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“I heard something outside and looked through the window. A fat lot of good it did, the snow’s coming down so hard I couldn’t see ten feet. But I caught a glimmer...headlights. I went toward the front door for a better look. At the exact same time, I heard somebody crashing against the back door like they were trying to bust it down. That’s when I screamed.”
Sean figured that five minutes had passed since they’d heard Hazel’s cry for help. “After you screamed, what did you do?”
“I hid.”
“Smart,” he said. “You didn’t reveal your hiding spot until you saw me.”
She nodded, and her short silver hair bounced.
“Did you see the intruder? Did he make a noise? Was there more than one?”
“Well, my hearing isn’t what it once was, but I’m pretty sure there was only one voice. And I guarantee that nobody made enough noise to tear down the back door.”
As Sean herded Emily and her aunt into Emily’s bedroom, he tallied up the possible ways to break into the house. In addition to front and back door and many windows, there was likely an entrance to a root cellar or basement. The best way to limit access to the two women was to keep them upstairs. Unfortunately, it also meant they had no escape.
From Emily’s bedroom, he peered through the window to the area where the cars were parked. He squinted. “I can see the outline of a truck.”
“So?”
“Do you recognize it?” Is that Frankie Wynter’s truck?
“We’re in the mountains, Sean. Every other person drives a truck.”
A coating of snow had already covered the truck bed; he couldn’t tell if anybody had been riding in back. But the vehicle showed that someone else was on the property, even if there hadn’t been other noises from downstairs.
He gave Emily a tight smile. “Stay here with Hazel. Take care of her.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll check the doors and other points of access.”
Her terse nod was a match for his smile. They were both putting on brave faces and tamping down the kind of tension that might cause your hand to tremble or your teeth to chatter. When she rested her hand against his chest, he was reminded of the early days in their marriage when she’d say goodbye before he left on assignment.
“Be careful, Sean.”
He tore his gaze away from her turquoise eyes and her rose petal lips. Her trust made him feel strong and brave, even if he wasn’t facing a real dragon. He was girding his loins, like a knight protecting his castle. In the old days, they would have kissed.
“I should come with you,” Aunt Hazel said. “You need someone to watch your six.”
“Stay here,” he growled.
Emily hooked her arm around her aunt’s waist. “We might as well do what he says. Sean can be a teensy bit rigid when it comes to obeying orders.”
“My, my, my.” Hazel adjusted the embroidered dragons on her shoulders. “Isn’t that just like a fed?”
Hey, lady, you’re the one who called me. And he was done playing their games. As far as he was concerned, they’d had their last warning. He refused to stand here and explain again why they shouldn’t throw themselves into the line of fire when there was a possible intruder. He made a quick pivot and descended the staircase with the intention of searching the main floor.
The house was large but not so massive that he’d get lost. First, he would determine if an intruder was inside. The front door hadn’t been opened. The door to a long, barrack-type wing where ranch hands might sleep during a busy season was locked, and the same was true for the basement door and the back door that opened onto a wide porch. Though it had a dead bolt, the back door lock was flimsy, easily blasted through with a couple of gunshots. As far as he could tell, no weapons had been fired.
When he pushed open the back door, a torrent of glistening snow swept inside. The area near the rear porch was trampled with many prints in the snow. Was it one person or several? He couldn’t tell, but Hazel’s story was true. She’d heard someone back here.
As he closed the rear door and relocked it, he heard Emily call his name. Her voice was steady, strong and unafraid. Weapon raised, he rushed toward the front of the house. The door was opening. A man in a brown parka with fur around the hood plodded inside.
Though he didn’t look like much of a threat, Sean wasn’t taking any chances. “Freeze.”
“I sure as hell will if I don’t close this door.”
As the man in the parka turned to shut the front door, Hazel came down the staircase. “It’s okay, Sean. This is my neighbor, Willis. He was a deputy sheriff until he retired a couple of years ago.”
“I was worried, Hazel.” As he shoved off his hood, unzipped the parka and stomped his snowmobile boots, puddles of melted snow appeared on the terra-cotta tile floor. “Couldn’t reach you on the phone, so I decided to come over here and check before I went to bed. Hi, Emily.”
“Hey, Willis.”
“Take off those boots.” Hazel pointed to the bench by the door. “Are you hungry? Emily made a big pot of chili.”
He sat and grinned at Sean and Emily. His face was ruddy and wet. A few errant flakes of snow still clung to his thick mustache. “And who’s this young fella with the Glock?”
