“We’re sharing a motel room for the next few hours so—”

Tess paused and glanced at the grim-faced man secured by his own handcuffs. The man was hard angles of bone and solid muscle, but his crystalline-gray eyes were soft—even beautiful.

“Connor.” His interjection was brusque. “Drop the agent part, lady, since the fact that I’m FBI doesn’t seem to mean much to you. And yeah, we’re in a motel room, but not for any of the reasons a man and woman usually come to a place like this.”

She felt faint heat touch her cheeks. Turning her back, she rummaged through her purse. “You sound disappointed, Agent Connor. Although I doubt you have much social life at all. The job’s your life. You probably live in a one-bedroom apartment and you’ve never bothered buying more than a bed and maybe a couch. Did I miss anything?”

“Just that I always carry a spare key for my handcuffs.” Spinning around in shock, she saw crystal-gray eyes looking coldly down on her. “Aside from that, I’d say you were dead on, lady. Seeing as you know me so well, this shouldn’t be a surprise.”

Even as Tess’s lips parted in a gasp, Connor’s mouth came down hard on hers.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We have a superb lineup of outstanding romantic suspense this month starting with another round of QUANTUM MEN from Amanda Stevens. A Silent Storm is brewing in Texas and it’s about to break….

More great series continue with Harper Allen’s MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH trilogy. A Desperado Lawman has his hands full with a spitfire who is every bit his match. As well, B.J. Daniels adds the second installment to her CASCADES CONCEALED miniseries with Day of Reckoning.

In Secret Witness by Jessica Andersen, a woman finds herself caught between a rock—a killer threatening her child—and a hard place—the detective in charge of the case. What will happen when she has to make the most inconceivable choice any woman can make?

Launching this month is a new promotion we are calling COWBOY COPS. Need I say more? Look for Behind the Shield by veteran Harlequin Intrigue author Sheryl Lynn. And newcomer, Rosemary Heim, contributes to DEAD BOLT with Memory Reload.

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Desperado Lawman
Harper Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Harper Allen lives in the country in the middle of a hundred acres of maple trees with her husband, Wayne, six cats, four dogs—and a very nervous cockatiel at the bottom of the food chain. For excitement she and Wayne drive to the nearest village and buy jumbo bags of pet food. She believes in love at first sight because it happened to her.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Tess Smith—On the run with a child witness, reporter Tess can’t allow FBI Agent Virgil Connor to take Joey back into custody—not when someone in the Agency is a traitor. But hijacking Connor at gunpoint wasn’t the plan….

Virgil Connor—Even if Tess Smith is right about Joey, he can’t let them stay on the run forever. But can he protect them from an unknown enemy?

Joey Begand—“I see monsters.” That’s what nine-year-old Joey’s been saying since he witnessed a murder. The only adult who believes him is Tess, but can she keep him safe from a killer?

Del Hawkins—The tough ex-marine runs a boot camp ranch for bad boys—like Connor once was. But his own past holds a dark secret that could put Tess and young Joey in danger.

Paula Geddes—Connor’s partner, she’s already risked her life once to keep witness Joey Begand safe.

John McLeish—Connor wants him for murder. Del remembers him as a hero. Tess wonders if they’re both right.

Arne Jansen—The FBI Area Director has no choice but to put out a shoot-to-kill order on now fugitives Agent Connor and Tess.

Alice Tahe—The Navajo matriarch sees evil threatening the Double B Ranch and Joey.

To T.:

Tell the others the circle is unbroken, buddy.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

When the night-light in his room suddenly went off, Joey Begand knew the killer had done something to the electricity.

He sat up fast in the dark. Swinging his sneaker-clad feet out from the covers, he reached for the duffel bag he’d stashed under the bed the day he’d been brought here, just as if he had been waiting for this moment all along. He had been. He’d even tried to warn the agents guarding him that calling this place a safe house was stupid since it was an apartment, not a house, and hiding here wasn’t going to keep him safe at all.

But that was the trouble with being nine years old. Grown-ups thought you didn’t know a thing.

He was going to have to get out of here. Then he was going to have to find the one person in the world he figured could protect him.

She’d snuck onto a top-secret government base and watched an alien autopsy. She’d tracked Bigfoot and even taken a picture of him—kind of a blurry one, but that was because if she’d gotten any closer Bigfoot would have smelled her scent and torn her apart. She’d hunted down a whole colony of vampires living in the mountains just north of Albuquerque, and if it hadn’t been for the crucifix she always wore around her neck she never would have been heard of again.

Tess Smith, star reporter for the National Eye-Opener, wasn’t like most other grown-ups, Joey told himself shakily. Tess Smith believed in monsters. She went up against them every day—went up against them and whipped their ugly monster butts.

Keeping a little kid safe from the monster who was trying to kill him would be a piece of cake for Tess Smith, nine-year-old federal witness Joey Begand thought desperately as he heard the muffled thud of the first body falling somewhere in the darkened safe house….

Chapter One

FBI Special Agent Virgil Connor pushed open the door of the all-night diner just outside of Roswell, New Mexico.

“Coffee?”

To hell with the heat, caffeine had become a food group over the past few hours, Connor told himself as the waitress plunked a mug in front of him and he slid into a booth adjacent to one occupied by a brunette with a grubby hellion. The waitress plunked a mug in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the hellion staring at him through an uncut swath of straight, black hair. He lifted his menu, blocking the kid’s view.

For two solid days he’d made the rounds of truck stops and diners like this one. The grunt work had just paid off.

The kid was Joey Begand. Connor had no idea who the woman was, but kidnapping a child who just happened to be a federal witness wasn’t the only charge she was facing. He could think of a dozen others, starting with accessory to murder. Breaking the news of Bill Danzig’s death to the slain agent’s wife two nights ago had been the worst moment of his career.

“Keep the ketchup on your side of the plate and stop playing with those fries.” The husky-voiced command came from the brunette. “We can’t stay here all night, you know.”

“Okay, Tess.”

Connor risked a glance over the top of his menu. Instead of the suspicious glare he’d favored Connor with, the gaze the urchin was directing at the tight-lipped brunette was wide and shining. Joey picked up a too-large cluster of fries with fingers that were even grubbier than the rest of him.

“That’s prob’ly not what it looked like, right, Tess? I betcha they got it all wrong, huh?”

The woman called Tess frowned. “For crying out loud, you don’t have to choke on them,” she said swiftly. “Put half of those back. Who got what wrong?”

“So what’ll it be?”

Connor blinked. The diner’s waitress, pencil at the ready, had paused beside his booth. He snapped the menu shut.

“Cheeseburger, plain,” he said, coming to a decision that had nothing to do with food. “Is there a phone I can use?”

He needed backup. He would have preferred to keep this takedown low profile, but low profile took second place to the safety of civilians, especially when one of those civilians was a child. There was a chance he could still keep a lid on the situation by using the security of a land line, instead of contacting the Agency office on his cell phone.

“Pay phone’s outside.” The waitress tucked her pencil behind her ear.

