The idea of Dane touching her made her more nervous than she thought possible.

He lifted a brow. “It’s either I check you out or we take you to the doctor.”

“Okay, check.”

He pressed his large hands to her rib cage under her loose top. Her breathing had gone shallow. It had been almost a year since she’d been with a man. But she’d only known this man less than a day. He was a stranger. A very dangerous stranger.

Yet, emotion and desire overruled reason. She’d been alone for so long and she wanted to feel connected to someone, if only for a short while.

Sensing the first move would have to be hers, she rose up on tiptoes and gently kissed his lips.

Dear Reader,

Yoga is one of my passions and for the past four years I’ve been a dedicated student. During yoga classes my mind often wanders off to that quiet place where my stories are born. It was during a yoga class that I caught my first glimpses of Kristen and Dane, the heroine and hero of Wise Moves, which of course is set in a yoga studio. Kristen and Dane begin their journey as lost souls, but despite it all they bravely face the threats in the physical world. Their reward is inner peace that allows each to love the other.

I hope Wise Moves keeps you on the edge of your seat, touches your heart and for just a little while takes you away from the hectic pace of the outer world.

Have a safe and happy summer!

Mary Burton

Wise Moves
Mary Burton

www.mirabooks.co.uk

MARY BURTON

sold her first novel in 1999 and since then has written eight Harlequin Historical novels. Wise Moves is her third contemporary novel for Silhouette Intimate Moments. Burton not only enjoys a variety of hobbies, including yoga, hiking and scuba diving, but also recently tackled her first triathlon. A graduate of Hollins University, she is based in Richmond, Virginia, where she lives with her husband and two children.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Prologue

Danger surrounded Elena Benito.

The dark sensation had grown steadily since she’d returned to Miami yesterday, winding her nerves tighter than a drum. At 9:00 a.m., just six hours from now, she was scheduled to testify against her brother, drug kingpin Antonio Benito.

Unable to sleep, Elena paced the small furnished room of the FBI’s Dade County safe house. Feeling trapped, she sat on the twin bed, picked up the TV remote, clicked on the small television and started surfing. But none of the B-movies, late-night talk shows or infomercials distracted her from her fears. Her brother was out there, looking for her, and he wanted to punish her.

She clicked off the television. The house’s old air-conditioning system couldn’t overcome the hot, humid July air, making it difficult to breathe.

Rising, Elena flexed and released her fingers. She had to get out of this room.

She opened her bedroom door, which fed into the living room furnished with bamboo furniture and a green shag carpet. Flowery drapes covered a large picture window by the wooden front door.

This room felt as foreign as the safe house in New Mexico where the FBI had hidden her. Out west, she’d dreamed of getting out of the mountains and returning to the Miami she loved. She longed for her beloved beaches and the sight of the ocean. But now as she stared around this seedy house, she realized the Miami she’d loved was lost to her forever.

Police officers Jack Mendez and Nancy Rogers were the Miami officers assigned to guard Elena until the FBI detail picked her up at seven. The police officers’ voices and the click of cards shuffling drifted out from the kitchen.

Both Rogers and Mendez had called this operation a routine gig, but there was nothing routine about any of this. The officers, like everyone else involved in her brother’s murder trial, knew how much rode on her testimony. The Feds had been after Antonio for years. But they’d never been able to pin anything on him until Elena had told police she’d witnessed her brother kill six members of a local Miami church.

The “Churchmen,” as they were known by the press, had effectively stopped the drug trade in their neighborhood with peaceful sit-ins and a neighborhood watch program. Angered by sagging profits, Antonio had decided to send all he knew a message by murdering the men. He’d forced Elena to witness the killings because she, too, was being taught a lesson: Never run from me again.

Elena had begged for the lives of the men, but Antonio had showed no mercy and shot each in cold blood. It had taken her another nineteen days before she’d found another opportunity to escape Antonio. This time, when she ran, she had gone to the police. She had identified her brother as the shooter and he had been arrested.

She moved silently through the house to the open kitchen door. Mendez stood at the kitchen sink as a coffeepot brewed. His white Guayabera shirt accentuated rich brown skin. “My old lady was talking about buying a bigger house.”

Nancy sat at a yellow Formica kitchen table and shuffled a worn deck of cards. The room’s pineapple wallpaper and appliances dated back to the fifties. “Her high-dollar tastes are gonna break you, Mendez.”

Mendez’s full mustache twitched when he smiled. “Nah, I can handle her.”

Nancy dealt two hands. “That’s what they all say.”

Floorboards under Elena’s feet squeaked as she crossed the threshold. Immediately the officers’ gazes whipped around. Nancy was already reaching for her gun.

Elena rubbed smooth hands over designer jeans. “I’m sorry. I just wanted a glass of water.”

Nancy clipped her gun back in the holster and smiled. “Sure.”

“I’ll get it,” Mendez said.

As Mendez filled a glass with tap water, Nancy stood. “Is everything in your room okay?”

Elena hugged her arms around her chest. “It’s fine.”

There was softness in Nancy Rogers’s eyes when she nodded. “It will all be over soon.”

Elena tried to take comfort from the officer’s words, but found the ominous dread in her would not stop growing. “Yes.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Nancy said. “Your brother is a monster and he needs to be put away.”

Elena had never expected that doing the right thing would be so hard. “It’s what must be done.”

A sound from the street caught Nancy’s attention. “Did you hear something?”

Mendez shut the tap off and set the glass on the counter. He peaked through the kitchen’s miniblinds. “Looks like the transfer team arrived early.”

Elena’s fingers trembled as she pushed back the cuff of her silk blouse and checked the Rolex on her slim wrist. “They’re four hours early.” She suddenly felt cold, as if Death had brushed past her.

Nancy’s hand slid to the holster clipped to her jeans. “I don’t like it.”

“He’s here,” Elena whispered as she stepped back. She hated being afraid, being a coward. “He’s come to kill me.”

Nancy shook her head, puzzled by Elena’s words. “Who? Antonio? He’s not here.”

Elena shook her head, unable to deny the feelings in her. “He’s sent people to kill me.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Ms. Benito. It could be nothing,” Nancy said.

Instinct whispered differently.

Nancy switched off the living room light and moved past Elena into the dark room. She peeked out thick curtains covering the picture window. “It makes sense they’d change the schedule. I just wish they’d told us.”

