that, except for the fact that the barn wasn't a barn. It was some sort of store where a girl who might or might not be a runaway had been working.
That much he'd managed to pick up from eavesdropping on the tail end of the party. Didn't seem to be enough reason to call out the law and a big shot attorney, but then what did he know beyond the best ways for taking out moving objects, dropping other targets where they stood?
"Oh, hey. I brought you something." He leaned back, stretched out one leg, and stifled a groan to dig into the front pocket of the jeans he wore. He pulled out a small white box tied in a gold ribbon that he tried to smooth out before offering it to her. "Chocolate."
Neva pushed away from the post and walked over, taking it from his hand and turning it over as if searching for suspicious punctures. "You went to Patsy Cline's."
He nodded, watching her study the box, watching, too, the emotions that flittered through her eyes. Wonderment that he'd thought of her while he was out. Wariness that he had. An interesting pair of reactions. "Yeah. For dinner. Ed took me."
At that, she finally looked up. And this time she didn't even try to hide her surprise. "You went to dinner with Ed Hill?"
"Yep. Then he took me out to get my ride. I stopped back by for the fudge later on my own." Mick was pretty clear on how the doctor still felt about the woman. Now, for some abominably stupid reason, he was curious to know her side. "I didn't want to hear anymore about how I needed to stay away from you."
She shook her head-slowly, more in response to her own thoughts than anything he'd said. "He likes to watch out for me. He thinks he's a guardian angel or something."
Mick adjusted his weight, cringed at the scrape of denim over patches of raw skin, at the pull of medical tape on others. "Would that something be a man who's still in love with you no matter how many times you've told him it's over?"
Neva gave a soft huff. "He told you that?"
"He didn't have to." But having Neva confirm his suspicions left Mick on a steadier footing. It was his nature to size up his surroundings, his situation, including the personalities involved. "I figured it out before you'd rolled me out of the back of the truck."
"Amazing." She shook her head. "I'm even more transparent than I realized. You should've been too out of it to notice much at all."
He let her think that. "Trust me. The vibes weren't all coming from you. Doc Ed wasn't overjoyed that you were the one who found me."
"Or that I was the one who cut you out of your clothes, no doubt," she added with a smile.
That smile had him wanting to hand her another pair of scissors. "Too bad you stopped before the getting got good."
She waved an encompassing hand. "Is this more of that horse comparison thing? Because, really, that's a visual I can do without."
He laughed, then groaned, placed a hand over his bandaged ribs. "I've got to stop doing that."
She toyed with the ribbon on the box she still hadn't opened. "I'd say it serves you right, but I hate to see anyone hurting."
"Including Ed?" he asked, continuing to pry when he no longer had need. It was her compassion, her concern making him press. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of either.
She sighed, came over and sat beside him, rocking the swing. "Yes, including Ed. He's a good man, but he has to be in charge of everything in any situation."
Mick waited for the movement of the swing and the accompanying wave of slow-motion hurt to subside. "A real hands-on guy."
She nodded, tilting her head side to side with her list. "He would choose the drinks, the dinner, the movie. What time a date would start. What time it would end."
What bed they would share, she might as well have added. What position he wanted to take her in. Mick found himself grinding his jaw, and this time it wasn't so much about rough fabric on roughed-up skin. "Could be just a case of his work carrying over into his off-hours."
"Could be," she agreed with a shrug. "But a guy's going to get a lot further with me if he doesn't treat me like I've no more mind of my own than an animal."
Small talk. Personal talk. Banter. Getting to know her better was fine and all, but he also wanted to know about the man in the suit and the one with the badge and the gun. He wanted to know what they'd been doing here because of how angry they'd made her.
He inclined his head to indicate the barn. "You did a good job speaking your mind out there earlier."
"Holden Wagner, ugh. Some nerve that bastard has, bringing the sheriff out here. If I had time, or thought it would do any good, I'd sue him for harassment." Her grin was wry as she pointed toward the shingle swinging from the overhang of the porch. "I can do that, you know. I am a lawyer."
"I noticed." He'd been doing a lot of sizing her up since he'd sat down, and it would've been hard to miss the shingle. "You have him showing up a lot?"
"It's been awhile, but yes." She hesitated, as if deciding how much to explain—and whether or not he deserved any explanation at all. "A long time ago I helped Candy out of a bad legal situation.-And now there's this rumor attached to me that I just can't shake."
He made the next logical leap. "About operating an underground shelter for runaway girls."
Neva sighed, glanced over. "She wasn't a runaway. She arrived a week ago looking for a job, and I gave her one even though I knew she wasn't being completely up front."
"She give the sheriff the same story she gave you?"
"No, because this time she told all of us why she showed up last week." Another pause. More teasing of the gold ribbon. "Seems her boyfriend stole money, a lot of money, that he thought belonged to his employer."
Mick's antennae twitched. "Thought?"
