Share the Darkness. Jill Monroe

had the sexiest voice she’d ever heard in her life. Of course she’d been listening to nothing but that rich, deep baritone of his for the last few hours. She’d read that when someone lost one sense, the others became more acute.

      She believed it now.

      Her ears had become especially sensitive to his voice as it wrapped around her, surrounding her like a sensual fog.

      “So, what brought you to Gallem?” she asked, suddenly needing to turn the focus of their conversation away from her life.

      Ward had been with the FBI long enough to know when someone was trying to divert his attention. Not a smooth transition, but the way Hannah phrased her question would make his refusal to answer seem rude.

      “Things had gotten a little stale. A friend told me I needed to get into life. When I saw the job at P&L I applied. I didn’t know Gallem was so hot.”

      She laughed. He loved a woman’s laugh.

      The fanning motion across from him stopped for a moment, then resumed. “So have you been more satisfied with your life since moving here?”

      Here it was. His opportunity to open up. Share. He cleared his throat. He had an urge to say something glib, to pass his earlier statement off as a joke. But something in her voice, a hesitation before asking, perhaps a similar resignation, he didn’t know, but he sensed a kindred spirit. He and Hannah had both turned their backs on life.

      Maybe being stuck in an elevator wasn’t such bad luck at all. Maybe it was Murphy’s way of giving him a wake-up call. But what could he say? He’d been undercover for most of his adult life. It was hard to know the difference between reality and make-believe. “My parents died when I was seventeen.”

      “Mmm.”

      The sound, almost a hum, didn’t really mean anything, but it was oddly comforting. An invitation to continue.

      There was no need to close his eyes, his usual habit when thoughts of that day threatened to return. But it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t be any darker than the elevator, and it wouldn’t block the picture of his mother and father dead on the living room floor. “They were murdered.”