“…nothin’ like them, right? So what did it really look like, Tess?”

A ketchup-dipped fry in his hand, Joey was pointing to a dangling row of bobble-head dolls suspended over the cash register. About to slide from the booth and head outside to make his call, Connor checked his movement.

The dolls for sale, their spindly bodies topped by teardrop-shaped heads set with jet-black eyes, were an obvious attempt to capitalize on the beyond-the-fringe theory that an alien spaceship had once crashed near Roswell. If the brunette was unbalanced enough to believe in aliens and government cover-ups, she could be even more dangerous than he’d realized.

“How would I know?” The note of impatient confusion in her voice was reassuringly normal, and Connor began to get up from his seat again. “If you’re not going to finish those fries I’ll eat them. Then we’d better start figuring out how we’re—”

She stopped abruptly.

“Oh, yeah, the autopsy in Hangar 61.” Sounding weary, she raked slim fingers through short, feather-cut hair. “Well, you saw the secret photographs I took, so you know what it looked like. For one thing, it had three eyes, not just two.”

Joey looked thoughtful. “How come they don’t get you a better camera, Tess? ’Cause those pictures were a lot like the Bigfoot ones and that photo you took of Elvis a couple of months ago when you found out he was still alive and working in a used-car lot—all blurry and kind of shadowy.”

Connor let his gaze drift past the woman as he made his way to the door. She didn’t look insane. She looked bone tired, and under her brown eyes—amber-brown eyes, he noted before they were hidden by the hand she brought up to massage her temples—were dark shadows, but she didn’t look insane.

Except she had to be. Alien autopsies, Elvis sightings, Bigfoot…replete with photographs, according to what Joey had just said. She was living in her own unbalanced universe. A woman who was convinced she had proof positive that the King hadn’t left the building would have no trouble believing that being a party to abduction and murder was somehow justifiable.

What was worse, Joey Begand seemed to have allied himself with his kidnapper. Hoping that the kid would seize the first opportunity to run from her wasn’t part of the game plan anymore, Connor thought in frustration as he stepped outside. He headed around the corner of the building to the pay phone, his mind racing.

He wasn’t worried about being unable to reach the man he needed to contact. Area Director Jansen hadn’t left his desk since the night the safe house had been blown, leaving Paula Geddes wounded, Danzig dead and Rick Leroy, the third agent on duty, gone without a trace. Leroy had to be allied with the brunette, Connor surmised, lifting the phone’s receiver. The bastard was nervy, all right—that was a given, since he’d obviously been working against his own people for some time—but even Leroy must have known that once the snatch had gone down every law enforcement officer available would be on the lookout for him.

Leroy also would have guessed that Joey’s description wouldn’t be as indiscriminately revealed to the media and public as his own, for fear that whoever had the child would panic and eliminate him. He would have figured that if he delegated a woman to escort Joey to wherever it was he wanted the boy, chances were his female accomplice wouldn’t run into any problems.

There were two things Leroy hadn’t counted on, Connor thought in grim satisfaction. He hadn’t counted on a nine-year-old’s need for frequent bathroom breaks on a car trip. And he hadn’t counted on his girlfriend being soft enough to stop several times to accommodate—

“I’m holding a gun about two inches away from your spine, Agent. Hang up that phone and don’t even think of going for your own weapon.”

The low warning came from directly behind him, but Connor didn’t have to look to know who was delivering it. Her voice didn’t suit her, he thought as he carefully set the phone back in its cradle and brought both his hands up to shoulder height. Her pixie haircut and slim build gave her the same street-urchin quality that Joey had, but as soon as she opened her mouth those husky, froggy tones made her sound as if she should be poured into black satin and purring out a torch song in some smoky bar. Slowly he turned around.

She wasn’t bluffing. The gun she was holding was a purse-size derringer, but real enough. He decided to try a bluff of his own.

“My wallet’s in my back pocket. Not that this mugging’s going to make you rich, for God’s sake. I’m a plastics salesman, and—”

“Bull.” There was scorn in those amber eyes. “You’re FBI. Not even the most unsuccessful salesman would pick a suit as bargain basement as the one you’ve got on. And I bet the polyester shirt you’re wearing under that jacket’s drip-dry and short-sleeved, right?”

She snorted. “Joey figured you for a Fed as soon as you walked in. I knew he was right when I saw you watching us, Agent. Hand over your gun.”

“Or what? You’ll whistle up Bigfoot and sic him on me?” Giving up his bluff, Connor shook his head. “This isn’t one of your fantasies, lady. This is real life and you’re in real trouble. Instead of handing you my gun I’ll give you the chance to put yours down, but if you decide not to take me up on my offer you won’t leave me much choice.”

He began to lower his hands. “I don’t think you’re going to get off more than one shot, if that. And one bullet’s not about to stop me from taking Joey Begand away from you and back into protective—”

“I’m not going back, mister. Did you stop him before he made his phone call, Tess?”

Connor froze, his fingers inches away from his gun. He saw the raw fear that flashed through the amber eyes facing him, saw the derringer in Tess’s hand waver.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to make his move and wrest her weapon away from her. But he wasn’t going to chance it—not with a small boy only feet away.

“I told you to stay put, Joey.” Her voice was as unsteady as her hand, though she didn’t take her gaze from him. “Go back into the diner and wait until you see me pull up outside, like we agreed.”

“His cheeseburger’s ready.” Joey sounded as defensive as only a nine-year-old could. “The waitress told the busboy to take out the garbage and see if he was really using the phone or if he’d taken off.”

“Joey, listen to me.” The last thing he needed was another innocent bystander blundering on to the scene, Connor thought. “Tess isn’t your friend. She’s working with the person who killed Bill, one of the agents guarding you at the safe house, and who nearly killed Paula, the lady agent who was watching over you that night. My guess is she wants to take you to her partner, and when she does, he’s going to kill you.”

“Rick double-crossed you guys?” Joey’s eyes widened. He met Connor’s swift frown and shrugged. “You said Bill was killed and Paula was hurt. I figured since you never said anything about Rick he prob’ly was the one who sold the Agency out.”

“Joey, stay out of this. Where’s your car parked, Agent?” Tess—the name she’d given to Joey probably wasn’t her real one, Connor thought, but it would do for now—bit off the question. “I want you to hand over your weapon real carefully, and then you’re going to take us to your vehicle. Mine barely made it off the highway before it died, so we need a ride out of here. Let’s start with the gun.”

It was his own fault, Connor told himself, carefully pulling aside his jacket with one hand to reveal his shoulder-holstered automatic and even more carefully withdrawing the weapon. He’d let himself be lulled into complacency by windblown hair and exhausted golden-brown eyes, and he’d paid for that mistake by being bushwhacked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to let down his guard so easily.

Or could he? A stray memory from his past—his distant past, he thought wryly—drifted into his mind as he deposited his gun into her outstretched palm. A run-in with the law when he hadn’t been much older than Joey had resulted in him being given the choice of juvenile detention or a year-long stay at what was essentially a boot camp for wayward teens. Run by disabled ex-Marine Del Hawkins, the Double B Ranch had taken in an angry sixteen-year-old street fighter and twelve months later had released a tough and capable young man back into the world.