She nodded. "For one thing, the amount was too large to have come from the store where he works. Which isn't hard to believe at all. Earnestine Township has one of the lowest per capita incomes in the state. For another, the guys who tame after him had guns. The one who threatened Liberty wore dreadlocks and spoke with a patois." She snorted. "Obviously not locals."
Mick's insides clutched. A patois and dreadlocks. There was no way the man was anyone but Ezra Moore, the Spectra IT assassin who more than once had stepped into the Smithson Group's operations. His being here had to mean the money train was stoking up to pull out of New Mexico.
Jesus bloody hell.
"Anyway," Neva went on as Mick weighed his physical condition against the job he had to do and found the scales way off balance, "Liberty's been the one looking after FM since we got home."
At least the dog was still wearing his collar, and the flash cards were now safely tucked away. Mick flexed his fingers into FM's ruff. "Maybe I'd better run the mutt back by Ed's, make sure he's on the mend. Did you see that she gave him his meds?"
"Dear Lord. You're worse than Candy."
"What?" Mick grinned. "Suspicious natures 'r us?"
"Yes, exactly." She leaned her head back, closed her eyes. The setting sun cast a glow on the skin of her neck. "I know why Candy doesn't trust anyone but herself to get things clone, but feel free to tell me about your lack of faith in your lellow human beings."
He hadn't had faith in anyone for a very long time, but he wasn't about to share the war stories that were the reasons why. Instead he said, "What a way to talk to a guy who brought you Patsy Cline's fudge."
"I'm waiting here," she said, and when he looked over he saw that her eyes were still closed. And that her skin still looked like vani
lla ice cream at dusk.
He swallowed and told her the first reasonable lie that came to mind. "Okay. It's like Ed. A case of the day job carrying over into the off-hours."
"What do you do?"
"Now? I'm an engineering project consultant." An easy answer. The same cover every member of SG-5 used. They were all legitimately employed by Smithson Engineering, Hank Smithson's firm.
She opened one eye, peeked over. "And that requires you be suspicious of others?"
This answer was harder, and he shook his head. "Harkens back to the pre-engineering days."
Ones he didn't talk about with anyone. Ones about which only Hank Smithson knew any details. And even then, Hank didn't know the full story. The truth of what it did to a man to spend his days looking at his fellow human beings from the other side of crosshairs.
Neva looked down, cradled the chocolate between her palms as if it were something precious. "And I suppose the knife and the gun have something to do with those days, as well."
"Nope," he lied. "Those are all about the here and now. If you don't believe me, my hunting lease papers are on the visor in the Rover."
"Then it's an interesting scenario we've got here, isn't it?" she mused, putting the swing into motion.
He tried not to groan as they moved. "How so?"
She stopped the swing, opened both eyes, turned her head, and caught him off guard with her bluntness. "You don't exactly buy that I'm not harboring runaways, and I don't buy for a minute that you're here hunting mule deer."
Anything he said, whether to affirm or deny, would only dig his grave deeper. And because this woman was no fool, he did neither. He simply watched the evening's dying light dicker in her eyes. "I'm not. Season doesn't open until fall."
She glared. "You know what I mean."
He stalled again. "I hear they're good eating."
"Venison? It's great."
"As good as chocolate?" he asked, continuing the change of subject.
"Are you kidding?" She smiled, her freckles dancing when her nose scrunched up in pleasure. "There's nothing as good as chocolate. Especially when we're talking about Patsy Cline's fudge."
He stared at the box she still held because staring into her eyes had become suddenly distracting. "I only bought the one, you know."
"What, you didn't believe the fine print?" She leaned over, pointed to the tiny gold ingredients label. "Single serving size."
This close, she reminded him of honey and sunshine, the coloring of her skin, the fire in her hair, her scent as fresh and natural as all outdoors. "Bloody hell. Read right over that part."
He sensed her smile as she reached for the loose end of the ribbon and pulled. The bow came free, and she lifted off the top of the box. "Mmm, Nothing in the world smells this good. Or melts in your mouth the way this does. It's like pure chocolate butter."
He reached for the box. "In that case, I'd better take it hack. It can't be good for your cholesterol."
"No, but right now it's perfect for my emotional well-being. In fact"—she held the box reverently—"I'd say it's just what the doctor ordered."
It really, really shouldn't have pleased him so much, her appreciation of his very small gift. "You want to pass me his name then? Because I'm pretty sure my life-threatening injuries were just treated by a vet. And he didn't say a word about chocolate."
Neva laughed, the sound so light and airy he could almost feel the shift in the swing as a great weight lifted from her shoulders. He'd come here to see her smile, to say thank you with the chocolate, to pick up his dog and his gun, to go. He'd done all of that; he should be ready to leave.
But what he had witnessed earlier with the sheriff and the man wearing gray wool Armani had his nape tingling, coming as it had on top of Ed Hill's admonition to stay away because Neva had enough trouble in her life. Then there was her ability to see through Mick's protective cloak. And now the sighting of the man he was sure was Ezra Moore.
