She wanted to infiltrate the Covenanters and seek justice for the woman who’d been stoned, put an end to Ethan’s reign of terror—if that was indeed what it was. But she couldn’t do this assignment pretending to be Nathan’s wife. There was too much residual emotion between them. “Why do we need two people on this?”
His eyelids lowered. “If you don’t want to do it, you should talk to Milt.”
Of course. They were back where he’d been trying to lead her all along. “Why bother? You’ve already tried, haven’t you?”
He didn’t respond.
“I’ll take that as a yes. What did he say?”
Stretching out his legs, he crossed them at the ankles. “He said Ethan likes women. Pretty women. He said you’re the bait that’ll get us both in.”
Here was the difference between Milt and Nate, Rachel thought. Milt would send his own wife undercover if there was something to be gained by it. But it was Nate’s job to make sure everyone remained safe, which was why he wasn’t thrilled when Milt began using women in the field. He came from a conservative family where he’d been taught to protect “the fairer sex.” And his SEAL training supported his upbringing.
“That’s a pretty unequivocal no,” she said.
Nate’s eyes nearly drilled holes into her. “You could always quit. Someone as qualified as you would have no trouble getting back on the police force.”
And lose her house to the bank? No, thank you.
She leaned forward to prove she wasn’t intimidated by him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s my life and I’d rather get paid well for the risks I take.” She also liked having a clearly defined target for the legacy of anger her father had left her, and she had more latitude working for Department 6. “If you’re afraid you can’t effectively manage me or Angelina or any other woman Milt might hire, maybe you should be the one considering a career change.”
Silence. He definitely wasn’t happy with her challenge.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said when he’d let her squirm long enough.
He wasn’t leaving, and it came as no surprise. As Milt’s first operative, Nate had all but built Department 6 into what it was. Rachel couldn’t see him moving on anytime soon.
“Then we’re stuck. But you don’t need to worry about me, so spare yourself the headache.”
When he simply stared at her, she sat back. Glaring at each other wasn’t going to help. “What names will we use in Paradise?”
A muscle flexed in his cheek, but he revealed no other outward sign of anger or dissatisfaction. “We’ll keep our first names. Our last will be Mott.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Mott.”
“That’s right.”
Still intent on creating a situation more to her liking, she blew out a sigh. “We don’t have to say we’re married, you know. We could go in as brother and sister.”
“That wouldn’t allow us to share a room. I need to be close. Just in case.”
Close was precisely what she wanted to avoid. Close would bring turmoil. “Just in case…what?” He hadn’t been there to protect her on the last drug job. No man had. And she’d done fine.
“Just in case,” he repeated.
Obviously, she wasn’t going to get a better answer. “How long have we been married?”
He shoved a manila folder at her. “Here are the details Milt’s provided so far.”
Grabbing both files, she put them in her leather satchel and got to her feet. “The Arizona desert in the middle of July. White heat. Sounds great. When do we head out?”
His eyes glittered with frustration. “First thing tomorrow.”
Rachel felt some of the determination drain out of her. “That soon?” Usually they had a few days to gather facts, get into character, make travel arrangements. Milt established the infrastructure and provided what he could to support their covers—like fake ID and other documentation—but they had the freedom to add the finishing touches themselves.
“Robert Wycliff has offered a hefty bonus if we make quick work of it. Milt knows he’s already late on this one.”
And far be it from Milt to let any consideration outweigh money. “I see.”
Nate collected the remainder of the documents he’d brought into the room. “I’ll pick you up bright and early. Six sharp.”
At five foot seven inches and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, she felt dwarfed as he stood. It was all she could do not to keep her mind from flashing back to how the difference in their sizes translated horizontally. “We driving or flying?”
“Driving. It’s a good ten hours from L.A., but having a rental car in such a remote area will be too conspicuous. I figure we’ll want a vehicle that’s broken in, one that doesn’t scream Hertz.”
“Your truck?”
“My truck.”
The very mention of it evoked the scent of engine grease and pine air freshener. It also brought back her acute sense of shame when he’d curtly explained that she’d assumed too much and took her home the morning after their night together.
“I’ll be ready.” With a mock salute, she started out of the room, but he called her back.
“I almost forgot.” He skirted the table to hand her a small, crushed-velvet box he’d pulled from the front pocket of his jeans.
Rachel didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. As much as she told herself she’d learned her lesson, she still sometimes dreamed of getting a ring from him.
But not in any of those dreams had it happened like this.
Without even looking inside the box, she dropped it in her satchel.
“Don’t you think you should see if it fits? You’ll have to wear it tomorrow.”
Feeling as though a vise was squeezing her chest, she dug out the box and peered inside.
The diamond was tiny, the band plain. A similar ring could’ve been bought at any number of stores for around five hundred dollars, even less at a pawn shop. But she would’ve been happy to receive a plastic ring from a gum-ball machine, if only it held any of the usual symbolism.
“Well?” he asked.
She took it out and slid it easily onto her finger. The fit was loose but with a little tape she could fix that. “This is the best you can do?” she said with a grimace as if she hated the ring as much as the thought of wearing it.
He gave her a grin that wasn’t meant to be sexy but managed to look that way. “What can you expect from a lowly cement contractor?”
She supposed his cover would have to involve a job that required manual labor. How else would he explain all those muscles? “Can you actually pour cement?”
“I can do anything,” he said.
She knew he was teasing but, from what she’d seen, that was true.
2
According to the dossier Milt had created, they’d start this job by moving into a mobile home in Portal, Arizona, a small town five miles east of Paradise. Not only would Rachel keep her first name, she’d keep her age—twenty-eight. But that was about it. Under her assumed identity—Rachel Mott—she came from Utah instead of California. She had four siblings living in and around Salt Lake City. She’d married Nate three years ago, after meeting him at a Jazz game.
There was a little more—her schooling, her previous job at a child-care facility, information