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  “Maybe they got free,” Malcolm said quietly. “Escaped.”

  “Perhaps, but our source has been snooping and eavesdropping as much as possible and has found schematics for bombs. She thinks a mass attack is coming soon,” Nari said.

  Malcolm turned to face Nari, his instincts flaring to life. “Is that why your inside source flipped?”

  “No. She flipped because Isaac Leon raped her cousin, and the cousin then overdosed on heroin. The girl was just eighteen.”

  Mal wanted this guy taken down. Now. “How did you find Pippa?”

  “The pictures.” Nari handed over two of Pippa as an adult. She had to be around eighteen years old. “We put her face into the system and got a hit at a veterinarian’s office six months ago. Tracked her down from there.”

  “A vet’s?”

  Nari nodded. “Sick cat, apparently. We were lucky.”

  Maybe the woman wanted to be left alone and was escaping a bad past, just like him. Shouldn’t she be given the benefit of the doubt? She baked cookies for strangers, for goodness’ sake. “Pippa lives by herself and hasn’t infiltrated anybody.”

  “Hasn’t she?” Nari handed over a file. “Her list of clients is interesting. Start with the construction company.” She took out another picture and slid it toward Mal.

  “What’s this?” He lifted it to see a current photo of Pippa, her long hair up in a ball cap, sitting at a table with another woman who was also slightly disguised by a hat and nondescript clothing.

  “That’s Tulip, who was also a member of the cult. She’s now called Trixie. We have pictures of them together as young adults. Now they meet once a month in a little diner in the middle of nowhere. Place called Pine’s, outside of Minuteville. A good two hours from where Pippa lives.” Nari glanced at her phone. “They meet on the first of every month. Which is tomorrow.”

  Chapter Seven

  Pippa eyed the thick casserole cooling on her counter. Malcolm had returned home from work about an hour before and disappeared into his house. The kitchen light was on, as was one in the living room. But he hadn’t knocked on her door.

  Why would he? It wasn’t like they were dating or anything.

  But the guy had to eat something, right? Wouldn’t it be neighborly for her to take over a casserole? Especially because he’d had a tree service show up earlier to cut down the dangerous tree. She could take the food over as a thank-you.

  Who was she kidding? She just wanted to see him again. While she had to keep her past private, they could still be friends. She’d been friends with Mrs. Maloni.

  Making up her mind, she gathered the casserole dish into a holder and moved toward the front door before she could talk sense into herself. It had finally stopped raining, and the air was fresh and clean outside. She breathed deep and strode across her driveway, over the shrubs, and up to his front door. She had to use her elbow to press the doorbell.

  He opened the door wearing only unbuttoned jeans, a towel in his hand as he rubbed water out of his shaggy hair. The bruise at his temple had already faded to a light purple.

  Her mouth went dry. Completely.

  His chest was broad and muscled, and this was the first time she’d been this close to it. Wow. Even his bare feet looked tough somehow.

  “I made you a casserole,” she blurted out, shoving the holder toward him. “As a thank-you. For the tree. You were in the shower. I’m sorry.”

  He took the food, his green gaze inscrutable. “I’m out of the shower now. Come on in.”

  She blinked. Was he going to put on a shirt? Even though she’d yanked on boots with two-inch heels, he towered over her. “How tall are you, anyway?”

  He shrugged a very bare shoulder and moved aside to let her in. “Six-four, last time I checked.”

  Yeah. That’s what she thought. This close, she could make out the tattoo. It was a black and windy series of symbols that combined into something both beautiful and oddly dangerous, as if meant as a warning.

  He glanced down. “Got it at eighteen while drunk on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Means ‘always survive.’” He smiled. “Come on in.”

  Taking a deep breath of his masculine soap, she moved past him into the living room. The floral sofa, chairs, and end tables remained, but Mrs. Maloni had taken all her knickknacks, paintings, and decorations. “You need a picture or two on the wall.”

  “Yeah.” He shut the door, heat from his body washing over her back. “It was nice of you to bring me food.”