Del and the Double B had turned his life around. So when the ex-Marine had called on him for his help with a problem the ranch had been facing a month ago, he’d been grateful for the chance to repay even a small part of the debt he owed the man. That time spent on the ranch as a young, reckless teen had taught him a lifetime of lessons.

Don’t let that hammer-headed Appaloosa gelding fool you, boys. Some days Chorizo looks as harmless as a little lamb. But he’s as tricky as the devil, and the first time you forget that might be your last.

Del’s drawled warning had been directed at four know-it-all hell-raisers. California golden-boy Tye Adams, banished to the Double B by his wealthy father after nearly killing himself on a stolen motorcycle, had been the first to take on Chorizo. Watching him stumble back behind the safety of the corral bars, bruised and bleeding, the next kid up, Jess Crawford, simply shook his head.

“I’m just a computer geek sent here for hacking into school records,” Jess countered. “I never said I was the macho type, and I don’t intend to start now. You shouldn’t, either, Virgil.”

Connor had always suspected it had been Jess’s use of his hated first name that had prompted him to get onto Chorizo’s back, but whatever the reason, seconds later he’d found himself landing on hard-packed dirt, the wind knocked out of him. Even while he’d been trying to drag some much-needed oxygen into his burning lungs he’d seen the gelding’s razor-sharp hooves come down inches from his head. Only the swift intervention of Gabe Riggs, another of the boys, who’d ducked between the corral’s bars and dragged him to safety, had frustrated the Appaloosa’s intentions of making mincemeat out of him.

His run-in with the hammer-headed gelding should have taught him a lesson, Connor thought now.

Tess wasn’t much taller than Joey, and even when he’d seen her sitting in the diner he’d known his own solid six-three frame had to top hers by a good twelve inches or so. But her petiteness wasn’t the main reason he’d underestimated the woman now gesturing impatiently at him with his own gun.

Crazy she might be. Vulnerable she wasn’t. He wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

“My car’s over there,” he said tonelessly. “But I’m asking you one last time to give yourself up.”

“I can’t do that, Agent.” Was he fooling himself again, or was there regret in those husky tones? “I can’t hand Joey back over to the Agency, and that’s final. Now, move.”

She’d just sealed her own fate, Connor thought. Prompted by the gun at his back, he headed across the parking lot to his car. He might wish this had turned out otherwise, but there was no reason to feel such desolation at her decision.

He wondered briefly why he did. Then he dismissed the question, knowing he couldn’t afford the distraction.

Sometime tonight those amber eyes would close forever, Agent Virgil Connor told himself bleakly. And he was probably going to be the one who would have to kill her.

Chapter Two

She’d kidnapped a federal agent, Tess Smith thought hollowly a few hours later. He was right—this wasn’t one of the fantastic stories that ran under her byline in the National Eye-Opener. Even if she’d wanted to pretend otherwise, a glance across the motel room at the grim-faced man sitting on a chair and secured by his own handcuffs to the steel bracket bolting down the television set was chilling proof of her actions.

In the bed a few feet away Joey had finally fallen asleep, his tough little face free of all worry for the moment. Beside him was a bobble-head doll from the diner, bought with the change from the money she’d left him to pay for their meal when she’d slipped from their booth to follow the Fed.

She hadn’t had the heart to scold him over his unauthorized purchase. The monsters in his young life were all too real. She could understand why a plastic one might bring comfort.

The same need to believe that monsters weren’t invincible was obviously why Joey was one of the Eye-Opener’s biggest fans. One of her biggest fans, rather, Tess corrected herself. Guilt flickered through her, as it had done more than once in the past two days. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Joey the truth, since it was something he was going to find out sooner or later, anyway. But maybe it was better that he learn it himself, the way she’d had to.

Oh, not that monsters don’t exist, Joey, she silently assured the small sleeping figure in the rumpled bed. They do. They’re really real and I really went up against one, just like in those stories I write. Except I didn’t defeat it.

“It defeated me,” she said under her breath, her vision suddenly blurring. “I was your age, and the monster won. No one believed me, either.”

“How do you know? I might if you took the trouble to explain, lady.”

Startled, Tess jerked her attention to the handcuffed man across the room. She’d allowed him to remove his suit jacket before making him manacle his right wrist to the steel bracket, and even as she looked at him she saw the biceps of his secured arm flex. He gave her a thin smile.

“You want to give it a try?”

“Give what a try?”

She didn’t trust him, she thought edgily. She didn’t trust him and she didn’t like him—or, at least, she didn’t like what he represented, and that was close enough. He hadn’t spoken at all during the drive to this run-down motel, but she’d had the unsettling conviction that he’d been watching every move she’d made, hoping her attention would flag for just one second.

“Try telling me why you’re doing this.” He shrugged. “You seem to think no one would believe you, but you haven’t given me a chance to hear you out. In fact, you haven’t even told me your name.”

Feeling obscurely relieved that he’d evidently misheard her murmured words to the sleeping nine-year-old, Tess narrowed her gaze on him. “Going for the psychological approach, Agent? Trying to make me think we could be buddies? Don’t waste your breath. Your little ploy’s not going to lull me into uncuffing you and handing you back your gun.”

She shook her head. “Besides, you know darn well who I am. Even if you don’t think too highly of my work, you’ve obviously read an example of it, since you knew about the Bigfoot story.”

Dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You’re some kind of writer? Sorry, lady, I’m afraid I’ve never—”

“Oh, please,” she snapped. “If I believed everyone who told me they never buy the Eye-Opener, I’d figure we have a circulation of about twelve readers in the whole country. The most you’ll admit is that you might have glanced at it in a checkout line at the grocery store, right?”

“The Eye-Opener?”

He didn’t seem to realize he was matching his actions to his flatly phrased comment. The rest of the man was hard angles of bone and solid slabs of muscle, Tess noted incongruously, but his eyes were—

His eyes were beautiful, she thought a heartbeat later. They were a crystalline gray in the tan of his face, fringed with dark, spiky lashes any female would kill for.

She watched as they closed briefly, the lashes dipping to fan against hard ridges of cheekbone. When they opened again she was sure she saw wry humor light them just for a moment.

“You’re a tabloid reporter.” She hadn’t been wrong about the humor. A corner of his mouth quirked upward before it firmed into a straight line once again. “So there wasn’t any alien autopsy in Hangar 93?”

She glanced at a fast-asleep Joey before replying. “Hangar 61. But no, of course it wasn’t real.” She looked at him in confusion. “For heaven’s sake, do you think I’m some kind of—”

Belated comprehension flooded through her. “Dear God, you did, didn’t you? You thought I was a wacko, crazy enough to be working with whoever’s targeting Joey.”

She stared coldly at him. “Nice theory, Agent. Too bad it’s even less grounded in facts than the stories the National Eye-Opener runs every week.”