There was no tension in Mendez’s face when he came into the living room and looked out the same window. A gold signet ring on his pinky caught the moonlight. “Varying the pickup time just means tighter security, Ms. Benito. The car looks like Miami D.A. issue. No need to worry.”

Nancy flipped open her cell phone. The light of its screen cast a faint blue light on her angled faced. “I’m calling the lieutenant to see if this is legit.”

Mendez rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, I hope this gig is ending four hours early. I haven’t slept in my own bed in two nights and I’m missing my old lady’s loving.”

Elena stepped back toward her room. She glanced at the side window in her bedroom that led to a back alley.

“Remember the plan,” Nancy said to Elena as if reading her thoughts. “If there is any trouble, climb out the window. There is a car parked in the alley. Keys are under the mat and the gas tank is full. Go straight to the central office.”

Mendez looked surprised. “Who put the car out back?”

“I did. Just in case,” Nancy said.

He cracked his knuckles. “You’re so anal, Rogers.”

“Better anal than dead, as my brother says,” Nancy shot back.

Elena didn’t want to be a coward, but raw fear churned in her gut. “Do you think it’s Antonio?”

Nancy looked calm, too calm, as if she didn’t want to spook her witness. She held her phone close to her ear. “Chances are it’s like Mendez said. They’ve changed the pickup time.”

Mendez moved toward the door. “You two are worrying over nothing. It’s FBI. This time tomorrow Benito will be in—”

Nancy snapped her fingers, signaling Mendez to stop talking as someone came on the line. “Hello, Lt. Grasser, this is Officer Rogers at the Benito safe house. I need a confirmation on an early pickup. We’ve got men who look like FBI in our driveway now. Right. Okay.” She muttered an oath. “The guy put me on hold.”

There was a loud knock at the front door. “Mendez and Rogers open up. FBI.”

Mendez looked through the peephole. “He’s holding up a FBI badge.” He reached for the handle.

“Don’t open that door!” Nancy shouted. “Wait until I get a confirmation.”

Mendez smiled at his partner.

Elena froze. His was the same oily smile she’d seen on Antonio’s face before he’d killed the Churchmen.

Elena felt sick. “He’s going to betray us.”

Shock registered on Nancy’s face but before she could react, Mendez turned the deadbolt.

“Mendez, don’t,” Nancy shouted.

“I’ve got to,” he said. “There’s five million on her head and I want it.”

The shock on Nancy’s face gave way to anger in a split second. Dropping her cell phone, Nancy reached for her gun and shot Mendez in the leg before he could open the door.

“Run!” Nancy shouted to Elena.

Frozen with fear, Elena watched Mendez drop to his knees.

“Bitch.” Wincing, Mendez reached for the doorknob.

“Run!” Nancy shouted again to Elena.

Elena did not want to leave the officer behind. She liked the woman and knew if Nancy stayed she’d die.

“Come with me!” Elena begged.

“No,” Nancy said. “Now go!”

Elena felt like a coward as she ran into the bedroom. Her high heels caught in the shag carpet and she stumbled to the floor by her bed.

Behind her, she heard the crack of wood splintering as the front door slammed open. Her heart hammering, she kicked off her shoes, rose and ran toward the window. She jerked back the curtains and fumbled with the lock.

Elena glanced back as Nancy swung around, her Beretta raised as three men entered the house. One pulled a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun from under his black suit jacket. He shot Mendez point-blank in the head. The policeman dropped to the floor, dead.

Nancy fired and hit the shooter in the chest. He fell back into the wall and slid to the floor.

Elena said a silent prayer as she fumbled with the window’s lock. She and Nancy had reviewed the escape plan just hours ago, but her thoughts tripped inside her head.

More gunshots exploded in the living room.

The lock gave way and the window opened. Elena hoisted herself up onto the sill and swung her legs over. She jumped the four feet to the soft ground. Bare feet sunk in the moist dirt.

Nancy screamed, firing again. The agonizing sounds tore at Elena. Another shot exploded and then silence.

Elena didn’t have to see to know that Officer Nancy Rogers was dead.

Tears clouded her eyes and she ran to the car. Nancy had sacrificed herself for Elena. With trembling hands she opened the car door. The dome light flashed on and she reached under the front mat and got the keys. She immediately closed the door. The vehicle plunged into darkness.

In her rush, she dropped the keys on the floor. Frantically, she ran her hand along the carpeted floor until she felt the cold metal of the keys.

Inside the house, two men entered her room and went to the window out of which she’d just climbed. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the engine.

Elena didn’t dare look back at the house for fear she’d see them coming. She put the car in Drive and sped down the side street.

Tonight had proven that the five-million-dollar reward on her head was enough to turn anyone against her, including the police. If she showed up at the courthouse later this morning, she would die. Antonio would see to it.

Her heart ached for Nancy. The officer deserved justice. The Churchmen deserved justice.

There was nothing she could do for any of them now but disappear.

Chapter 1

Nine Months Later, Tuesday, April 24, 11:00 a.m.

As Kristen Rodale approached the small town’s historic district, asphalt and nondescript buildings gave way to tree-lined cobblestone streets and turn-of-the-century buildings with flower boxes in the windows.

A gold-leaf sign on a wooden post near a courthouse with white columns read, Welcome.

Welcome.

It had been so long since she’d felt welcome. So long since she’d felt wanted, nurtured and loved. But close contact with anyone was too dangerous. Not only did the police want her, but her brother Antonio wanted her as well.

Two old men stood in front of an antique shop, glanced up and nodded as she passed. Reflex had her stiffening, and it took a concerted effort to relax her shoulders and nod a greeting back.

Nine months of running and still she didn’t like being scrutinized.

She shifted her backpack to the other shoulder, strolling past a delightful collection of stores. A lingerie shop, an Italian restaurant with a collection of sidewalk tables, a high-end clothing store—each was as unique and special as the century-old stone buildings that housed them. Two years ago—a lifetime ago—she would have shopped in stores like these and never have glanced at a price tag. Now pennies were precious.

A coffee shop’s large picture window caught her attention. Tucked in the first floor of an old redbrick bank building, the shop was stuffed with a collection of small round tables, an old jukebox and bin after bin of specialty coffees. The rich sights lured her closer.

She thought about the money in her pocket. She’d saved five hundred dollars by scrimping and saving. Her goal was to buy a car, so that she wouldn’t have to rely on buses and trains where anyone could recognize her.

