Billi Jean Page 2

  He’d not missed the look of a woman who’d seen too much of the nastier side of life and lived through it. He’d seen that look too many times. He’d faced the same expression on a few of his teammates. Every mission, every battle, every assignment held danger. Sometimes life threw some punches you couldn’t dodge, and you couldn’t handle them when they landed. ‘Sucker’ had a new meaning when you were suddenly flat on your ass in some desert with several semi-automatics pointed at your head.

  He was weary of it. Weary of the chase, the catch, and the kills.

  He probably wore the same look she had. It was a starkness, a kind of tired resignation that came on when you knew that one more hit, and you’d not come back up. But he didn’t wear fear. And he sure didn’t wear that smile.

  No, Ace Man didn’t smile. Even when he lived up to his nickname, Ace in the Hole, he barely smiled. Not until the mission was done, the fees paid, and the men safe in the barracks. Then he might crack a grin, but not before.

  But this woman? She’d been through something. And she’d still smiled softly up at him and he’d known, just known he wasn’t smiling down at her. He’d been too focused, too…pissed off at her for being all alone, he realised. Somehow, her being alone and scared had pissed him off.

  On some level, he recognised that she brought out his male instinct to protect, like nothing he’d ever experienced outside of combat. After more than fourteen years of service, ten years of it in the SEALs, he recognised when his body was set for battle. And it wasn’t from the fight he’d left behind in the mountains of Columbia. He was primed to protect a woman he’d just met. Simply meeting her eyes and seeing fear there had clicked his brain into that centred, focused level he usually only hit during a mission.

  Eagle laughed low next to him, pulling him out of his misery.

  “Damn, Ace, you really can sweet-talk the ladies. How old are you?” he mimicked and shook his head. “Why not say, hey, are you old enough for a quick fuck?”

  Ace gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles cracked. “Shut up. Don’t talk about her like that,” he tacked on for good measure. He didn’t like the idea of Eagle thinking along those lines. Or talking about her like that. Or looking at her.

  He did a mental catalogue of what he wanted, and, sure, he wanted her in a bed, but he wanted more. His body felt like it was never going down, but his thoughts weren’t centred only on sex. He wanted—needed to lay claim to her.

  He mulled that realisation over. The thought should have spooked the hell out of him. But it didn’t. He’d met her—or not even really met her—and here he was driving around thinking of fucking her, which for once in his life made him feel like a sorry son of a bitch, and now he was thinking what? A relationship? He laughed and shook his head.

  Eagle gave him a long look, “I’ve never seen you so out of your element. You scared the piss out of the poor girl. She was alone, on the side of the road, and did you even try to look less intimidating—?”

  He shot Eagle a look, and his buddy snapped his jaw shut with another laugh.

  “She was alone. All that way. Alone. She probably didn’t even have a gun and she was driving across country. What was she thinking? Doesn’t she read the news? Watch the TV? Listen to the radio?”

  Well, at least she was single. No way would a guy let such a woman out of his sight. And if he had? Well, the guy didn’t deserve her anyway.

  Eagle barked a laugh and shook his head. “What the hell? A gun? Of course not. What would a pretty girl like that have a gun for?”

  If she’d been his, he’d have made sure she’d had a gun. “And now she’s going to live alone. Here.”

  He got another amused look from Eagle, but he ignored him. He was a little out of his element here. He hadn’t expected to see such a beautiful woman in his town. His place. Alone. Without anyone. He wanted to know everything about her. Find out what made her tick. And what frightened her. And who’d given her the scar.

  He’d not missed the mark on her temple. He could shut his eyes and describe every inch of her he’d been able to see, and guess at a few others.

  Her hair had been shiny black against the soft sky blue of her eyes and the pink of her cheeks. He knew her breasts would be firm and high. His dick had filled at the sight of her little nipples outlined under her T-shirt. Some band across the front of the soft material had drawn his eyes right to her breasts, making his hands itch so badly he’d shoved them in his jacket. Her ass had been a handful, too. He could imagine turning her hot body over and cupping those lush cheeks as he took her from behind. She’d love it, too. He’d make sure of it.