“Connor.” His tone was as clipped as hers. “And I don’t want to make you think we could be buddies, I’m just tired of being called Agent. Is Tess your real name or is that something else you’ve let Joey believe?”

“Tess is my real name.” When she was annoyed, her voice was raspier than normal, she knew. “Tess Smith. Connor what?”

“Connor’s my last name.” He grimaced. “These cuffs are cutting off my circulation. How about loosening them?”

“Let me suggest an Eye-Opener headline for that one,” she retorted. “FBI Discovers Woman Dumber Than Dirt—She Believed Me When I Said I Wouldn’t Try To Escape, Agent Says. The cuffs stay. What’s your first name?”

He looked away. “Virgil,” he muttered. “But I go by Connor.”

His comment a moment ago had stung. She arched an eyebrow. “You think I deliberately lied to Joey, don’t you, Virgil? You think I encouraged his hero-worship for my own ends. Is that how you figure it, Virge?”

The eyes she’d thought so beautiful took on a hard glitter. Restlessly Connor—no, Virgil, she told herself defiantly—shifted position on the hard wooden chair.

“I still figure you that way, lady. What your day job is doesn’t really change anything.” He exhaled, his gaze on hers.

“Did Rick Leroy tell you why Joey Begand was being held in an Agency safe house?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “It was because he witnessed a murder in an Albuquerque alleyway—the murder of a retired FBI agent, Dean Quayle. Quayle’s killer, a homeless man by the name of John MacLeish, was wounded during the encounter, but not badly enough to prevent him from escaping later that night from the hospital where he’d been taken after the police had arrived on the scene. The police found Joey hiding in a Dumpster, his memory of exactly what happened temporarily erased. The doctors say Joey’s amnesia won’t last.”

His tone hardened. “I don’t care what your relationship with Leroy is, except for the fact that you have to be working with him, since he handed Joey over to you. What I do want to know is, what was Leroy’s deal with Quayle’s killer, MacLeish?”

He’d already judged her and found her guilty, Tess thought. She’d gone into this realizing that no explanation she could give would be believed by the authorities. That was why she hadn’t bothered to present her side of the story to him during the drive here, and why even now she suspected it was going to be futile to try to make Agent Virgil Connor, a man who obviously lived and breathed his job, understand.

But for a split second she’d thought she’d glimpsed a very different man from the single-minded enforcer of the law he appeared to be. Wasn’t it possible that those crystal-gray eyes might see she’d had no other choice but to keep faith with Joey Begand, even if keeping faith meant breaking the law?

It was worth a try. Even before Connor had found them she’d had serious doubts that she could pull this off all by herself.

“Maybe it’s time we got a few things straight.” She paused, wondering how best to present her story. “First, I don’t know what the connection is between Leroy and MacLeish, for the simple reason that I’m not working with Leroy. I’ve never even met the man, so—”

“For God’s sake, woman, save yourself!” Abruptly the big man stood, the chair he’d been sitting on sliding backward across the linoleum floor. He started to take a step toward her, only to be jerked to a halt by the cuff on his left wrist. “I don’t want to fire the shot that takes you down or stand by and watch another agent have to kill you. But that’s the way it’s going to happen if you don’t call a stop to this.”

Unsteadily Tess got to her feet, the fear she’d been trying to suppress for the past two days spilling over. “I’m telling you the truth, dammit! I’m not working with a killer and I’m not working with a dirty agent. My only loyalty is to a little boy who came to me believing I could keep him safe. That’s why I can’t bring myself to tell Joey the stories I write are all lies—because he needs them to be true. I’m his only hope, and I don’t intend to let him down.”

“He came to you?” There was hostile disbelief in his tone. “There’s no way Joey could have escaped from Leroy after he’d snatched him from that safe house. Try again.”

“Leroy didn’t get the chance to snatch him,” she snapped. “Joey knew the Agency wouldn’t be able to protect him, and the day he arrived at the safe house he started planning how he was going to escape when the time came. He got out through an air duct.”

She took a deep breath. “Ask him yourself when he wakes up. It’s a more hair-raising story than any of my so-called exploits, believe me. Apparently he climbed onto a wardrobe and slid aside a duct panel he’d loosened days before. He hoisted himself up, replaced the panel, and when he found himself over a nearby vacant apartment he simply dropped down again, courtesy of a knotted length of bedsheet he had ready in his knapsack. Then he took the service stairs to a back exit and trekked across town on foot to my place.”

“Supposing I believe any of that, why did he come to you?” His gaze was unreadable. “Did he know you?”

“He knew of me.” She smiled crookedly. “He knew I kicked ugly monster butt, as he put it. Apparently before his mom died last year she was an Eye-Opener fan, and Joey told me I was her favorite writer on the paper. I’m sure she wasn’t gullible enough to swallow the Hangar 61 and Bigfoot stories, but her son did. He figured since he had a monster to slay, he needed a monster slayer. So he looked me up in the phone book and showed up on my doorstep.”

“A monster to slay?” He frowned. “Forget that for the moment. Maybe I can understand why a nine-year-old boy might think a tabloid reporter could protect him better than the FBI, but how the hell did you convince yourself that going on the run with him was a good idea? And where did you intend to take him, anyway?”

“To the Dinetah, of course. I didn’t want to go there directly, in case we were being followed.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “The Navajo Nation. Joey’s mother always made sure he knew his heritage through her was Dineh, as we Navajo call ourselves.” She saw his assessing glance at her. “That’s right. I’m Dineh, too, Agent.”

“Your background isn’t what concerns me.” With his free hand the big man rubbed his jaw. “But there was nothing in Joey’s file to indicate he had any tribe affiliation. If the state authorities had known, when his mother died he would have been put into a facility where his culture would have been emphasized while he was waiting for adoption or fostering.”

“I’m not surprised he didn’t tell them. He’s a pretty close-mouthed little guy until he gives his trust.”

“And you say he gave his trust to you,” Connor said shortly. “I’d like to believe you. Hell, I halfway do, at that. But even if Joey thinks he’s safe with you, you know that protecting him is our job, not yours. He isn’t being chased by a monster, he’s being hunted by a killer, probably two, if MacLeish and Leroy are working together.”

He still didn’t get it, Tess told herself wearily. He never would, and she’d been a fool to hope otherwise. Virgil Connor was defined by his badge and his gun. He played by the rules. He didn’t think outside the box, and he’d probably get to be area director with those qualities.

Worst of all, he didn’t believe in monsters. And that meant he was no protection at all for Joey Begand.

She pushed a stray strand of hair back from her forehead. She intended to be on the road again before sunup, and she desperately needed some sleep before the several hours of driving still ahead of her.

Agent Connor was going to get some shut-eye, too, she thought, which was why she’d had no qualms about informing him about her plans. By the time he awoke tomorrow and found himself alone here, Joey would be on Navajo Nation land where the FBI would need warrants and special permission from tribal leaders to retrieve him—permission she was almost certain wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Letting his witness and the woman who’d abducted him slip through his fingers wasn’t going to look good on his file, but a blot on Agent Connor’s copybook wasn’t her biggest worry. Setting the gun down on the dresser beside her, she retrieved her purse from the foot of the bed.