“Sean Timmons of TST Security.” He shook the older man’s meaty hand. “I’m Emily’s bodyguard.”
Willis was clearly intrigued. Why did Emily need protection? What other kind of security work did Sean do? He pushed the strands of wet gray hair off his forehead and straightened his mustache before he asked, “You hiring?”
“Part time,” Sean said. “I can always use a man with experience as a deputy sheriff.”
“Seventeen years,” Willis said. “And I still work with the volunteer fire brigade and mountain search and rescue.”
“Plus you’ve got your own little neighborhood watch.” Sean had the feeling that Hazel got more attention from the retired deputy than the others in this area. “You have a key to the front door.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you mind telling me why you banged on the back door and didn’t let yourself in?”
“The back door is always unlocked, and it was a few less steps through the blizzard than the front. When I found it locked, I was pretty damn mad. I yanked at the handle to make sure it wasn’t just stuck, and I might have let out a few choice swear words.”
“Scared me half to death,” Hazel said.
“I heard you scream.” Willis looked down at the floor between his boots. He wore two pairs of wool socks. Both had seen better days. “And I felt like a jackass for scaring you.”
She patted his cheek, halfway chiding and halfway flirting. “You’re lucky I couldn’t find my rifle.”
While he explained that his keys were in the truck, and he had to tromp back out there to find the right ones, Hazel fussed over him. She was a touchy-feely person who hugged and patted and stroked. Sean noted her behavior and realized how similar it was to methods Emily used to calm him, mesmerize him and convince him to do whatever she wanted.
He glanced toward her. She sat on the fourth step, where she had a clear view of the others in the foyer. Her gaze flicked to the left, but he knew she’d been watching him. A hard woman to figure out. Was she angry or nervous? Independent or lonely?
Earlier tonight, she’d been on the verge of a panic attack. Her eyes had been wide with fear. Her muscles were so tightly clenched that she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Scared to death, and he didn’t blame her. James Wynter and his associates were undeniably dangerous.
A muscle in his jaw clenched. Why had she chosen to go after these violent criminals? And how did Levine justify leaving this witness unprotected? The FBI had been chasing Wynter for years, way before Sean was stationed in San Francisco. A chance to lock up Frankie Wynter would be a coup.
“Then it’s settled,” Hazel said. “Willis is sticking around for some chili and a couple of beers. You kids come into the dining room and join us.”
“In a minute,” Emily promised as she rose to her feet and motioned for Sean to come toward her.
She stayed on the first step, and he stood below her. They were almost eye level.
He asked, “Did you have something you wanted to say?”
“You did good tonight. I know that Hazel and I can be a handful, but you managed us. You were organized, quick. And when we thought we needed you, there you were, charging around the corner and yelling for Willis to freeze. You were...” She exhaled a sigh. “Impressive.”
Her compliment made him leery. “It’s what I do.”
“Not that we actually needed your bodyguard skills.” She caught hold of his hand and gave a squeeze. “This was a simple misunderstanding because of the blizzard.”
“You have plenty of reason to be worried,” he reminded her. “You mentioned the Wynter family compound near Aspen. Tonight it was Willis at the door. Tomorrow it might be Frankie Wynter.”
“Don’t make this into a worst-case scenario.” She continued to hold his hand, and he felt the tension in her grip. “Tonight a neighbor came to pay a visit. That’s all. And the blizzard is just snow. It’s harmless. Kids play in it. Ever build a snowman?”
“Ever get caught in an avalanche?” He was keeping the tone light, but there was something important he needed to say. “Seriously, Emily, you need a bodyguard.”
“I agree, and the job is yours.”
He’d expected an argument but was glad that she’d decided to be rational. He glanced toward the dining room. “I could do with another bowl of chili.”
“Me, too.”
Before she hopped down the stair step to the floor, she went up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the forehead. It was nothing special, the kind of small affection a wife might regularly bestow on her husband. The utter simplicity blew him away.
Before she could turn her back and skip off into the dining room, he caught her hand and gave a tug. She was in his arms. When her body pressed against his, they were joined together the way they were supposed to be.
Then he kissed her.
Chapter Four (#ulink_0125af7d-373b-52d2-bc7e-78e2d51e6041)
Emily hadn’t intended to seduce him. That little kiss on his forehead was meant to be friendly. If she’d known she was lighting the fuse to a passionate response, she never would have gotten within ten feet of him. Not true. I’m lying to myself. From the moment she’d seen him, sensual memories had been taunting from the back of her mind. It was only a matter of time before that undercurrent would become manifest.