  But not now. He needed to slow down the power of her appeal. Distil it. Or he was going to lose his mind. And with one look into those blue eyes, he’d known she’d needed him to slow down. Maybe she had been frightened of him. He hoped she hadn’t picked up on how hot he’d been for her.

  He’d been in lust before.

  This wasn’t it.

  He’d let one woman in. Or at least part way, he realised. He couldn’t even clearly remember much about Melissa now. She’d been lush, too lush, now that he was thinking about Susan’s little body. She’d moved in with him and they’d had sex. That was pretty much the extent of it. There hadn’t been much more. When he’d gone on his first mission, she’d hooked up with another sailor within days of his departure. Life went on. No big deal. Melissa had been sex, no more. He could see that now. He’d never felt the complete need to protect her that he’d felt after two seconds in Susan’s company.

  He wasn’t a sniper in the SEALs any longer. He wasn’t training men to do what he’d done. He was a rancher now. And bored to tears. He’d watched Susan reach up and do something with her hair. She even did that sexily. Right when he felt like life was settling down, in walks the perfect woman.

  “So, this should be interesting,” Eagle rumbled next to him.

  Tim, or Eagle—because the man had eagle eyes, and not only for enemy snipers—gave him a superior look. No doubt he thought he knew what Russ was thinking. It pissed him off that Eagle would try to read him now, but the man knew him.

  Eagle was a man most wouldn’t want on their bad side. Good thing Russell had saved Eagle’s life as many times as the man had saved his. Iraq? Both been there, done it. Afghanistan? Worst fight he’d been in with no support other than his team, and still they’d all made it out alive. Columbia? Hell, yeah. And they’d got the captives back as well. They’d done a great deal together, and Russ would have Eagle’s back any day.

  “Sometimes it happens like that, man. You see her and damn if it doesn’t feel like you’ve been sucker punched. Or stepped on a mine and need to chill until the team shows up and takes the trigger out. But, hey, maybe play it a little”—Eagle tilted his head to the side—“less aggressive? Smile, man—try it once in a while. The war’s over. Or at least for us it is, bro.”

  Less aggressive? Shit, he had ideas flooding his brain faster than he could process, but being aggressive wasn’t one of them. Although, long, sweaty sex would definitely ease the hard-on he had going on. But he needed to think about this, about her, before he made a move. A sense of urgency to rush forward flooded him, even though he was known for his patience. He gripped the steering wheel tighter to tamp down his desires.

  He might have his endurance tested with this little bit of a woman, he mused, adjusting the rear-view mirror to get a better look at her face.

  Chapter Two

  Lacey walked through the house as if she was in a dream. This could not be her new home. It was beautiful but, God, it wasn’t hers. Not one thing was hers. Not one. She could unpack her things, the few the FBI had allowed, and still this empty house wouldn’t be home. Hardwood floors added warmth and colour to every room in the house. They’d seemed to design the place like a home, cosy-like. There were creamy, neutral coloured walls, and heavy wooden beams in a high ceiling that arched over her head in the open-plan living room and kitchen, complete with a big,
black wood-burning stove and stone hearth.

  “So, Miss Fielding, did the movers set it all up for you? I have to admit I was amazed that they not only moved you in, but they brought you food, too. That’s some moving company. I always dreaded people touching my things, let alone unpacking them, but they did an incredible job, didn’t they? Look at this place…” The realtor’s wife, Irene, trailed off, caught her eye and went on to say, “Simply wonderful. Just like I thought it should look when we first put it on the market.”