“If your main concerns are MacLeish and Leroy, I’m surprised you aren’t out hunting them,” she said evenly. “But there’s no point in discussing our differing viewpoints, Agent Connor. Whether either one of us likes it or not, we’re sharing a motel room for the next few hours, so let’s—”

“Connor.” His interjection was brusque. “Just Connor. Drop the agent part, lady, since the fact that I’m FBI doesn’t seem to mean too much to you. I’m the man you’re holding at gunpoint. You’re the woman I let pull a fast one on me. Yeah, we’re in a motel room, but not for any of the usual reasons a man and woman usually come to a place like this.”

Tess felt faint heat touch her cheeks. He was trying to get her off balance, she thought in chagrin. He was succeeding, and although she didn’t really understand why his dismissive reference to a sexual tryst should make her color up like an embarrassed schoolgirl, if he got the impression his captor wasn’t as tough as she was pretending to be, he might begin to wonder if she’d really use the gun she’d been holding on him.

She’d been wondering that, too.

“You sound disappointed.” She allowed a thin smile to curve her lips. “That we’re not here for the usual reasons, I mean. I should have guessed a man who dresses the way you do would have a social agenda that revolved around cheap motel rooms.”

His answering smile was just as controlled as hers. “And I should have guessed that a woman who dreams up stories about Bigfoot wouldn’t have any trouble fantasizing about my sex life. Good thing we’ll never actually do the dirty together for real, honey. I doubt I’d be able to measure up to what you’ve probably been imagining about me.”

Outrage flickered swiftly through her. “Believe me, my imagination wasn’t coming up with anything very exciting,” she retorted. “In fact, I was probably giving you too much credit. I seriously doubt you have a social life at all.”

She tipped her head to one side. “Let’s see how close I get, okay? The job’s your life. You live in a one-bedroom apartment, and you’ve never bothered buying more than a bed and maybe a couch. You don’t have any pictures up on the wall, and those walls are whatever color the previous tenant left them. Am I warm?”

He didn’t answer her. Turning her back to him, she rummaged around in her purse for the sleeping pills she was going to have to force him to take. She went on, trying to mask her sudden apprehension with abrasiveness.

“You’ve got six other white shirts just like the one you’re wearing now—short-sleeved and polyester, because they’re practical and you don’t care how you look as long as you’re presentable. You don’t know the names of your co-workers’ spouses. You volunteer to work Christmas. You get to the gym at least three times a week. Did I miss anything?”

“Just that I always carry a spare key for my handcuffs.”

His voice came from directly behind her. Spinning around in shock, she saw crystal-gray eyes looking coldly down on her, saw the automatic she’d taken from him at the diner firmly gripped in one big hand.

“Aside from that, I’d say you were dead-on, lady,” he said harshly. “So seeing as you know me so well, this part shouldn’t be a surprise, either.”

Even as Tess’s lips parted in a gasp, Virgil Connor’s mouth came down hard on hers.

Chapter Three

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a storm, a hurricane, a lightning strike that immediately shorted out every last electrical impulse in all her nerve endings at once, but it wasn’t a kiss. Virgil Connor didn’t know how to kiss, Tess thought disjointedly. He probably didn’t know how to make love. All the man knew was raw sex.

But he knew everything there was to know about that.

One big hand was spread wide against the back of her head. His other arm was hanging loosely at his side. He was making it clear that if she wanted to she could pull away from him easily enough.

She swayed toward him. Connor shifted his stance automatically, his hand spreading wider and his fingers beginning to slide through her hair as he moved in closer. Through her own half-closed lashes she saw his—dark and thick, drifting down to shut off that brilliant gray gaze.

Suddenly she felt him stiffen. He lifted his head and took a step back, his hand falling from her.

Tess blinked. The next moment appalled horror raced through her, and she took a stumbling step backward herself. Something flashed behind the mirrored gray of his eyes. A muscle moved tightly at the side of his jaw as he spoke.

“That’s one for the books.” His tone was flat and dead. “You’d better report me for this when they take you in. I won’t contest your statement.”

Her mouth felt so swollen and hot she had the impulse to bring her fingertips to her lips. “Why?” Her voice came out in a croak. She tried again, putting more force behind her words. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. But it won’t happen again.” He began to turn away. “I’m going to call my area director and have him send someone to escort—”

“No!” Incautious fury spilled through her at his dismissal of the situation he’d created. She grabbed his arm, noticing as she spun him back to face her that the muscle beneath her grip was rigidly hard. “You’re going to tell me what just happened here, for God’s sake!”

Suddenly remembering Joey, she cast a swiftly contrite glance in the direction of the bed. He was obviously too deeply asleep for anything short of an earthquake to rouse him, but she lowered her tone nonetheless.

“Is it how you get off, Agent Connor?” With a shaky hand she pushed a stray curve of hair off her cheek. “Do you try something like this with all of the women you flash your badge at, or did you just figure you’d give it a shot with me?”

She tightened her grip on his wrist. “You’d better believe I’d report you if I had any intention of letting you take me in, but I don’t. I’m leaving here with Joey, and the only way you can stop me is by using that gun you’re holding. My opinion of you right now isn’t the greatest, but I don’t think you can bring yourself to shoot an unarmed woman.”

Releasing him abruptly, she picked up her purse from the dresser beside them and stalked over to Joey’s backpack, on the floor beside the bed. She bent stiffly and grabbed one of its straps, but as she lifted it the flap opened and the contents of the bag tumbled out onto the floor.

Tess squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden prickling of tears she could feel behind her lashes. They were tears of anger and frustration, she told herself. They weren’t tears of fear or worry. This wasn’t working out the way she’d planned, but in a few minutes she could still be on her way with Joey. In a couple of hours they would be on Navajo Nation land, where Virgil Connor’s bullying tactics would slam up against a solid wall of red tape when he attempted to—

“I’m not going to shoot you, Tess.” He didn’t sound bullying, he just sounded tired. “For what it’s worth, it won’t come to that and you know it. Look at me.”

She ignored him. Squatting down on her heels, she began to gather up the collection of small-boy treasures that had fallen from Joey’s backpack, replacing them as carefully as she could manage with her trembling fingers.

There was a dog-eared collection of baseball cards, held together by a doubled-over elastic band. Joey was obviously a baseball nut like she was, Tess thought, trying to distract herself from the man standing silently beside her. It would be something they could talk about on the drive ahead of—

“Look at me, Tess.”

There was a reluctantly hard note in his tone. Her fingers closed around a carefully folded piece of paper before she unwillingly raised her eyes to his.

“Don’t bother.” Despair washed over her. “I know what you’re going to say.”

A muscle moved in his jaw. “I’d better say it anyway, just so we’re clear here. I’m a big man. You’re what…five-three? Five-four?”

“Three,” she answered him tonelessly. “I get it, all right?”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I wouldn’t even have to try, Tess. But I don’t want it to go down that way and I don’t think you do, either. Hand me the car keys.”

