from the dark warehouse. The one in front aimed directly at Sheila.
Mac had to protect his partner. He fired once, point-blank. The man with the gun went down.
Time froze. Everything went into slow motion. Mac shoved Vince Elliot to the pavement and stepped in front of him. He looked into the faces of the armed men who turned toward him. He saw panic in their eyes. When they returned fire, he imagined the bullets poised in midair. The thunder of gunshots resounded against brick walls.
It occurred to Mac that he might die right here on this cold city street. A fitting place. Though he had been born and raised in the mountains, this was where he belonged.
He got off another shot, aiming low. He didn’t want to kill these guys. Another man fell with a scream.
The others ran toward their car.
“Freeze,” Sheila yelled. “Police. Freeze.”
The two remaining men dropped their weapons as several patrol cars arrived simultaneously. It was over.
Mac felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and looked down. Blood seeped through his tan sports jacket. He’d been hit.
ABBY NELSON leaned her back against the slender white trunk of an aspen tree and looked up through a canopy of sunlit golden leaves. A fresh wind rustled the boughs, and she glimpsed the clear, blue Colorado sky. Fantastic! This was a truly cherry assignment.
Her last undercover job as an FBI special agent had been in an inner city back east where she was supposed to be a pregnant runaway with a drug habit. Needless to say, her companions were the dregs of society—slimeballs, creeps and heinous criminals, many of whom were going to be locked up for a very long time thanks to Abby’s efforts.
But this time? Way better! When she was told that she was going undercover to an FBI safe house in the Colorado Rockies, Abby couldn’t believe her luck. She inhaled the crisp clean air and reveled in the spectacular scenery. This was practically a vacation.
Her undercover identity was Vanessa Nye, a protected witness who was waiting to testify at a high-profile case in Los Angeles involving the Santoro crime family. The real Vanessa was an unabashed gold digger who traded on her outrageous sexuality, and Abby had disguised herself accordingly. She dyed her hair platinum blond, heaped on tons of makeup and slithered into skintight clothes. The worst part of her Vanessa outfit had to be these wretched spike heels that were digging holes in the soil beside the aspen trees. She wasn’t looking forward to the mile-and-a-half hike back to her bedroom at the safe house.
Her solitude was interrupted when a sturdy-looking woman on horseback rode toward her. Julia Last was the special agent in charge of the FBI safe house known as Last’s Resort. She was the only person on site who had been informed that “Vanessa” was a cover for Special Agent Abby Nelson.
Julia gave a friendly wave. “Want a ride?”
“You bet I do.”
Julia stared pointedly at the purple high-heeled shoes. “When you get into an undercover role, you don’t kid around. How do you stand in those things?”
“Not very well,” Abby admitted. “It’s not something they teach at Quantico.”
Julia flicked the reins and directed her dappled gray mare close to a granite ledge. “Climb on the rocks, then throw your leg over the rear behind the saddle.”
Abby moved carefully. Her snug designer slacks were partly spandex, but she didn’t want to take a chance on stretching them out and ruining her look. “If I were the real Vanessa, I’d never do this.”
“If you were the real Vanessa, I wouldn’t have let you wander off by yourself.” As soon as Abby was settled, Julia nudged her horse into a steady, rolling walk. “We take security for our protected witnesses very seriously.”
“Have you had problems?”
“Not from outside,” Julia said. “Our location is remote enough to provide natural protection. As far as anybody knows, this safe house is just another mountain resort. The problems come when witnesses get bored.”
“Cabin fever. They want to take side trips to Vail, right? Or invite a friend to visit.”
“That’s right.” When Julia nodded, her curly brown ponytail bounced. “Sometimes we indulge them with supervised outings.”
“And you’ve only got the other two agents working with you?”
“On a rotating basis. This safe house is considered a prime assignment until they get here and find out that their responsibilities include chopping wood, mucking out the stalls for the horses and making beds.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “I take a certain amount of satisfaction seeing these macho agents doing housework.”
“I’ll try not to gloat when I see them with feather dusters. What’s the name of the young one?”
“Roger Flannery. Nice kid.”
Abby tucked a wisp of platinum hair behind her ear. “How many other people are staying here?”
“Two,” Julia said. “We refer to them as guests. Both older guys. They’ve been here for nearly a month.”
“I thought the protected witnesses got shuffled more frequently so nobody can get a bead on their location.”
“I didn’t say they were both witnesses.”
Abby already knew that the safe house was used for more than protected witnesses. Sometimes, the feds held high-level meetings here. Sometimes, this idyllic mountain setting provided a place for rest and recuperation for injured agents and cops. “The guy I’m interested in will show up this afternoon.”
“The homicide detective from Denver.”
Mac Granger was Abby’s assignment. He was a Denver cop who had been wounded in a drug sting and was suspected of being on the take which—in Abby’s opinion—made him the lowest of the low.
According to her information, he’d wounded an undercover FBI agent at the sting—an agent Abby knew very well. Leo Fisher was her former fiancé.
Though their breakup had been exceedingly nasty, she didn’t wish Leo dead. At least, not most of the time. She’d been glad to hear that he was expected to recover from the bullet wound in his leg.
As she rocked on the rump of the horse and watched the landscape unfolding around her, a familiar twinge of regret brushed through her. Too bad things hadn’t worked out with Leo. For a while, she’d thought she loved him.
But she wasn’t sure. Because they were both undercover agents, it was possible they were both playing at being in love—acting the way they thought people in love ought to behave. With all her undercover identities, she sometimes forgot what it meant to be real.
Her thoughts returned to her current assignment. In addition to shooting Leo in the leg, Mac Granger had gunned down and killed a drug dealer who had been watched by the FBI and Denver vice cops for months in an unusual cooperative investigation. Usually, the death of a drug dealer was no cause for mourning, but this particular guy had indicated a willingness to talk about higher-ups in the drug distribution chain and about dirty cops. Now he was dead, thanks to Mac Granger. It made sense that Mac had killed the dealer to keep him from talking.
Because Mac was off duty during the obligatory Internal Affairs investigation into the fatal shooting, his lieutenant had agreed with the FBI plan for Mac to go to the FBI safe house—the location of which was, of course, undisclosed except to Mac who was supposed to relax and take time for his wound to heal.
That was where Abby came in. Her job was to befriend Mac Granger and to ultimately offer him a bribe.
Julia glanced over her shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell me about your assignment?”
“I can guarantee that you’re going to hate the way I’ll be acting around Mac Granger.”
“As