  Lacey turned from examining the view through her sliding glass back doors and smiled politely at the other woman. She’d not met Rob, the owner, when she’d followed Russ Ryland into town and on to the realtor’s office, but Irene had been there, excited to take her out to see her new home. Middle-aged and smiling, the woman looked curious and friendly. She was dressed in a cute little skirt and jacket set that looked right off JCPenney’s rack, and was full figured and pretty, despite her age—exactly the type of woman her dad would have appreciated.

  And what kind of woman did Russ Ryland appreciate?

  Now, where did that come from?

  She’d had a hard time dodging him. He’d opened her truck door for her, which had freaked her out for several seconds because she hadn’t been sure exactly what he was doing, until he’d stepped back and waited while she hopped down. Then, after an awkward moment, she’d realised that he wanted to usher her into the office, as if she might break on the three foot trip to the front door. And she might have. She’d been tired—still was—and worn out from driving. Worse, he’d made her heart do some strange things, let alone her legs, so maybe an escort to the one and only real estate office in Troy had been necessary.

  “And so quiet and efficient, too. Why, we never even knew they’d come and gone. One day a man came for the key, signed your papers and, golly, you were moved in.” Irene paused, colouring a nice pink with embarrassment. “I have to admit I came over to sneak a peek… They did such a wonderful job, though.”

  “Yep, I had to pay them well.” Not. The agency had paid for all of it. She suspected they paid because they’d dropped the ball. The agents had nearly got her killed. “It cost a great deal, but look at it. It’s perfect, right?” She’d trade it all in for her old life back.

  Irene nodded happily, trailing a manicured hand over the dark surface of the shiny marble counter top, near the built-in six-burner stove. “My goodness, you must be exhausted. How on earth did you drive so far, and alone? I think Rob would pass out if I even considered doing something like that. And this house, all to yourself? Amazing, really.”

  Irene was digging. Most people would.

  “Yep, all to myself. The trip was difficult, but also very freeing. I mean, I’d never done anything like that either, never even stayed in a hotel by myself, but I did. Now I can say I did,” she added shyly. She liked this woman and didn’t want to lie to her, so she skated the truth, trying her best to stick as close to the true story as possible. “Besides, after my father’s death”—she paused and shrugged, trying to keep the emotions from rising up—“well, a change was needed.”

  Irene sucked in a breath, and Lacey regretted opening her mouth when the other woman’s eyes widened in sympathy.

  “Oh, dear. I hadn’t realised. Your lawyers never said. I’m so sorry. Losing a parent is so difficult.”

  “Yeah, it was. But he was sick for a long time, you know? He was ready, and he would have loved me living here.” Not. Her father, the alpha Navy SEAL he had been, would have hated her driving alone. And he would have had a fit at her living alone. He’d been nothing if not protective. At least, when he’d been able. Even sick and so shrunken with the cancer he could barely sit up, he’d been protective. Grumbling at her to eat, to stop wasting time with him, to go out, to be careful—all those things he’d always harassed her over.

  “Oh, dear. That is so difficult. My father died of cancer ten years ago. It was difficult. But I think it got better after a while. Just knowing he wasn’t in pain any longer helped.”

  Lacey fought the rush of tears building behind her eyes. Yep, her dad was not in pain, and remembering that was the only thought that kept her going some days. He’d been her rock. Her foundation. She’d not gone a day of her life without thinking of him, of seeing him or at least talking to him on the phone. They’d lost her mother when she was ten, and, since that day, her father had always been there for her. He’d even quit working full-time in his SEALs unit to train SEALs instead. He’d always put her first, even refusing to be relocated twice so she wouldn’t have to switch out of school in mid year. He’d taught others to do what he’d once done, but he’d never gone on another mission. Yep, she missed him. Missed him didn’t even cover it.

  “Exactly. Thanks, I didn’t mean to unload on you. I’m a bit tired.”

  Irene gripped her cold hands with her warm ones. She had nice, soft hands.

  “Don’t worry, honey. All that driving? Terrible. I can’t imagine.” Her words were well meant. Irene released her hands after another squeeze, and walked to where she’d left her big jacket. “Well, you take a nice hot bath in the bathroom they designed for you, have a cup of cocoa and you’ll be asleep before you know it.”