He needed the keys because she’d left her own gun locked in the glove box. Tess understood he wasn’t going to let this situation get out of control again.

That was what Virgil Connor was all about, she realized. He liked well-defined boundaries, smooth-running operations, everything falling into place the way it should. He could react to the unexpected, the illogical, but his immediate response was to bring it back under control, which made his actions with her a moment ago all the more inexplicable. Despite her accusations, she knew instinctively he’d crossed a line with her that he’d never crossed before in his life.

And that knowledge was supremely unimportant. All that mattered was that she’d failed a small boy who’d thought she could protect him. She looked at the paper in her hand, recognizing it for what it was before she began unfolding it.

“They’re in my purse,” she said flatly. “Get them yourself.”

In the creased newspaper photo she was dressed in some kind of pseudo-camouflage outfit and standing in a desert. The wonders of computer graphics, she thought briefly. The picture had been taken in the Eye-Opener’s parking lot, her figure superimposed against a generic desert scene later on. The tabloid’s photo-tech had also punched up the Rambo-like smeared grease under her eyes and the fake blood soaking one arm of her fatigues to a brilliant red, probably because it had looked too much like the ketchup it was.

The surrounding article had been torn off. Joey likely knew it by heart anyway, she thought.

“Is that you?”

Tess hadn’t even noticed that he’d hunkered down beside her to retrieve her purse. She let him take the picture from her.

“No, that’s not me.” She began to gather up the rest of the scattered odds and ends that had fallen from the backpack. “That’s who Joey thinks I am, but that’s not me.”

“What are you supposed to be doing here?”

Under the bed was another photograph facedown, this one not a clipping from the tabloid but a tiny photo-booth snapshot that must have originally been attached to a strip of pictures. She reached past him for it.

“I’m covered in blood so I guess I’m supposed to be taking a breather after going up against Bigfoot or a mutant lizard or something,” she replied curtly. “You said you were going to tell your area director to send someone out. Will Joey and I be riding back to Albuquerque in different vehicles?”

“That’s correct procedure.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrug. “You’re my arrest. He’s my witness. I’ve pulled enough stupid plays tonight without adding to them by transporting the two of you in the same car.”

He looked away. “And if I could take back just one of the mistakes I’ve made since spotting you in that diner it would be the way I moved in on you a few minutes ago. I behaved like a jerk. If you’re wondering whether I’m going to be the one taking you in, don’t worry, I’ll hand you over to the agents Jansen dispatches when they come.”

He got to his feet. “I’ll make that call now.”

“That’s not why I asked.” Still clutching the second photo, she stood, too. “Can you give me some time alone with Joey? Just a few minutes, that’s all I need.”

Dark brows drew together. “What for?”

“To tell him he was wrong about me,” she said unsteadily. “I owe him that much, Connor. Joey Begand came to me thinking I was someone I’m not, and I should have set him straight right away. Instead, I let him go on believing in a bunch of faked photos and stories, and told myself I was doing it for him.”

She lowered her gaze. Aimlessly she turned over the small picture in her hand. “It’s too long and dreary a story to get into, but it’s more likely I was doing it for myself. I think I needed to believe that for once in my life I could—”

The breath in her lungs suddenly vanished, taking with it the rest of her unfinished sentence. A giant fist wrapped around her heart and squeezed, tighter and still more tighter. Her hand shaking, Tess brought the tiny photo up until it was only inches from her face.

It couldn’t be, she thought in shock. It just couldn’t be—life didn’t operate that way. Connor was right, she’d been living in the Eye-Opener’s fantasy world for so long that she’d lost touch with reality. Coincidences this colossal were reserved for the outlandish stories she dreamed up, not for—

It wasn’t a coincidence at all. It was why Joey’s mother had read everything she’d written, she realized, her throat closing in pain, why Darla Begand—so that was the name she’d taken, Tess thought achingly—had made Tess Smith out to be a hero to her small son. It had been the only connection Darla been capable of making with a past she’d tried to blot out.

“I can’t leave you alone with Joey, but I’ll let you explain things to him.” Connor was watching her. “He’s a kid, Tess. He’ll get over it the way kids do when they find out there’s no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny, for crying out loud. Right now you should be worrying about yourself. You’ve convinced me that you didn’t have anything to do with Leroy and what happened at the safe house, but you’re still facing serious charges. Kidnapping a child’s the worst of them.”

“Not if I had the right to take Joey. Not if I was his guardian, for all intents and purposes.”

Tess met his eyes and saw the impatience, quickly suppressed, that flickered through them. Connor’s lips tightened, and when he spoke, some of the harshness he’d previously displayed had crept back into his tone.

“But you’re not. Like I was saying, you should be thinking about calling a lawyer. Do you have—”

He bit off his words with a muttered oath and his hand shot out to grab hers as she reached down for her purse. She drew swiftly back.

“I’m not going for a weapon, Agent Connor. I need to show you something.”

“I don’t think so.” The brief humanity he’d shown a few minutes ago had gone. In its place was distrust. “I let those amber eyes of yours lull me into letting my guard down once already. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“My eyes are plain brown, for heaven’s sake.” She pressed her lips together. “If you’re worried I’ve got a weapon stashed in here, then you get my wallet out for me. It…it’s important,” she added. “I think you’re going to want to see this before you make that call to your director.”

She let go of her purse. He narrowed his gaze assessingly at her. “All right. I’ll let you show me whatever it is you think is so important, and then you stop stalling and allow me to make my call without having to keep a gun trained on you every second. Deal?”

“Deal.” She bit her lip as he extracted a leather wallet from the jumble of junk in her purse. “Open it. Pull out the plastic photo protector under the flap.”

He complied and handed the small sheaf of photos to her. In return she handed him the tiny one from Joey’s backpack.

“That’s Joey and his mom,” she said. “I guess she didn’t have the money for a department-store portrait, so she had their pictures taken together in one of those booths.”

“Yeah, it looks like. His hair’s slicked down, and she obviously arranged the two of them in a pose before she activated the camera,” Connor agreed.

He glanced at the curled-up figure in the bed beside them. “From what I know of his background, he’s already had more than his share of rough knocks, poor kid. His father was killed in a car accident before he was born, and his mother apparently couldn’t seem to keep even the menial jobs she occasionally found. He pretty much grew up on the street. When she died and he was put into the system, he kept hanging around his old haunts, like the alleyway where he saw MacLeish kill Quayle.”

He held the photo out to her. “It’s always better when family can step in and take over the responsibility for a child, instead of them being shoved into an already overloaded system. Too bad Joey wasn’t one of the lucky ones.”

“Joey’s luck just changed.” Tess didn’t take the picture he was holding, but instead slipped one from her wallet. “Everything just changed, Agent. This is a picture of me and my sister, the last one taken of us together. She ran away when I was nine and she was seventeen. Years later I tried to find her, but I never learned what had happened to her.”

She swallowed, and forced her next words past the lump in her throat. “Until now.”

