In the back of her mind, she was detached, repeating a mantra. This is only a job, only a job, only…
His mouth was fierce and demanding. His arms held her in a viselike grip. Her breasts crushed against his chest.
But when he leaned away from her, she saw a look of surprise in his honest blue eyes. He removed her sunglasses, taking down a barrier between them. She liked what she saw. A strong man.
Though the planes of his face had been hardened by experience, she saw empathy in his eyes—the true kindness that came from understanding. A good man.
Dappled sunlight filtered through the overhanging branches of conifers. The whisper of the creek trickled at the edge of her senses. His arms felt warm and sheltering. It felt right to be with him.
When he kissed her again, her body responded to him. Her well-developed defense system came crashing down as she allowed herself to enjoy the breathtaking sensation of their kiss. Her heart fluttered, and a thrill chased through her entire body.
Oh, God, no. This was all wrong! Mac Granger could be a dirty cop, the worst kind of traitor. She couldn’t be attracted to him.
Gasping, she broke away. “That’s enough.”
They stood, staring at each other.
She saw something in him that touched her soul. He’d been hurt, badly hurt. But he was tough; he could take the pain and come back stronger. Without words, she saw all these things.
She wanted to know him better. To hear his truth.
And she wanted to share her feelings with him, to tell him how tired she was of constantly pretending to be someone else. On the tip of her tongue was her name. Abigail Marie Nelson. She longed to tell him. To be completely, utterly honest.
For the first time in her career as an FBI special agent, Abby had completely forgotten her cover story.
Chapter Four
Mac’s plan to unmask the woman who called herself Vanessa Nye went up in smoke when she kissed him back. Until then, he’d been trying to interrogate her, trying to trip her up. When he had demanded a kiss, he figured she’d back off and admit that she was conning him.
He hadn’t expected a lightning bolt.
He needed distance from her. And time to sort out his feelings. He spent the rest of the morning avoiding Vanessa and took off early for the meeting he’d scheduled with his partner.
Mac parked outside the graveyard near Redding. A secluded spot at the end of a graded gravel road, this was the first place that had occurred to him when he arranged this meet with Sheila. Mac wanted privacy, and nobody came here by accident. Not that the old cemetery was ominous. The opposite was true. This gently rising hillside surrounded by Ponderosa and lodgepole pine provided a peaceful resting place. The graves—some of them dating back over a hundred years—were fenced off, but the land wasn’t manicured. Weeds and wild-flowers grew rampant between the simple markers.
As soon as he stepped out of his car, Sheila pulled up beside him in her own vehicle. Good timing. In spite of her many other faults, his partner was punctual.
“Did you take the day off?” he asked as she came toward him.
“That’s right.” As always, she sounded irritated. “Until you get back, I’m stuck with boring desk work, which I totally hate. If I wanted to spend the entire day hanging around the station, I would have become a lawyer.”
He didn’t point out that a law degree was probably far beyond her limited ability to concentrate. “Did you get the information I asked for?”
“This time,” she said, “you really messed up.”
He messed up? He bit down hard to keep from spitting out accusations. The only mistake he’d made at the warehouse shooting was allowing her to get out of the car. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“You don’t have any idea how much trouble you’re in.” Her scowl etched deep lines below her thick brown bangs. “How much do you know about that guy you shot and killed?”
Mac had made it his business to find out about the man whose life he had taken. “His name was Dante Williams, and he was twenty-seven years old. High school dropout. Seven arrests, mostly on drug-related charges. One conviction landed him in prison for eight months.”
“A regular poster boy for how to ruin your life.”
“He still didn’t deserve to die.” Though Mac had fired in the line of duty, he would always regret the shooting, and he would visit the grave of Dante Williams to pay his respects. It was a ritual Mac followed with the other victim he’d shot and killed early in his police career.
“Anyway,” Sheila said, “this guy, Dante, was about to give evidence on the number one drug distributor in Colorado. The top man. The honcho. When you killed him, you blew it.”
“Were the feds and Denver vice working together on the sting?”
“Not on purpose,” she said. “They were both following trails that led to the same place.”
“To Dante,” he said.
“It gets worse.” She glanced at her wristwatch—one of her less annoying nervous habits. “Some people think you killed Dante on purpose. To keep him from turning snitch.”
The implication was clear. The FBI and the Denver P.D. suspected that Mac was a dirty cop, that he’d killed Dante Williams on orders from some honcho drug kingpin.
A burst of anger flared behind his eyelids. The shooting at the warehouse had been a grotesque miracle of bad timing, but he shouldn’t be a suspect. His dedication to his work and his years of service ought to count for something. He’d earned medals and citations. He was a good cop.
“Now you know,” Sheila said with a smirk. Her attitude was smug and superior. She almost seemed to be enjoying his fall from grace. “The best thing for you to do is lay low and let the dust settle. Please, Mac. Will you do that?”
“Why do you care?” His relationship with Sheila had never been good. They bickered like an old married couple at the verge of divorce.
“You’re my partner.” Insincerity dripped from her voice. “You’ve got to forget about this. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t start investigating on your own.”
As if he’d take advice from her? If she’d behaved in a competent manner at the warehouse sting, he wouldn’t be in this position. Unfortunately, she was his only source of information since everybody else suspected him. He needed to maintain this contact with Sheila. “Did you get that photograph I asked for?”
“Of course.” She opened her car door and leaned inside to retrieve a manila envelope. “This is a recent photo of the FBI undercover agent you shot. Leo Fisher. He’s out of the hospital.”
Mac pulled the photo out of the envelope and studied it. Leo Fisher was an average-looking guy with dark eyes and a square jaw. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Mac thought he’d spotted Leo Fisher last night at the tavern, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
Once again, he tapped into Sheila’s vast collection of gossip. “What have you heard about Leo Fisher?”
“He’s off the case, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“Come on, Sheila. What have you heard?”
“I heard that Fisher was up here in the mountains. Going to Vail, I think.”
“Why?” he asked. Vanessa had also hinted about a trip to Vail.
“I don’t know. God, Mac. I can’t tell you everything.”
Her tone was as whiny as a teenager. He really disliked this woman. Incompetent. Immature.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Come with me to get a latte.”