As she entered the shop, bells jingled above her head and a rush of warm air greeted her. Most of the tables were filled with mothers chatting to other mothers as their babies gurgled in wooden high chairs, tourists with cameras and maps and a worker grabbing a coffee, presumably before her afternoon shift.

Kristen studied the menu. She could have splurged on a preferred cappuccino but decided on a much less expensive small coffee and a muffin.

She walked to the ancient cash register where a young man with a crop of red hair stood. “What’ll it be?”

She cleared her throat. It had been days since she’d spoken to anyone. “Small coffee, in a regular to-go cup, and a blueberry muffin.”

“Coming right up.” He poured her the coffee and set it on the counter and then plated up the muffin.

She counted out quarters, dimes and pennies to the right amount. “Thanks.”

As he rang up her purchase and counted her change, he asked, “You passing through?”

She sipped her coffee. Delicious warmth spread to her chilled fingers. “I was thinking about staying a while.” She dumped fifty cents in the tip jar. Having lived off tips these past nine months she knew how the extra coins could add up.

The young man nodded his thanks. “Cool. You’ll like it here. I’m Pete, what’s your name?”

This question always brought a moment’s hesitation. For the first eight months on the run, she’d changed her name often, fearing she would be traced. But this last month, she’d grown confident as she’d become more streetwise. She’d settled on the name “Kristen,” and announced this to Pete.

“Kristen. Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

“So are you looking for a job?”

“Yes. Know of any?”

Another customer came into the store. “I think so. Let me take care of this guy first.”

“Sure.”

As Pete waited on the new customer, Kristen took an empty seat by the large picture window and settled her backpack between her feet. Sunlight streamed in. She closed her eyes and savored the warmth on her skin.

If there was one thing she missed most about her old life, it was the sun. She’d grown up accustomed to bathing suits, the scent of sun screen, sandals and sleeveless dresses.

She ate her muffin. It was a bit dry but sitting at a table and eating off of a real plate made it palatable.

The muffin gone, she was savoring her coffee when the bells on the front door rang again. A cool breeze flowed into the shop on the heels of a slender woman with shoulder-length blond hair. She wore a loose-fitting black turtleneck sweater that topped a green peasant skirt. Sporting well-worn Birkenstocks on her feet, she moved through the room as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Good morning, Pete!” she called out.

Pete stood a little straighter and grinned. “Morning, Sheridan. You want the regular soy latte?”

“Yes, thank you.” She tossed a five on the counter. “So how is your mom? I hear she’s out of the hospital.”

“She’s good. The cast should come off in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s wonderful. Have her come by the Yoga Studio when she’s feeling better. I’ll show her some moves to limber up. She’s going to be stiff.”

“Thanks, I will.” He handed her the latte in a porcelain cup and made change.

Carelessly, she dumped the couple dollars’ worth of change in the tip jar and grabbed two packets of sugar from the counter.

“Oh, hey, are you still looking for a receptionist?” Pete said.

Sheridan’s eyes brightened. “Yes.”

“Well, that gal over there is new in town and looking for work.”

It took a second for Kristen to realize Pete was talking about her. Immediately, she tensed.

Sheridan settled her gaze on Kristen. Shrewd eyes studied her before she strolled toward Kristen’s table.

“So, is my young friend correct?” Sheridan said. “Are you looking for a job?”

Rising, Kristen cleared her throat. Sheridan stood a good five inches taller than her own five-foot-two inches, but Kristen kept her chin high and her gaze direct. “I am.”

“My name is Sheridan Young.”

“Kristen Rodale.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Sure.” As the two sat, she reminded herself that she had no reason to be nervous. She’d had a dozen jobs in the past nine months. Besides, she’d survived hell and lived to tell the tale.

“What brings you to Lancaster Springs?”

“I like to travel.”

“So you won’t be staying long.”

Kristen heard the apprehension in the woman’s voice. “I like this town. I could easily stay here.” That was the truth. If she could stay, she would.

Sheridan dumped raw sugar into her coffee and stirred it. “Your breathing is shallow.”

“What?”

“Shallow. You don’t take deep breaths. Is it habit or stress?”

Behind the easygoing appearance was a shrewd woman. “Habit, I suppose.”

“I’d vote stress.”

Kristen picked up her coffee and sipped as her thoughts stumbled. Sheridan didn’t know her from Adam. And there were millions of reasons why people got stressed out. “Why do you say that?”

“The breathing and your eyes give it away.”

Kristen blinked. Maybe this wasn’t the town for her.

As if reading her mind, Sheridan smiled. “Don’t look so nervous. I’m not going to dig too deep.”

Kristen nodded and, more to change the subject, said, “You said something about a job?”

“As a matter of fact I did. I own the Yoga Studio. Up until now I’ve been all the help I could afford, but the studio is doing well and I’m looking to hire a receptionist. I pay seven dollars an hour.”

“It sounds great,” Kristen said honestly.

“But…”

Kristen managed to keep her face blank. “What makes you think there is a but?”

Sheridan rose. “Pete, mind if I take this mug? I’ll bring it back in a couple of hours.”

Pete raised his hand. “No problemo.”

Sheridan hitched her head toward the door. “Get your cup. Walk with me.”

Kristen wasn’t sure what to say but picked up her cup, hoisted her backpack on her shoulder and followed Sheridan down the tree-lined street.

They walked several blocks north of the historical district into a neighborhood that hadn’t been renovated yet. In the center of the aging buildings was a tall house made of gray stone. It had a red front door flanked by large pots filled with purple and yellow winter pansies. A sign painted in a breezy style hung above the door. It read: Yoga Studio. The building had a warm, calming quality.

“This is your place?”

“Yes.” Pride was evident.

“It’s lovely.”

“I’ve worked hard to fix her up. She was a mess and marked for demolition when I bought her three years ago. But I could see there was still a good bit of life here. There’s more work to be done, but I’m making progress.”

“You like to rescue things,” Kristen said as she stared at ivy trailing out of the window boxes.

A smile tugged at Sheridan’s full mouth. “And you are good at sizing people up.”

A necessary skill. “Yes.”

Sheridan studied her. “There’s sadness in your soul, Kristen Rodale.”

Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. “Sadness isn’t a crime is it?”

Sheridan sipped her coffee. “No, it’s not. But someone as young as you shouldn’t be so sad.”

“No one ever said life was supposed to be happy.”