She handed him the photo from her purse. She saw his gaze sharpen, saw him glance from one picture to the other. He looked up from the two photos to her and she nodded.

“That’s right, Joey’s my nephew. His mom was my sister. I…I guess Darla’s monsters got her in the end,” she said unevenly. “I’m not going to let that happen to her son.”

Through her tears she stared at him. “Whatever authority the FBI thought they had before Joey’s aunt showed up, I’m the one keeping the monsters away from him now.”

Chapter Four

“Even if it was my decision to make, I couldn’t let you waltz out of here with a federal witness just because you say you’re Joey’s aunt.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Connor turned from the woman sitting on the edge of the bed and moved restlessly to the window, something he’d found himself doing with increasing frequency since Tess had discovered the photo she seemed to think clinched her claim to Joey. Despite the heated discussion they’d been engaged in since, he still hadn’t been able to make her understand that her position hadn’t changed to any great degree—certainly not enough to have stopped him from phoning Area Director Arne Jansen with the news that the boy had been found.

At the end of the line of units a single light was burning in the motel’s office, but otherwise the darkness outside was undisturbed. He hadn’t expected the two backup agents Jansen was sending to have arrived yet. He’d just needed a break from the angry gaze Tess was lasering at him. He turned to face her again.

“I agree the Agency fumbled the ball in guarding Joey, but I promise we won’t slip up again. If you care for your nephew at all, you have to see that professionals can protect him from a couple of killers better than one untrained woman could.”

“But as you say, your team of professionals has performed pretty poorly so far.” Abruptly Tess stood, shooting a glance at the sleeping child in the bed she’d just risen from. “And you can’t protect him from an enemy you don’t even know about.”

Her words were barely audible, as if she was of two minds whether or not she wanted him to hear. Connor frowned.

“Just what does that mean?”

Her back to him, she was gathering the few articles she’d earlier set on the dresser, but he guessed that her task was no more valid than his glance out the window had been. She was avoiding his eyes, or trying to. Unfortunately for her every nuance of her expression was caught in the dresser mirror in front of her, and with a start Connor realized the emotion shadowing her features wasn’t fear.

It was terror. And terror was far too strong a reaction to have anything to do with his call to Jansen.

In the diner he’d been briefly convinced that Tess Smith was unbalanced. She wasn’t, he knew now. Her actions over the past two days might have been rash and poorly thought out, but she’d been well aware of the risks she was running and the consequences of what she was doing. She hadn’t known then that Joey was her nephew, so why had she chosen to take those risks and damn those consequences?

It was a question he should have asked himself before, Connor told himself. Why hadn’t he?

Because you’ve been too busy replaying that kiss you forced on her in your mind, a voice inside his head jeered.

“What do you mean, I can’t protect Joey from an enemy I don’t know about?” With an effort he shut off the jeering voice. “Did he see someone that night at the safe house? Is there a third person working with Leroy and MacLeish?”

Under the white tee she was wearing her shoulders tensed. “I’ve already told you Joey didn’t see anyone the night he escaped, and he’s still blanking out when he tries to remember exactly what happened between MacLeish and the retired agent who was killed in that alleyway. It’s too bad the Agency’s doctors didn’t take the time to find out what caused Joey’s mind to take refuge in a temporary amnesia.”

He was getting tired of talking to the back of her head, Connor thought impatiently. Between the white of her shirt and the silky black strands of her tousled haircut the nape of her neck seemed disarmingly vulnerable, for some reason.

He scowled. “The shock of seeing a man killed caused his amnesia. The on-site evidence, plus the fact that MacLeish was badly wounded himself, indicated that Quayle didn’t go down without a fight. Watching a violent struggle end in murder isn’t something any nine-year-old should have to go through.”

“I agree. But that wasn’t the first time Joey had witnessed violence.” Finally she turned to face him, her expression closed. “He’s not Beaver Cleaver, Connor. He hasn’t been protected from the seamier side of life, the way children should be. From what Joey’s told me, Darla did her best by him while she was battling her own demons, but he’d seen street fights before, even if they’d never resulted in murder.”

Her mouth tightened. “This is probably going to sound just as crazy to you as the Hangar 61 story. Have you ever heard of something—” her gaze wavered “—or someone, called Skinwalker?”

Earlier this evening his thoughts had gone to the year he’d spent at the Double B Ranch so long ago—the year he’d been thoroughly humiliated by Chorizo, the year a tough but compassionate Del Hawkins had turned his life around. But Tess’s unexpected question brought back his most recent visit to the ranch and the unsettling events that had threatened the Double B just over a month ago.

Those events had eventually been proven to have been orchestrated by an ex-con named Jasper Scudder, but even Del’s normally hardheaded composure had been disturbed by the warnings of Navajo matriarch Alice Tahe, who’d predicted that the evil spirit her people called Skinwalker had been behind Scudder’s actions…and that although Scudder had perished, the presence of Skinwalker still threatened the Double B and Del.

With no disrespect intended toward either the old lady or her traditional beliefs, Connor thought now, he just didn’t buy into the existence of a supernatural big bad. So when Alice Tahe had spoken about a thing that walked like a man, talked like a man, but was all the darkness from the beginning of the world personified, he’d dismissed her Skinwalker as merely one of the myths of the Navajo people.

From her tone, he got the feeling Tess didn’t. A slight impatience rose up in him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the legend. Why?”

Something sparked behind the amber of her eyes. “Because that’s who I’m protecting Joey from, Agent. You might believe he’s in danger from MacLeish or Leroy, but Joey’s convinced Skinwalker’s the one who wants him dead. And although I wasn’t brought up in the Way—the Navajo Way,” she added in explanation, “I’m Dineh enough to think he could be right.”

The spark in her gaze fanned to a tiny flame, and color lent a wild-rose tinge to the cinnamon of her skin.

“Don’t you get it yet? He doesn’t remember what happened between Quayle and MacLeish because everything else was blotted from his mind when he was almost killed himself. I don’t know if there was a third person at the safe house the night of the ambush…but there was a third presence in the alleyway the day Quayle was murdered. Joey swears it was Skinwalker. And he says that just before the police showed up, Skinwalker started toward the Dumpster where he was hiding to kill him.”

“Skinwalker,” Connor repeated. “We’re talking about the Navajo Skinwalker, right? An evil ghost, uses his shapeshifting powers to take on the form of a man or a wolf or whatever he wants?” He glanced at the small sleeping form in the bed and then back at her. “I guess it’s possible a kid might see him as the bogeyman, if he’d been told stories about him in the past, but encouraging him in that belief—”

“Is that your theory?” Her gaze darkened. “Joey translated his terror at witnessing Quayle’s murder into something a nine-year-old could understand—a monster, just like the ones other children see hiding behind a half-open closet door?”

“Or just like the ones you make a living writing about,” Connor agreed, not bothering to soften the edge in his voice.

Now it made sense, he thought, annoyed with himself for not figuring it out before. Now he knew why she’d risked going on the run with the boy long before she’d discovered there was a family connection between them. He didn’t know who he felt angrier at—her, for turning out to be the journalistic equivalent of a conartist, or himself for not seeing from the start what she was up to. Hell, for all he knew maybe she’d somehow faked that photo she’d conveniently found in her purse.