  Her body started to tingle, so she launched herself at the kitchen through the archway. “It was nice of you to take care of that tree I should’ve dealt with months ago.” The boxes were gone. He’d put everything away the previous night. Maybe he didn’t sleep much either. She turned around. “How was work today?”

  “Illuminating,” he said, setting the food on the counter.

  She tilted her head. “How so?”

  His gaze ran over her bold red sweater, dark jeans, new brown boots and then back up. “You look pretty.”

  Heat climbed into her face. “Thank you.” He looked ... hungry. Very. “Um, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to bring over the food.” She should probably leave. There was something off about him. An alertness, or even a hint of anger. What was going on?

  “You can’t let me eat it alone.” He opened a cupboard and brought out plain white plates. New ones with no chips. “Will you join me?” The muscles in his back moved nicely, but those scars showed so much violence.

  He set everything on the table.

  Her knees felt a little weak, so she took a seat and accepted the big spoon he handed over. “You seem tense. Was it a bad day?” She had no right to ask.

  “No.” He drew a bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge. It was already open. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Sure.” The casserole was beef and cheese, and it did smell delicious. When he returned with two full glasses of the deep golden liquid, she forced a smile. “You seem more like a beer man. Were you expecting somebody else?”

  “I was expecting you.” He set his bulk into the chair across from her.

  She blinked. Was her little crush that obvious? She pushed the plate away. “I’m sorry. I should really—”

  He grasped her arm. “No, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’m being a dick, and there’s no reason. Please sit back down.” His eyes lightened to the color of a spring meadow. “Work was weird, and I don’t like being unsettled.”

  She sat back down, and he released her. Even when he’d stopped her, his touch had been gentle. There was something so careful about him. As if he was afraid he’d scare or hurt her. “What’s weird about requisitions? Isn’t it a bunch of paperwork?”

  He took a long swallow of his wine. “Yeah, but I also have to go interview a jackass who we think took a bunch of official request forms. I have to go tomorrow, which is a freaking Saturday.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Sounds like a dangerous animal.” Her lips twitched.

  He met her gaze and finally smiled. “Exactly. I’ve gone from fighting the mob to dealing with a nerd with a form fetish.” Mal dug into the casserole, sighing with pleasure as he chewed.

  Her shoulders relaxed and she reached for her wine. “That’s funny.” She took a sip, letting the crisp flavor cool down her throat.

  They ate in silence for a while, and she continued drinking wine, not really caring when he refilled her glass. Finally, she was stuffed. “Do you miss your old job?” It had to be difficult to go from being a hero to pushing paper. Didn’t it?

  He paused. “No. It was hard pretending to be somebody I wasn’t.” His gaze returned to her face. “Know what I mean?”

  Her stomach turned over. “I guess we all play parts for different people. Everyone does.” Would that answer suffice? How much did he see?

  He nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

  “The article I read said you’d been undercover for more than two years with the actual
mob.” How had he survived?

  He nodded, taking a drink of his wine. “I went in as a slightly crazy enforcer and befriended the only son of Mario Bodini. He’d lost two other sons. One to drugs and the other to violence. They needed somebody trustworthy who could help with the drug business.” Mal’s voice remained flat, as if he were giving an official report.

  She grasped his hand, trying to give comfort. “The paper said Bodini had killed more than twenty people through the years.”

  “Yeah, but his son hadn’t.” Guilt flashed across Mal’s face. “Junior could’ve been a decent guy if he’d had a different family. If he hadn’t wanted to please his father so badly.”

  “Did he die in that raid?” she asked quietly, feeling for the suffering ex-cop. Why did the past have to haunt them all so persistently?

  Mal shook his body, his gaze becoming veiled. “Yeah. A lot of people died.” His smile didn’t crease his cheeks. “And now I’ve become a guy who argues about how many pencils a receptionist should get. Not to mention getting to talk to dorks who steal papers.”