A cloud passed in front of Sheridan’s eyes. Kristen had hit a nerve. But just as soon as the sorrow appeared, it vanished. “Like I said, I pay seven dollars an hour and I also have a room above the studio, which you can use. I lived in the apartment until a couple of months ago. Now I live down the street in the youth shelter.”

“Why the shelter?”

“The old director quit unexpectedly and they needed someone to run the place. I like the kids so for now it’s my home.”

“More people to save?”

“I suppose.” Sheridan broke Kristen’s gaze and let it travel over her building. “The apartment is yours if you want it, though I’ll expect you to open the shop each morning by eight. That’ll save me from having to arrive much before the 9:00 a.m. class. The shelter has a 10:00 p.m. curfew, but I never seem to get to bed before midnight.”

Life had made Kristen cautious, skeptical of lucky breaks. Sheridan just seemed too good to be true. “Why me?”

She lifted a brow. “Why hire you? Can’t say. A gut feeling. Sometimes you have to be willing to take a chance on the unknown.”

Sheridan was offering a job and a place to stay—a rare and wonderful combination. Kristen had purchased a social security number in Atlanta two months ago, so the paperwork wouldn’t be an issue. It would be nice to call one place home for a while. And Lancaster Springs seemed like the last place Antonio would ever look for her.

Sheridan seemed to sense she’d not quite convinced Kristen. “Oh, did I mention the apartment has a microwave and small fridge?”

Here she could save more money. If she were careful she could save up enough for a car in a matter of months. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It’s nothing fancy, but it is clean and safe.”

Safe.

There was a time when Kristen had believed she’d never be truly safe again, which was why she’d crisscrossed the country and still kept a thousand miles between herself and Florida. Hiding had become her specialty.

Yes, to stop moving was risky, but she’d covered her tracks well.

She was safe.

Kristen held out a hand to Sheridan. “I’ll take your job.”

The woman’s grip was firm. “Good.”

Chapter 2

Tuesday, April 24, 2:33 p.m.

Dane Cambia checked his watch. He itched to get this meeting going.

A week ago, he’d contacted Lucian Moss, a UCLA dropout who ran a company that specialized in computer security systems. Other corporations hired Moss to test the integrity of their networks. So far, there hadn’t been a system he couldn’t hack into.

The front door of the pub opened and Cambia recognized Lucian Moss from the last day of the Antonio Benito trial. He remembered Lucian’s anguished outcry when the “Innocent” verdict had been read. Moss’s uncle had been among the Churchmen murdered in Miami last year.

The computer expert wore a Grateful Dead shirt, an old black leather jacket, faded jeans and scuffed leather boots. Thick black hair brushed broad muscled shoulders, making him look more like a Hell’s Angel than a computer geek.

Cambia rose, waved him over. The men shook hands and sat down.

A waitress came and took Lucian’s coffee order. If she thought Moss looked out of place in the tony Washington pub, she showed no sign of it.

Cambia waited until she’d delivered Lucian’s coffee and topped off his mug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.” He pushed his coffee aside.

Dane lowered his voice. “We share a common enemy.”

Moss twisted an onyx ring on his pinky finger. “Really?”

“Antonio Benito.”

Hatred darkened Moss’s eyes. “What’s Benito done to you?”

“My sister was Nancy Rogers, a Miami cop assigned to guard Elena Benito. The safe house was hit by gunmen. My sister was killed.”

Lucian’s dark eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”

Sadness tightened around Dane’s heart. He’d listened to the tape of Nancy’s last conversation with her commanding officer twenty times. Her voice had been tense, tight and her shock clear when she’d realized her partner had betrayed them. Nancy had ordered Elena to run before firing her gun. It sliced at his gut every time.

“I need your help,” Dane said.

“How so?”

“I’ve had people on the street looking for Elena Benito for six months. No one can find her. But I’ve heard you can find anybody.”

“I can.” The softly spoken words radiated confidence.

“I want to use Elena as bait,” Dane said. “She’s the only one Antonio Benito truly cares about, the only one that can flush him out.”

Moss studied him. “The police failed to protect her before.”

“I won’t.”

Lucian tapped a long finger on the table. “I did a little checking on you. Special Forces. A month ago you resigned from the FBI.”

“That’s right.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“The law had their chance with Benito. Now it’s my turn.”

“You are going to kill him?”

“Yep.”

For a moment Lucian said nothing and Dane feared he wasn’t up for such hands-on work. “I want in on the kill.”

Surprised, he sat back in his seat. “No.”

“I’ve spent the last year going after Benito’s finances. Most of his business is cash and handled off the books. But about thirty percent of it funnels through computers. I’ve taken all of that. It’s driving Benito crazy and I know he’ll kill me if he finds me.” The threat of death did not seem to faze him. “But no matter how much money I take, it’s never enough. I want him dead.”

Dane understood the anger Lucian felt. “This is a little more hands-on than stealing electronic files from one thousand miles away.”

Lucian’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what I’m getting into, Cambia.”

The last thing he needed was a John Wayne wanna-be getting himself killed or mucking up his show. “This is my operation. I work alone.”

Lucian shrugged and started to rise. “Then find the woman on your own. Or better, I will find her and catch Benito all by myself.”

Hard determination glittered in Lucian’s eyes. He’d do exactly what he said.

If Dane searched for Elena on his own, it could take months, maybe years, before he found her. He’d never beat Lucian in the race to find Elena. The only objective was to get Benito. And he’d sworn he’d do whatever it took to catch his sister’s killer.

Like it or not, Dane needed Moss.

Dane leaned forward. “All right, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“I want in on the kill, not the loop.”

If he wanted Benito, he’d have to work with Lucian. “Agreed.”

Lucian’s shoulders relaxed and he sat back down. “It could take me a week or two to find her.”

“How? She must move around a lot and live off the grid. There’s been no trace of her.”

Lucian didn’t miss a beat. “Facial recognition scanner.”

“Like the ones they use to track cheaters in Vegas?” Dane asked.

“Mine’s a lot better. And unlike conventional technology mine is programmed to tap into every surveillance system in every major city. You can change your hair, put on glasses or a hat, but the bones in your face never change. If she’s been through an airport, mall or bus station in the last nine months, I’ll find her.”

“You are certain?”

Lucian smiled. “Very.”

Chapter 3

Wednesday, May 16, 12:40 p.m.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay if I leave you here for a few days?” Sheridan asked Kristen.

Kristen’s smile was genuine. “I will be fine. Go to your sister.” She had been working at the studio for two weeks and had fallen into a routine. She’d never felt more relaxed and confident.