  “That sounds great.” Lacey didn’t want to be alone in this house, but she would do it. Yep, she would, all alone in a new, spotless and unfamiliar place. Great.

  “How about you meet me tomorrow, honey? We can do lunch and I’ll show you around all the right spots in town.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

  “Trouble? Good Lord, you’re new to town. I can’t let you wander around. You come by at, say, eleven. Then we’ll go eat and I’ll show you all the nice shops.”

  Nice shops? In Troy? The place had looked like a picture out of some Wild West show. She’d even seen a carved totem pole. A post office, a hotel, a few shops, a grocery store and the town was gone. If they had shops, she must have blinked and missed them.

  “That sounds wonderful, Irene, thank you.”

  Irene waved a hand and tutted at her. “No, thank you, honey. I can’t wait. You can tell me all about your home back in New York. Well, your old home,” she said, surprising Lacey with a hug that smelt of baby powder, soap and some kind of flowery perfume.

  “Of course.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow, honey. Welcome to Troy!”

  Lacey watched Irene totter out on her high heels to her little white Ford sedan and waved at her when the older woman got in.

  As soon as Irene had backed out, having waved once more, Lacey shut the heavy door and let out a deep, long breath, her back to the heavy wood. Well, now what? The empty house was so quiet that her own breath rattled her.

  Two bedrooms, both pretty, softly coloured in neutral tones, warm thick comforters and silk sheets on the beds. Two bathrooms. A workshop for her stained glass. A garage. A small shed outside the back window. And acres of land.

  All to herself. And all empty.

  They’d even sprung for a computer, a television, huge couches, a big wooden butcher-block table with straight-backed chairs, kitchen gadgets, and tools in the garage. There was probably a lawnmower in the shed, and more tools.

  Everything a girl would need to start a new life, as if her old one had never existed.

  God, it was awful. She sank into a chair in the kitchen and let the quiet fill her senses.

  This was so not real. Was it?

  The agents had sure seemed to think so. After the attack they’d felt responsible, she knew. They’d said as much. Asked about what she liked to do, what colours she liked, what she thought was essential in a home. Or, at least, they had when her jaw had been unwired. She knew they’d also done some checking into her past and dug up everything they could about her.

  A sigh gusted past her lips. And this was what they’d come up with for her? This was it? This was her? Or what they thought was her? Would this make up for everything?

  Her stomach b
ottomed out. Nerves were making her feel too tightly strung, too tense and way too out of control. This wasn’t going to work. She should have told the agents that from the beginning.

  This was supposed to be home, she reminded herself.

  But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not yet. She was too scared. Too scared of too much. She felt as if she was drowning in anxiety. This was worse than the first night at the hotel. Then, she’d been so nervous she’d placed a chair under the door and sat up in another chair, with the lights out, for hours, waiting for the bad guys to show up. She’d been so certain they would.

  Her cell phone rang, almost giving her a heart attack. Her chair made a horrible scraping sound on the wooden floor when she shoved it back, but she answered the phone she’d been given on the third ring.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve made it to the house?” a man’s voice asked in a clear, firm, familiar tone. She’d met him once—an older guy with hard, sky blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, deep grooves in his face and a commanding body and voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Remember that no one can know. No one.”

  “Yep, I remember.”

  “Blend in, be normal and call if anything, anything doesn’t seem right. You have this number now.”

  “Yep.”

  Silence filled the line. What else could she say? They knew where she was and they wouldn’t come near here. It was the only way to keep her safe from the men who wanted her dead. If they found out she hadn’t died the first time around. She’d considered running when the agents had explained the plan to hide her away in Montana. Why do it their way? she’d grumbled. Their way had nearly got her killed. But, somehow, the thought of running from the FBI had frightened her enough to do what they ordered.