  That was probably her cue to leave. Seeing him in pain made her want to comfort him, and with his still bare chest, her ideas for doing so were leading her into thoughts she couldn’t have with him. They had to remain friends. “So. Thank you for the wine.”

  “This was delicious.” He sighed, his body visibly relaxing. “I had hoped to work on the house tomorrow instead of tracking down that idiot. It’s at least a two-hour drive. Somewhere outside of a place called Minuteville.”

  She choked, coughing. What? Minuteville? Tomorrow?

  “Hey.” He set down his wineglass and reached around to pat her on the back, watching her carefully. “Are you okay?”

  “Wrong tube,” she gasped, trying to get herself under control. This was disastrous. He was going to be around Minuteville the next day? She’d call off her meeting, but surely Trixie needed money. She cleared her throat. “I’m okay now.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Anyway, I’d hoped to maybe get this place in order tomorrow, and I had been planning on begging for your help. My grand plan was to bribe you with this wine.”

  She forced a smile. “I am that easy. Good wine will get me every time.” She stood and placed her plate in the sink. Whoa. Too much wine. The entire world fuzzed, and she forgot all about tomorrow’s problems as she turned around to face him. “Though I should, ah, get going.” She had to get out of there. Now.

  He stood and set his plate on top of hers, having to lean around her to do it. His body bracketed her against the sink. So warm and big and enticing. “Are you sure you’re all right?” He tucked his knuckle beneath her chin and slowly lifted her face.

  The wine fizzed through her, mixing with the panic. Then there was her reaction to him. Scary and fluttery. “I’m fine.” Her gaze dropped to his lips. They were just so kissable. And he’d seemed vulnerable when he’d been talking about the mob. He’d opened up to her. She stopped breathing.

  “Good.” His thumb ran along the bottom of her jawline, an odd strength in the movement.

  Without thinking, she levered up and set her mouth against his. Ah. Those lips were firm and yummy.

  He paused for a second and then he kissed her back, taking over. One arm snaked around her waist, and he pressed her against the counter, going deep.

  The soft sound of need she made should’ve embarrassed her. But her body went from relaxed to full-on aroused in less than a second. Plastered against him, she could feel muscles and hardness everywhere. Her hands flattened against his bare chest.

  Then she curled her nails into all that smooth strength. The small sting must’ve shocked him, because he somehow moved in even closer, grasping her hips and lifting her onto the cool counter. Her butt hit and she gave a slight bounce. His hand slid into her hair, tugging her head back, his hips spreading her thighs.

  It was the most vulnerable and erotic position she’d ever been in. One she’d fantasized about. He held her in place, providing balance and taking control. His tongue swept inside her mouth, enticing her.

  Heat rushed through her veins, lighting her nerves, pinpointing in a desperate throb between her legs.

  He kept one hand in her hair and one at her hip, and she wanted him touching her everywhere. Her breasts ached, needy. Desire grabbed her as he pressed closer. She moaned. So close. There were too many clothes between them. God, she was curious. She caressed her way down his chest and over the hard ridges of his abdomen.

  He gave a low grunt and lifted his head, letting her catch her breath.

  His eyes were the color of a wild, tumultuous river. Primitive and filled with a hunger that promised to consume her. Then, slowly, she could see him come back into himself. His expression cleared. “Pippa.”

  The one word. The way he said the name she’d chosen and not the one she’d been born with. This was more than just sex. He was more than just sex. How could she do this, with him, and lie? He was a hero, a man who’d saved countless lives at the expense of his own safety. He deserved the truth, which was more than she could give. She blinked. Her hands dropped. Letting herself get tipsy was no excuse.

  What had she just done?

  Chapter Eight

  Mal recognized the panic in Pippa’s eyes. Jesus. What the hell was he doing, putting her on the counter?

  Gently, he grasped her hips, lifted her, and set her on her feet.

  She swayed and then caught her balance, so he released her and took several steps back. His heart beat as if he’d just run from a gang of drug dealers, and his cock was harder than he remembered it ever being. Which, considering he was doing nothing but manipulating her right now, showed what a deviant bastard he’d really become. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Did I hurt you?”