“I hate leaving you.” Sheridan frowned at the computer on the reception desk one last time. “The computer is no problem for you?”

“No.” She’d picked up the Mac’s system in a day.

“Computers are a necessary evil as far as I am concerned. But they are efficient and we’ve got new registrations to log in.”

It felt good to be able to help Sheridan, who had done so much for her these last couple of weeks. Watching the studio for a few days and handling the computer was a pleasure. “I will do the computer work.”

Silver bracelets jangled on Sheridan’s wrist as she dragged her hand through tousled blond hair. “You are a goddess.”

“Anything else?”

“If a girl named Crystal comes by looking for me, tell her I’ll be back in a few days. She’s one of the kids from the shelter. With a bit of work, I think I can save her.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for her.” Kristen glanced at her dollar-store wristwatch. “You better go now or you’ll be stuck in D.C. traffic.”

Sheridan turned to leave and then snapped her fingers, as if remembering something. “We’ve also got that contractor coming.” The plan was to convert the two small rooms off the reception area into a large tearoom.

“I remember. I can handle one contractor. Your sister is having a baby, Sheridan. Go to her.”

Mention of the baby made Sheridan smile as she grabbed her large denim satchel. “You know it’s a girl.”

“Yes.” She picked up Sheridan’s suitcase and guided her out the front door. The fall air had turned cold over the past few days.

Sheridan glanced back at the studio one last time. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kristen. My students love you. You’re a wiz with this computer and a master with bookkeeping.”

Kristen was the one who was grateful. These last two weeks had been the most peaceful she’d known in years. “Go.”

Sheridan nodded, took her suitcase from Kristen and headed down the steps to a green VW Bug parked by the curb. Kristen stood on the front porch and waited as Sheridan started her car. However, instead of driving off, Sheridan shut the engine off and got out of the car.

Kristen shook her head, laughing. Sheridan was a brilliant teacher and her students loved her, but she was chronically late and could be scattered at times.

“I forgot to tell you about Simone Brady,” Sheridan said.

Kristen laughed. “At the rate you are going that baby is going to be in college before you see her.”

Sheridan smiled. “I promise this is the last thing. Simone is going to be calling.”

Kristen came down the stairs and met her halfway. “For a class?”

“No, she’s a reporter with the local paper and a stringer for the Washington Post. She’s doing a piece on yoga studios in Virginia. She wants to do a story on us.”

Kristen folded her arms over her chest. Publicity was great for Sheridan but the worst thing that could happen to her. Her voice sounded flat when she said, “Great.”

Sheridan was so distracted about getting on the road that she didn’t pick up on the shift in Kristen’s voice. “She might call for background info before I return. Just tell her what she needs to know. When I get back, she’ll be sending a photographer out.”

Apprehension twisted the muscles in her back. “Why?”

Sheridan beamed. “She’s going to take our picture.”

Kristen drew in deep breaths, letting her rib cage expand as Sheridan had taught her. She’d taken great pains to disguise her appearance, but having her picture publicized was asking for trouble. Benito had contacts all over the country. She could never be in that picture. “You better get going.”

Sheridan laughed. “Right.” She got in her car and drove off.

Kristen retreated back into the house and closed the front door. She locked the deadbolt. The safety she’d felt behind these walls had vanished. Sheridan’s mention of the photographer was a stark reminder that she could never be too careful. For the rest of her life she would need to look over her shoulder. Benito would never give up his search for her.

If Benito found her, he wouldn’t kill her, but she’d already learned from him that there were worse things than death. Her heart began to race.

She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Again, she drew in a calming breath. The more she breathed, the more her heart slowed.

There’d been no sign of Benito in nine months. She’d been very careful. She was okay. She was safe.

Kristen closed her eyes and turned away from the door. She tried to push the worries from her mind.

She would stay free of Benito.

She would be fine.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the front porch. She heard a knock. She opened her eyes and turned.

A very tall man with broad shoulders stood on the other side of the glass door. He wore faded jeans that draped muscular thighs, a worn gray Virginia Tech T-shirt and brown scuffed work boots. A Carolina Panthers ball cap shadowed his rawboned face.

She glanced at her watch. One-twenty. If this was her carpenter, he was early.

Her stomach tightened a notch. Reason tried to rein in emotion. Surprises always made her nervous. She was far, far away from Benito and Sheridan had said a carpenter was coming.

Being ten minutes early didn’t mean he was a trained killer. She studied the man. He pulled off his cap and smiled at her.

“I’m looking for Sheridan,” he said through the glass. “I’m the carpenter.”

She relaxed and moved to the door. She clicked back the latch. “Sorry,” she said through the glass door. “You surprised me.”

His expression changed to sheepish, almost boyish. “Sorry. I got a habit of showing up early when I go to a new job. I’d hate it if I got lost and was late for my first day on a job.” His southern accent charmed her.

She opened the door. His thick black hair looked in need of a haircut. This close, she could see the sun-etched lines at the corners of very blue eyes. His nose had a ridge in the center, as if it had been broken. There was a ketchup stain on his shirt.

His deep, raspy voice had her pulse scrambling. And that was a surprise. She’d not looked twice at another man since Carlos.

“You must be Kristen Rodale,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“Sheridan told me. She said she might have to go out of town for a few days. Said a pretty blonde worked for her.” He winked. “And I’m guessing that must be you.”

She ran her hands through her short blond hair. “Right.”

His suntanned hand was tucked casually in his pocket and his shoulders were relaxed. “Sorry again about startling you. I figured you must have heard my old truck pull up. The muffler is shot and makes a heck of a racket.”

He seemed like a nice guy. And she was being overly paranoid. “I was lost in thought. Please come into the studio.”

He chuckled, wiped his feet on the mat and came inside. “No worries. I zone out all the time.”

She held out her hand. “I’m sorry, can you tell me your name again?” She knew the name but wanted to hear him say it first. Security always came first.

His large callused hand enveloped hers. Even white teeth flashed. “The name is Cambia. Dane Cambia.”

Dane had used his real name. Something he hadn’t done with the other leads Lucian had given him. Sloppy. Especially now, as Dane held Kristen Rodale’s hand, he feared Lucian had gotten it wrong again. She looked nothing like Elena Benito.

This woman did not have Elena’s long dark hair, and the bleached-blond hair was a startling surprise. The short cut accentuated high cheekbones, pale skin and large brown, wary eyes.