Maybe it was no more than paying forward the second chance he'd received from Hank Smithson, but Mick wanted to stick around. Another day at least. To make sure what happened earlier in front of the barn was the end of the story. That tomorrow wouldn't bring a return spate of accusations from which she'd need a defense. After all, the woman had very likely saved his bloody life.
"Ed's not just a vet," he heard her say. "He's also the town's general practitioner."
"Hmm," Mick murmured. "Must just be us horse types he treats in the big room, then. Size being what matters and all."
Neva laughed out loud. "Shut up and open your mouth."
Shut and up and ... "What?"
"You heard me. Not another word. Just open your mouth."
He waited until she'd pinched off a bite of fudge from the single-serving chunk. And then, realizing she was giving him the very first bite, he did as she'd ordered. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue, ignoring the wide begging eyes above the snout that suddenly appeared in his lap, and wondered if it was the sugar or the company making the f.indy so sweet.
"Good stuff, huh," she said, and he nodded, his hand coming up to circle her wrist when she offered him more.
He hadn't intended to seduce her any more than to threaten her. It was simply a case of making sure the candy made it to where it was intended to go. But Neva froze, and the wrist in the ring of his fingers trembled. And the porch light was plenty by which to see he needed to release her.
Her eyes. . . The pain, the fear, the panic. He freed her and lowered his hand to his lap, giving her no reason to think he would hurt her, or that he meant anything at all by the touch.
She ended up returning the candy to the box, settling the lid back in place, licking away a chocolate smear from her thumb. The ribbon she wound like a tourniquet around two of her fingers, and he couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were circulating that she wanted to cut off.
He didn't ask, he just shifted forward on the seat, grimacing as he prepared to stand. "You know, it's late, and I've got to get going or I'll never find a place to stay."
She frowned, asked, "What about the dog?"
Mick winked. "He's not the one driving on a black-and-blue bum."
She smiled just enough to let him know the physical con-tact hadn't left her damaged. "No, I meant you're going to have trouble finding a motel that will take him in without driving half the night."
"I wasn't going to look for a motel." He pushed to his feet, groaned. "I just need a campground. We'll bunk in the Rover." He'd certainly bunked in worse places, he mused, letting FM nuzzle his hand looking for chocolate.
When he glanced down, Neva was shaking her head. "You can't. Not in your condition." She waved a hand. "You can't even get out of the swing without grimacing. There's no way you can climb in and out of the back of an SUV. You can stay here. With me. It's the only thing that makes sense."
But Mick was already cutting her off and walking toward the steps. It looked good for his cause not to agree too quickly. "I don't think that's such a great idea."
"Look, I'm sorry about what just happened." She stood and followed, stopping when he turned. "It's a reflexive thing. It's me, not you."
"Uh-huh." His curiosity, the bane of his existence, could not have been ramped more high. "That's what women always say when it's really the guy."
"Mick, please. I swear it's not." The look she gave him was an apology. "You aren't in any shape to be driving."
He couldn't argue with that.
"And I didn't go to all that trouble pulling you out of one ditch to have you end up in another. Not when I have a perfectly good guest room at the back of the house now that Liberty isn't using it."
He pretended to ponder the matter, then nodded his acceptance of her offer. "Okay, I'll stay. As long as you tell me where you sleep."
She pushed her hair back from her face. He could see her nervous frown. "Upstairs, why?"
He held tightly to the railing on the porch because he wanted more than anything to touch her, to
soothe her, to ease the frown away. "I just want to make sure I don't trespass into hostile territory again."
"Good idea, mate." She backed away, opened the front door, gestured him inside. "Considering I still have your gun."
Seven
"Oh no you don't," Jeanne said as her son slammed the back door and made like a tornado from the mudroom through the freshly mopped kitchen. She knew without asking that he and Yancey had butted their two hard heads out at the Barn. "Spencer Walter Munroe, you get back here right now. Whatever happened with you and your father, you are not leaving me in the dark about this."
"There is no this, Mom." Spencer finally stopped on the far side of the kitchen, shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jeans, hung his head. "There's only dad running his family with the same force and intimidation tactics he uses on his department."
Jeanne felt her mouth narrowing, her lips pursing. This was not all Yancey's fault; no matter how much she wished it so, Spencer was no longer an innocent boy. "He caught you with Candy."
One brief nod. "Jase's dad wasn't doing so well, so me and the guys didn't stay out there long. I thought I could see Candy for a few minutes before Dad got to the Barn."
"But you timed it all wrong." Another nod from her son, and Jeanne sighed, pulling out a kitchen chair and wishing she could take this load off her heart as easily as she took the one off her feet. Why did everything lately tire her so? "What happened?"
"Nothing that hasn't happened before." He rubbed at his forehead, fretting, looking like the little boy who'd hated waiting for his father to find out he'd been playing with the tools he knew were deemed off-limits. "Dad got all hostile about Candy being worthless."
"He did not!" Exaggeration was one thing, and she understood her son's upset, but she would not have him lying about or misrepresenting his father. "I don't believe that for a minute."