“How’d it go today?”
“Just got home. I’m afraid I haven’t had the proper appreciation for you field guys,” she said.
“Well, that’s certainly true.” She could almost see him grinning, could almost see the dimple that slashed into his right cheek when he did.
“People complicate things. Forensics, physical evidence, is…not simpler, but cleaner somehow.”
“It doesn’t lie.”
“Exactly. And it doesn’t try to hide. If you can’t find it, you’re just not looking hard enough, or in the right place.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said. “You sound a bit weary of it all.”
“I am,” she admitted. “Exhausted.”
“People will do that do you,” he said, sounding annoyingly chipper. “But since you have the grace to admit that you’ve underestimated us field grunts, I’m going to reciprocate.”
“Reciprocate?” she asked, puzzled.
The door chimes rang—they were loud, to be heard throughout the large house—and drowned out whatever his answer had been.
“Hang on,” she said, “there’s someone at the door.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Boy, I am tired, and apparently confused as well. He’s not even making sense to me, she thought as she walked back to the front door, glad she hadn’t sat down yet; she wasn’t sure she could have gotten up again.
“I know,” he repeated as she peered through the security peephole.
“Oh.”
She felt beyond silly. Not even the fish-eye lens of the peephole could totally distort Justin’s dark good looks. She pulled the door open to the sight of him standing on the porch, cell phone in one hand and a large bag in the other.
“Cute,” she said, disconnecting.
“I thought so.”
His smile was irresistible. “Not that it’s not good to see you,” she said, accepting the kiss he planted somewhere between her cheek and her right ear, “but…what are you doing here?”
He flipped his cell phone closed and held up the bag in his other hand. “Dinner. Chinese okay?”
The smell had hit her nose by then, a lovely, warm barrage of soy and spice and sweet, and her stomach lurched hungrily.
“Bless you,” she breathed fervently.
“I thought you might be glad not to cook tonight.”
“I’m always glad not to cook,” she pointed out as she stepped back to let him in.
“And I’m glad to let you,” he retorted, ducking her halfhearted swipe at him.
“I have other skills,” she said as she snatched the bag from him.
The familiar white cartons were stacked high, topped by a pile of napkins and plastic utensils and emitting those luscious aromas that made her stomach growl in anticipation yet again. She barely managed to stop herself from burying her face in the bag just to get a deeper whiff.
“Indeed you do,” he said. “And I hope to sample them all someday.”
Alex was glad she had her back to him, although she didn’t need to see his expression to know what it looked like. Not when his voice had gone so dark and smoky all of a sudden.
The Dark Angel speaks, she taunted silently, trying to chide herself into a cooler response.
It almost worked.
But then he stepped up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and bent to gently kiss her neck. The shiver that went through her warned her yet again what she was likely in for should she ever—perhaps inevitably—give in and sleep with the guy.
Holy fireworks was all she could think of.
“I’m reading an awful lot into the shiver that just went through you,” Justin whispered.
That dark angel voice nearly made her shiver again. “I suppose saying I got a chill won’t work.”
Her irritation at herself for being unable to control her reaction to him echoed in her voice.
“Not a chance,” he said, his voice still soft, his breath still warm and making her skin—and other things—itch. She barely managed not to squirm, he was so close.
She twisted and ducked away from him. “Just what were you figuring I tipped for food delivery?”
He made no move to come after her, merely stood watching her with an expression she could only describe as amused. In a tone that sounded just as amused, as if it were the middle of some casual conversation, he said, “I’m very patient, you know.”
Alex swallowed tightly. She knew that. He’d waited years to get the people who had murdered his sister. She’d just never quite applied the knowledge to their personal situation before. And now that she had…
She was going to lose this battle, she thought. He would wear her down with that damnable patience of his. She’d hold out a good long time but in the end she would lose.
She tried not to hear the little voice that seemed to emanate from the tightness low and deep inside her saying that in this case, losing meant winning.
Chapter 3
As usual when she needed to think, Alex retreated to Forsythe Farms and the back of a horse.
“I hear you’re writing a book.”
Alex blinked, startled. She reined her horse in as she stared at her grandfather. “Well, that didn’t take long,” she said.
“I have my sources,” he said blandly.
“Don’t I know it,” she said, remembering the times when he knew about her college escapades before she’d even returned to her dorm room. She’d always been aware he seemed to know things—even trivial information—before anyone else, but she hadn’t quite expected this to get to him this quickly.
“I assume that’s your cover, for those who don’t already know you’re with the FBI?”
She nodded and nudged Silk forward again. The cream-colored filly was aptly named; her gait was as smooth as her coat. As was her disposition. Even the fidgeting of the temperamental Twill, in an exceptionally feisty mood this evening and only grudgingly bending to her grandfather’s experienced hands, didn’t seem to phase her.
Her calm temperament was unusual for such a young horse, and Alex suspected they had a real treasure in the making. It was horses like this that made her sometimes wish she’d stayed in this world and pursued her riding career. But she knew she wouldn’t trade the challenges of her job for anything, and that moments like this she could steal would have to do for now.
“General Stanley guessed that that was what I was there for, and I sort of let him go on thinking it. It seemed like a decent cover. Although he did say to pass along his thanks to you, for always being there for the military when they need you.”
G.C. nodded. “What little I can do these days. But we’ll stick with the book story for now. I suppose being rather well-known here could make things difficult.”
“It’s a handicap and a benefit,” she said. “I get in to see higher-ups more easily, but those higher-ups know more about me than I’d like for this purpose. It affects what they’re willing to tell me. I think I may do better in Arizona, where I’m more anonymous.”
“You’ve