Kristen wore loose-fitting black yoga pants that skimmed her calves. A snug electric-blue top hugged her full breasts. Like Elena, she wasn’t tall—no more than five-one or-two—but she lacked Elena’s curves. Kristen’s body was lean. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy makeup Elena was so fond of and her nails weren’t polished. She looked more like a teenager than a woman in her midtwenties.

Over the last two weeks, Dane had investigated three of the five identity hits Lucian’s computer program had generated. When he’d seen the other women, one glance had told him they had the wrong woman. But to be thorough, he’d hung around each woman for a day, playing out the alias he’d fashioned for himself until Lucian could run the prints.

Now as he stood in the yoga studio, he thought about the time he’d waste today pretending to be a carpenter as he waited for an opportunity to get something with her prints on it. He never took shortcuts and he’d go through the motions, but already his mind was looking ahead to the next woman, in Kansas City, who Lucian had identified as a possible match.

“Mr. Cambia, welcome to the studio.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, no hint of an accent.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

She took a step back. “Sheridan said she gave you a tour yesterday.”

“Yeah. I missed you.” He’d been disappointed because he’d missed Kristen by seconds. In fact, he’d seen her walking down the street away from the studio. She’d been going to lunch and running errands for Sheridan.

“I usually get the middle of the day off.” She didn’t elaborate.

He smiled, projecting a relaxed appearance that was as fake as the accent. “Oh, no worries.”

Kristen glanced toward the rooms Sheridan wanted renovated. “You know what needs to be done?”

“Oh, I sure do, ma’am. Sheridan told me.”

She smiled and to his surprise his gut tightened a notch. Elena or not, this woman was a stunner. Her soft brown eyes reminded him that he’d been alone for a long time.

“Then I’ll let you get to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

He moved into the first room off the reception area. Like the one it connected to, this room was very small and unusable for anything more than storage. Sheridan wanted to knock out a wall between the rooms and turn the spaces into one large room. He flipped on the light.

Dane had done carpentry work with his foster father when he’d been a kid. The old man had made his living building houses and often took Dane and Nancy along to help.

“So have you been at the studio long?” He kept his voice even.

Kristen went behind the counter and turned on the computer. Beside the computer was a stack of blue forms that needed to be logged in. “Not that long.”

He made a point of not looking directly at her when he spoke. A direct, assessing gaze signaled a predator for most women. “How do you like Lancaster Springs so far?”

“It’s great.”

Dane hated small talk, but it was necessary. “So Sheridan is about to be an aunt?”

The mention of the baby had her relaxing more. “Her sister went into labor early this morning. She’s two weeks early. Sheridan had hoped to be here to supervise the project.”

“Ah, my brother and his wife have five kids,” he lied. “They are a wild bunch, but good kids. Every one is a joy. Does Sheridan’s sister know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

The remaining tension in her face faded. “Girl.”

“They pick a name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Now that was odd. Women usually asked about that kind of stuff. Nancy always had. But it made sense. She didn’t want to connect with anyone in case she had to take off soon.

He moved toward the desk. His six-foot-two frame loomed over her. Immediately, he sensed his height made her nervous, so he stepped back to allow her more space. It wouldn’t do to spook her before he got a positive ID on her.

He glanced into the studio off the reception area. Soft recessed lights shone on thick carpet, a pile of rolled up mats and a stack of blankets. “So you into this yoga stuff?”

“I just started taking it from Sheridan.”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know a darn thing about yoga. But it seems a little odd to be stretching your body in every direction. For me a workout involves sweat.”

She laughed at that. “There’s more to it than you realize.”

“You look like you could be a teacher. What do you need, a license?”

“Centeredness.”

“What’s that?”

She shrugged. “The ability to push the outside world from your mind and focus on one thing.”

So she was distracted. Interesting. He shifted his gaze back to the room that would be reconstructed. “So what are Sheridan’s grand plans for this place after I’ve made it beautiful?” He knew he was supposed to be knocking down a wall, painting and building shelves.

“Sheridan wants to turn the room and the one connected to it into a tearoom slash boutique. She wants to be able to sell more yoga supplies—mats, clothes, chimes and eye pillows.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “Sounds like a smart business lady.”

“She is.”

He pulled a notepad from his back hip pocket. “Sheridan said there are no more classes until Monday and I can get started on demolition today. She also said you’d be sticking around in case I needed anything.”

Again, the bright smile, which he sensed was genuine. “I’ll be here.”

He liked Kristen and he hoped she wasn’t Elena. Once Elena realized why he’d come, she’d despise him.

“I could use a hand with the debris removal. It’s not heavy work.” He wanted to keep her close until Lucian made the ID. “I can pay ten bucks an hour.”

Kristen’s eyes widened at the extra-high wage. For an instant she looked tempted, and then she shook her head. “Thanks, but I work for Sheridan.”

Loyal. That was very un-Elena. “So you stop and answer the phone when it rings. What else are you going to do this week?”

She glanced at the desk and the pile of unfolded flyers and empty envelopes. “I have brochures to get in the mail and registrations to enter.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

She hesitated. “Four or five hours.”

“You can do that in the evenings. Help me and earn some extra money.”

She tapped her finger on the reception desk. “Doesn’t that cut into your profits?”

Damn, but she was a cautious one. “The faster I get this job done, the better impression I make. I want Sheridan as a reference so I can build business in the area.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Your offer is very tempting—”

“I pay in cash at the end of each day,” he said quickly before she could say no.

Her eyes brightened. Ah, there was the magic word—cash. She couldn’t be pulling down much here. And if she were living on the run, she’d need all the cash she could scrape together.

“Okay.”

Dane grinned. He held out his hand. “Then it’s a deal?”

Reluctantly she took his hand. “It’s a deal.”

He held her hand an extra beat and then released it. “Great.”

She pulled her hand free. “When do you want to get started?”

He shrugged. “No time like the present.”

She nodded. “I’ll just change.”

“Perfect.”

Without a word, he watched her dash up the back staircase.

Last night he’d been watching the place. He’d caught a glimpse of her trim body on the second floor before she’d closed the shades. Her living here would make her easier to monitor tonight. Easier to contain.

Today he’d get her fingerprints and give them to Lucian.

Tomorrow Lucian would confirm her ID.

He hoped she wasn’t Elena Benito. Kristen Rodale struck him as a good person. And he didn’t want to drag her into his dark world.