Their marriage was over, but she never had stopped imagining Sean as her lover. Nobody kissed her the way he did. The pressure of his mouth against hers was familiar and perfect. Will he do that thing with his tongue? The thing where he parts my lips gently, and then he deepens the kiss. His tongue swoops and swirls. And there’s a growling noise from the back of his throat, a vibration.
She’d never been able to fully describe what he did to her and what sensations he unleashed. But he was doing it right now, right in this moment. Oh yes, kiss me again.
She almost swooned. Swoon? No way! She’d changed. No more the lady poet, she was a hard-bitten journalist, not the type of woman who collapsed in a dead faint after one kiss, definitely not.
But her grip on consciousness was slipping fast. Her knees began to buckle, and she clung to his shoulders to keep from slipping to the floor. Her hands slid down his chest. Even that move was sexy; through the smooth fabric of his beige chamois shirt, she fondled his hard but supple abs.
This out-of-control but very pleasurable attraction had to stop before she lost her willpower, her rationality...her very mind. Pushing with the flat of her palms against his chest, she forced a distance between them. “We can’t do this.”
“Sure we can.” He slung his arm around her waist. “It’s been a while, but I haven’t forgotten how.”
Tomorrow he’d thank her for not dissolving into a quivering blob of lust. Firmly, she said, “I can see that we’re going to need ground rules.”
He kissed the top of her head and took a step back. “You cut it.”
“What?”
“Your hair, you cut it.”
“Too much trouble.” She fluffed her chin-length bob. “And getting rid of the Rapunzel curls makes me look more adult.”
“Oh yeah, you’re really grown up. How old are you now, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
She didn’t laugh at his lame attempt at humor. “I’m almost twenty-six.”
Their eight-year age difference had always been an issue. When they first met, she’d just turned nineteen. They were married and divorced before she was twenty-one, and she’d always wondered if their relationship would have lasted longer if she’d been more mature. It was a familiar refrain. If I knew then what I know now, things would be different.
More likely, they never would have gotten together in the first place. Older and wiser, she would have taken one look at him and realized that he wasn’t the sort of man who should be married.
“I like your new haircut,” he said. “And you’re right. We need some ground rules.”
She gestured toward the dining room. “Should we eat chili while we talk?”
“That depends on how much you want your aunt and former deputy Willis to know.”
Of course, he was right. She didn’t want to spill potentially dangerous information about Wynter Corp into a casual conversation. Until now the only thing she’d told Aunt Hazel was that she’d witnessed a murder in San Francisco. She hadn’t named the killer or the victim and certainly hadn’t mentioned that the Wynter family had a place near Aspen.
Regret trickled through her. She probably shouldn’t have come here. Though she’d been ultracautious in keeping her identity secret and her connection to Hazel was hard to trace, somebody might find out and come after them. If anything happened to Hazel...
Emily shuddered at the thought. “I don’t want my aunt to get stuck in the middle of this.”
“Agreed.”
“Come with me.”
She led him across the foyer to a living room that reflected Hazel’s eclectic personality with a combination of classy and rustic. The terra-cotta floor and soft southwestern colors blended with painted barn wood on the walls. The high ceiling was open beam. The rugged, moss rock fireplace reminded Emily that her aunt was an outdoorswoman who herded cattle and tamed wild mustangs. But Hazel also had a small art collection, including two Georgia O’Keeffe watercolor paintings of flowers that hung on either side of the fireplace.
While Emily went behind the wet bar at the far end of the room, Sean studied the watercolor of a glowing pink-and-gold hydrangea. “Is this an original?”
“A gift from the artist,” Emily said. “Hazel spent some time with O’Keeffe at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico.”
“I keep forgetting how rich your family is. None of you are showy. It’s all casual and comfortable and then I realize that you’ve got valuable artwork on the wall.” He made his way across the room to the wet bar. “When I was driving up to this place, I had the feeling I’d seen it before. Did we come here for a visit?”
“I don’t think so. Hazel was in Europe for most of the year and a half we were married.” She peered through the glass door of the wine cellar refrigerator. “White wine or red?”
“How about beer?”
“You haven’t changed.” She opened the under-the-counter refrigerator and selected two bottles of craft beers with zombies on the labels. “You’ll like this brand. It’s dark.”
He didn’t question her selection, just grabbed the beer, tapped the neck against hers and took a swig. He licked his lips. “Good.”
A dab of foam glistened at the corner of his mouth, and she was tempted to wipe the moisture off, better yet, to lick it.
“Ground rules,” she said, reminding herself as much as him.