  She blinked, her eyes an unfathomable blue. “No. I liked it.” Her feet shuffled. “I mean, the whole getting carried away.” Her chin lifted. “I’m not breakable, and I like that you didn’t treat me as such.” Her voice cracked at the end.

  His chest ached. “It’s okay, Pippa.” But it wasn’t. Not at all.

  She nodded, her chest panting out air. “I know.”

  The nearly invisible earbud in his left ear crackled. “I’m clear from her house,” Clarence Wolfe said. “Will come approach your house from the rear. When you turn off the kitchen light, I’ll enter.”

  Fuck. Wolfe had heard everything. Mal fought to keep his expression unreadable.

  Pippa sidled by him, pressing her back to the counter. “I have an early morning tomorrow to meet one of my, um, clients. Thank you for dinner. I mean, for the wine.”

  A meeting? But she wasn’t going to mention the town. Probably didn’t think he’d find that same diner. He tried to smile and took her arm, wondering what she’d say tomorrow when they accidentally ran into each other. “I may not have had a mama to teach me manners, but even I know to escort a lady home after plying her with wine.” He clicked off the kitchen light.

  She stumbled, and he righted her, helping her out the front door. The woman was a lightweight because they still had half a bottle of the wine left, and she was definitely buzzed. A light rain was barely noticeable but did help cool his libido a little. When he got her to her door, he helped her unlock all the locks, set her inside, and waited for the locks to reengage.

  Then he took a deep breath. One and then another. Hopefully, Wolfe was as good as promised and hadn’t left a trace in her house.

  Setting his hands in his pockets, Mal whistled as he walked back to his place in his bare feet, just in case she was watching. Yeah, he felt like shit for keeping her busy while Wolfe tossed her place.

  Once back inside his house, he double-checked that the blinds were closed. “Well?”

  Wolfe had settled his large bulk on the sofa. His short dark hair was damp, and the outline of a knife sheath could be seen on his left calf. “She likes bright clothing, silk underwear, and spicy novels. Is trying to learn how to knit but sucks at it.”


  Mal dropped into a floral chair, attempting not to be intrigued by the underwear. “What else?”

  “I copied her hard drive and will get it to our computer guru as soon as we have one.” Wolfe’s brown eyes revealed nothing. For his breaking-and-entering escapade, he wore the same jeans and ripped shirt as he’d had on earlier beneath a leather jacket that no doubt hid a gun. Or two. Wet grass now covered his boots. “I did notice that she plays online games. Is pretty good at War Monger Two.”

  Most introverts or shut-ins did the same. “So I’m just an asshole,” Mal muttered.

  Wolfe leaned toward him, no expression in those dark eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I heard your entire night. She kissed you, man.”

  Yeah, but he’d kissed her back. And if she hadn’t looked scared, he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have taken it farther. “I’ve worn a wire or an earbud so many times, I actually forgot it was there,” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “That can’t be good.”

  “Doesn’t hurt in this kind of situation,” Wolfe said. “I took a bite of the casserole on my way through. The woman can cook.”

  Mal nodded. She’d cooked for him out of kindness, and he’d only kept her occupied so Wolfe could go through her underwear drawer. “Basically, this was a waste of time.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Mal stiffened. He looked up. “What do you mean?”

  Wolfe tossed his phone over. “Found her go-bag. In a false bottom under the kitchen sink.”

  Pippa had a go-bag. Mal’s gut churned, but he clicked on the photos Wolfe had taken. The bag held a gun, cash, a burner phone, and passports. “How many?” He flicked through the pictures, the investigator in him taking over.

  “Two other complete identities,” Wolfe said easily. “And about twenty thousand in cash. If she needs to rabbit, she can do it quick.”

  Mal tossed the phone back. A sharp pain pierced behind his left eye, promising a migraine. Not many innocent people had go-bags. “Make copies for the files and have the computer person research both of the other identities. See if Pippa has used them, and if so, when and for how long. And we need to find out where she got them.”