But if Kristen turned out to be Elena, he’d set aside whatever warm feelings he had.

He was going to catch Benito. No matter who he had to use.

Chapter 4

Wednesday, May 16, 1:25 p.m.

Kristen pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt. She neatly folded the yoga pants and top that Sheridan had given her and put both in her knapsack, which she always kept packed.

Her movements were deliberate, slow, a holdover from her days growing up with her brother. He hated disorganization and sloppiness and he’d expected her to be perfect. Her hand slid to her cheek as she remembered a time when he hit her so hard she’d have sworn her teeth had rattled in her head. He’d been angry that day because she’d left her shoes out in the middle of her bedroom. He’d tripped on them when he’d come into her room to wish her well in school. But the stinging red mark he’d left on her face had meant she couldn’t go to school that day or the next. She’d been fifteen years old.

Kristen curled her fingers into a fist. Anger boiled inside her as she remembered how she’d cowered in front of him that day so long ago.

As she zipped the knapsack closed, she forced the memory from her mind and replaced it with Dane Cambia’s quick smile. His deep voice swirled in her head. He’d said all the right things and seemed like one of the good guys. And she liked him.

Kristen put on her sneakers and went downstairs. She came into the reception area just as Cambia closed a flip phone and tucked it back in on his belt holster. Instinct had her tensing.

He heard her and turned. Even white teeth flashed. “That was fast. I was just on the phone with the hardware store. Wanted to make sure the lumber I ordered had arrived.”

Feeling foolishly paranoid, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Time is money, I suppose.”

“You are right about that, Miss Kristen.” He hitched his head toward the side door. “I’ve got my sledgehammer in the truck. The way I figure it, I’ll knock down walls and you can drag debris to the construction Dumpster out back. I just checked, and see it’s arrived.”

“It came this morning.”

“You mind helping me unload a few supplies from my truck? Many hands make light work.”

She was glad to have something to do. “You’re the boss.”

He grinned before heading out the front door. She followed. When she reached the front stoop, she paused and looked from right to left. Her stomach knotted. She’d not had this sense of anxiousness in months and was surprised she felt it now. Dane stood by a white van, the back door open. The van gave her pause. She’d heard they were soundproof—the perfect place to put someone if you wanted to snatch them.

Dane had shifted his gaze from her to the van’s interior. He started to pull out tools, totally relaxed.

What had gotten into her today?

She hurried down the stairs to the back of his van. Carpenter’s tools filled the neatly organized interior—hammers on the right, nails in labeled drawers, saws hanging from hooks. But what caught her attention was the condition of the tools. They were well used: the hammers nicked, the drop cloths spattered with paint and the circular saw’s handle worn. The wear and tear was tangible proof that Cambia was indeed a carpenter.

Her spirits lifting, she brushed bangs out of her eyes. “What would you like for me to carry?”

He handed her a drop cloth, eye protection and gloves as he hefted a large sledgehammer and crowbar out of the back. “This should be all we need to get started.” He locked the back of the van and tucked his keys in his jeans pocket. “After you.”

She headed back up the stairs, through the main door and into the small room. “So do we just tear the wall down?”

“I’ll cut the electricity to the room and then start removing the drywall. After that I’ll go for the studs and frame work.”

His tall, broad form filled the doorway. It had been a long time since she’d looked at a man with desire. But unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

“What do you want me to do with this?” she asked, holding up the drop cloth.

He moved into the room past her to the wall that needed to be demolished. “Spread the cloth in the hallway to protect the hardwood floors. We’ll contain the mess as much as we can.”

“Right.”

“Where’s your fuse box, Kristen?”

“Basement. Far right corner.”

“Great. Be right back. Might want to shut off the computer if it feeds into this circuit.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

She quickly shut down the computer. Seconds later the lights in the reception area went out. The bright April sunshine shone through the large front window and provided enough light to see.

Cambia came back through the reception area and went to the room marked for demolition. Kristen followed. He shoved his large hands into well-worn gloves and started lightly tapping on the wall with his hammer. He looked confident and relaxed.

She enjoyed watching him work. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the studs—the supporting wood under the drywall. As I knock on the wall I can tell by the sound if I’m close to one.”

In the last nine months, she’d washed dishes, mucked out stalls, even tried to waitress, but she’d done nothing in construction and knew zero about it. “Oh.”

She spread out the drop cloth, careful that it covered all the hardwood in the entry hallway. Sheridan had had the floors redone just a year ago and had been worried that Cambia would damage them.

He put on his safety glasses and tossed Kristen’s to her. “Let’s get rolling.”

“Ready.”

“You stand clear, Miss Kristen. A hunk of drywall might hit you and we want to keep you safe.”

She stepped back. “Got it.”

“When I give the okay you can start collecting debris. For now just wait.”

“Okay.”

He lifted the hammer over his head and smashed it into the wall. The resounding crack sounded like gunfire and made her jump.

Cambia turned. “That noise scare you?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

Who was she kidding? She would never be fine.

Cambia drove the sledgehammer, taking another hunk out of the wall. The energy of the strike reverberated through the hammer’s wooden shaft up into his arms. Since Nancy’s death, he’d been filled with pent-up rage and he’d wanted nothing more than to destroy everything in sight.

He remembered when his sister had first come to the foster home. He’d been thirteen, had lived in the home for two years and had fallen into a routine. Nancy had been ten years old. She’d had a broken arm and had been so afraid when she’d arrived. But instead of cowering, she’d given everybody, especially him, so much sass. At first he couldn’t stand to be around her, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, who’d raised fifteen foster kids over the years, had been patient. In time, her anger had faded and she’d started to lighten up.

He’d found out later that Nancy’s father had broken her arm. He’d been drunk and had hit her with his car when he’d zoomed out of their driveway. Eventually, the Bennetts got full custody.

Dane shoved out a breath. When Nancy had first died, he had played it by the book, going after Benito by conventional means. For months he’d waded through red tape as he’d tried to get to the monster. But he’d run into brick wall after brick wall and his frustration had grown steadily. A tremendous amount of effort and nothing to show for it.

But now, for the first time in a very long time he was doing something tangible. And it felt good. He hit the wall again and again. Within minutes an entire section had been stripped away. A sheen of sweat dampened his brow.

“So what did that wall do to you?” Kristen asked.

He took a moment to collect himself before he turned and faced her. She leaned on the doorjamb, her arms crossed under full breasts.

He wiped his gloved hand over his sweaty forehead. “Like you said, Kristen, time is money. The sooner I get this down the sooner you can start hauling debris out.”

She studied him an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure what to make of him.

He knew he had to lighten up, let go of the anger. He’d worked hard to make her relax around him. “Go ahead and put on those work gloves. I’ll be ready for you in a minute.”

Kristen nodded and pushed her hands into the gloves. “I’ll get a broom.”

“Sure.”

When she disappeared, he moved to the door to make sure he hadn’t scared her off. To his relief he heard her steps down the hallway as she returned.

He returned to hitting the wall. Soon, there was a pile of drywall that needed clearing and his arms ached.

When she reappeared with the broom, he said, “Have at it.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she’d do with the pile. By the looks of her she’d never done a day of manual labor in her life—Elena sure hadn’t.

But without a word, Kristen started to collect the larger pieces in her arms. He picked up an armload himself and followed her out the back. Outside, she slid the side door of the battered red Dumpster and dumped her armload of fractured drywall inside it. Her once pristine shirt was covered in white drywall powder, as were her arms. However, without complaint she headed back inside for another load.

The two worked for the next hour, clearing out debris. When they’d removed most of the large pieces, he knocked more down. She carried more.

By four o’clock, they’d stripped the wall to its bones. And he could see that Kristen was tired. Her face was flushed, and sweat stained the front of her shirt.

“Let’s take a break,” he said.

She frowned. “But we aren’t finished.”

“The wall isn’t going anywhere and I could use some water. You got a kitchen in this place?”

“In the back. Follow me.”

As they moved up the center staircase of the shotgun-style row house, he noted she moved with her shoulders back, her hips swaying gently with each step. For the first time, he got a glimpse of the money and fine education Elena Benito had known.

Maybe she was the one.

“You move like a dancer,” he said as they entered the small kitchen. Elena Benito had loved to dance. She took him to a small apartment furnished with a bed and kitchen table.

Her hand on the kitchen cabinet, she hesitated. “I don’t dance.”

He heard the hesitation in her voice. “Could have fooled me.”

Long, delicate fingers wrapped around two white mugs that read Yoga Studio. She turned on the tap, waited until the water was cool and then filled each mug. She handed him his, careful that their fingers did not brush. “We don’t have glasses, just mugs, but they are clean.”

“Works for me.” He drank the water, amazed at how thirsty he’d become. “So what brings you to a place like this to work?” He noted the slight tension in her hands as they tightened around the mug.

“It’s a job.” She raised the mug to her lips and started to drink.

“Yeah, but what brought you to Lancaster Springs?”

She shrugged. “Lots of twists and turns, Mr. Cambia.”

“You from Virginia?”

She lifted her gaze up to his. “You are a very curious man.”

He grinned, mentally backing off. “You’re pretty. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get to know you better.”

A blush added color to her cheeks. “I have a boyfriend.”

That caught him off guard. “Does he live around here?”

“Yes. You might meet him when he comes by to pick me up after work.”

Kristen had become a practiced liar these last nine months. Stories tripped off her tongue and sometimes she half believed them herself. Despite her attraction to Dane, it was best to keep him at arm’s length. Romance was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

“What’s his name?” Cambia refilled his cup at the tap.

“Mark,” she said easily. She’d used this made-up boyfriend before.

“Mark,” he said, testing the name. “What’s he do?”

“He’s a fireman.” The trick was to keep the lies simple so that the details didn’t trip her up later. “Are you ready to get back to work?” In truth, she hated the idea of dragging more of that white board outside. Her shoulders ached, as did her lower back. But the work was preferable to the questions.

Cambia stared at her over the mug’s rim as he drained the last of the water. He set the mug down in the sink next to hers. Then he seemed to change his mind, picked up the mug again and refilled it with water. “Let’s call it a night. We’ve gotten a lot done today.”

“Sure.” She couldn’t wait to crawl into a hot shower and let the warm water rush over her skin.

“Mind if I hold on to this mug?” He held it by the handle. “I’m some kind of thirsty. I’ll bring it back in the morning.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“Sure.” He allowed her to lead and he followed her down the narrow hallway to the reception area. He stayed a few feet behind her but his presence surrounded her. She was aware of each deliberate step, the thud of his boots and his earthy masculine scent. He had the aura of a hunter.

Dane Cambia might be a carpenter now, but he hadn’t always been one.

He shoved his callused hands into his worn gloves. “So where are you and…what’s his name?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Mark.”

“Right. Where are you going this evening?”

“I don’t know. Dinner or a movie. We might stay in.”

“You don’t look like the type that would date a fireman.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’d hook up with a lawyer or a doctor. Some guy with enough scratch to take care of you right.”

Carlos had been a doctor. “You make me sound shallow.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I just know quality, even when it’s hauling out the trash.”

Again, it struck her that he was playing some cat-and-mouse game with her. “Do you have something you want to say to me, Mr. Cambia? I don’t appreciate your observations.”

He shrugged as he moved to the front door, and paused. “I was just making conversation.”

Kristen noted the powerful muscles under the old T-shirt. “You haven’t always been a carpenter.”

“No, I sure have not.”

“What brought you here?”

He flashed a grin. “There’s lots of construction in the northern Virginia area. It’s a good place to earn a living.”

The area was booming. Washington, D.C. residents were building weekend country homes to escape the rat race. “What did you do before you became a carpenter?”

He studied her. “I was in the army. Headed up a recon unit in the Middle East.” He laughed. “But I wasn’t good at it. Kept getting lost and I never was much good at taking orders. I’m good with my hands so figured I’d try carpentry.”

Outside, a car door slammed. Kristen started. On reflex she looked out the side window at the house next door. It was the neighbor—Mrs. McKenzie.

“That your boyfriend?” he said.

“No.”

“Right, he comes at five.”

She changed the subject. “We made great progress today.”

“Sure did.”

An odd silence settled between them and she thought he’d offer her the money he owed her for today’s work. However, he didn’t. There’d been a time when she’d not have given it a second thought. Forty-five dollars was a small fortune now. “About my money…”

“Right.” He carefully set the mug on the receptionist desk and then counted out the money and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed and her body tensed.

She quickly counted it again and shoved it in her pocket. “Thanks.”

He picked up the mug by the handle. “So, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

“What time?”

“Seven too early? If we can get in a full day, then I’ve got a chance of finishing this job up a couple of days early.”

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