“That’s what all this was leading to, wasn’t it? You hoped you could get a National Eye-Opener front page out of this, complete with you in your ghost-busting gear facing down some guy in a monster costume. Lady, whatever hare-brained notion you’ve got of parlaying a federal investigation into journalistic glory for yourself—”

“Journalistic glory?” The pink in her cheeks flared to bright patches of anger. “In a rag like the Eye-Opener that gets shoved between the milk and eggs in a sack of groceries? I’m not that delusional, Agent, and even if I were I wouldn’t use a child’s fear to my own advantage.” Her voice shook. “Believe me, I know how damaging that can be.”

Her vehemence rang too true to have been put on for his benefit, Connor thought. And behind it was something else—something that held an echo of pain and guilt.

But he’d allowed himself to be distracted by Tess Smith’s seeming vulnerability once already, he reminded himself. Any pain he thought he detected in her voice wasn’t his concern.

“Let’s say you didn’t intend to use this in one of your stories.” He shrugged. “What does that leave me with—that you really believe Joey saw an evil spirit in that alleyway?”

“I told you you’d think it was crazy.” Her gaze was shuttered. “But yes, if Joey says Skinwalker’s after him, that’s enough for me. He needs to know someone’s on his side.”

As she spoke, Connor was half-convinced he could feel the warmth of her breath on his own lips, could discern the faintest scent of cloves and carnations coming from her. There was no good reason why he kept thinking of flowers when he looked at Tess Smith, he thought in irritation.

Besides, his involvement with the woman had begun with her leveling a gun at him. If he needed a botanical reference to compare her to, a cholla cactus was probably his best bet—wild fuchsia blossoms behind a formidable barricade of thorns.

But neither her prickliness nor his own inappropriate musings were enough to completely distract him from the care she’d taken in framing her answer to his last question. He knew with sudden certainty what she was trying to hide.

“You don’t believe in any of this, either, do you?” He frowned. “You said you weren’t brought up in the Way. Admit it—Skinwalker’s nothing more than a dim folkloric tradition to you, like the kelpies my Irish grandmother used to tell me about were to me.”

“He’s real to Joey.” She bit off the words. “And despite my sketchy knowledge of my own heritage, I have more respect for the old stories than to dismiss them completely.”

“Maybe, but you’re standing by Joey for your own reasons, not because you think there’s any possibility he’s telling the literal truth.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Why is it so important to you that he doesn’t go back into protective custody? Is there another threat to him you’re not telling—”

Connor broke off abruptly. From the parking lot outside had come the solid thunk of a car door closing, and even as he strode to the window he heard a second thunk. He pushed the drapes aside and saw an unmarked sedan almost identical to his own, two men standing by it in neatly unobtrusive suits and with expressions of grim alertness as federal issue as their car.

He let the curtain fall closed. “Your ride’s here,” he said shortly. “When you get to Albuquerque, take my advice and don’t count on Area Director Jansen cutting you as much slack as I have. You should have come clean with me from the start.”

“I’ve come as clean with you as I can, Agent Connor. I know you don’t accept that, but it’s true.”

Tess bit into her lower lip. She shook her head, her gaze searching his.

“The thing is, Virgil, I think you do believe in monsters,” she said slowly. “You just can’t admit it, because if you did your world wouldn’t be controllable anymore. What happened that made you build that rigid box around yourself? Did you go up against them once and lose?”

His first impression of her had been correct, Connor told himself tightly, slipping his gun into his shoulder holster. The woman was more than a little out of touch with reality.

“I don’t see operating on logic and reason as being boxed in,” he grated. “Which is why I’m not the one who’s going to have to tell a nine-year-old boy that I’m not the person I let him think I was,” he added.

He regretted his comment even before he saw the suddenly stricken look in her eyes. “Sorry, that wasn’t necessary,” he muttered. “Whatever I thought when I first saw you with Joey, you’ve convinced me that you only wanted to—”

“No, you’re right.” The husky tones came out unevenly. “I shouldn’t have acted as impulsively as I did. I should have thought things out more logically, like you say.”

She was finally beginning to see the light. Connor felt obscurely relieved. Her attitude would be a deciding factor in Jansen’s decision whether or not to—

“I should have stayed away from the highways and stayed on the back roads.” She exhaled sharply. “Dammit, I should have taken Joey up on his suggestion to show me how to hotwire a car in that diner parking lot when mine broke down. We would have been long gone by the time you got there.”

She hadn’t seen the light. She was never going to see the light. Her stubborn defiance was going to land her behind bars, he thought angrily. And it wasn’t his problem anymore.

“I would have caught up with you sooner or later.” Two sets of footsteps were approaching along the concrete walkway. He grasped the doorknob as he heard the soft squeak of a sole outside. “Be thankful this didn’t turn out any worse than—”

Whenever he thought about it afterward, for the life of him Connor couldn’t remember how the gun got into his hand. Even after racking his brains to reconstruct his actions, the nearest he would ever get to an answer was the dim recollection that his right hand had already been moving across his body as the door had opened.

They looked like agents. One of them was displaying an ID case with a photo and badge, and the other was reaching into an inner suit pocket, presumably to obtain his own identification.

“Agent Connor? I’m Agent Petrie and this is my partner, Agent Malden.” The one holding out the ID case snapped it shut and gave a thin-lipped smile. “Area Director Jansen sent us to—”

Even as the logical part of Connor’s mind was telling him the men confronting him had to be what they appeared to be and that he was about to make the worst mistake of his career, he made his move.

“Tess—get down!”

His shout cutting explosively across Petrie’s words, Connor swung the gun he was holding around in a powerful arc toward the two agents.

Chapter Five

“Don’t let Skinwalker get me, Tess!” Joey cried frantically.

Eyes still wide with shock at Connor’s shouted warning, Tess whirled around to the bed, where her nephew was sitting bolt upright, his face drained of color. His gaze was dark with terror; he was staring at nothing.

He was having a nightmare. Relief flooded through her as she rushed to his side, but on its heels came quick fear.

“It’s okay, Joey, I’m here.”

Wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders, she saw awareness returning to his eyes, and her own bewildered gaze darted back to the doorway in time to see the revolver in Connor’s hand smash against the cheekbone of one of the agents standing in front of him. The air rushed from her lungs as completely as if she had taken the blow herself.

Virgil Connor had just attacked one of his own people. Either he’d suddenly lost his sanity, or…

…or he’s working against the Agency. The terrifying possibility seemed the only explanation for what she was witnessing, but it didn’t make sense. If Connor had no intention of allowing her and Joey to reach Albuquerque, then why had he phoned Area Director Jansen? And why had—

She froze. Caught off guard, the man Connor had struck had staggered sideways and fallen to his knees outside the door. An object spun from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

The object was a gun. And Malden had been reaching for it before Connor had reacted.

“Under the bed!” Tess tightened her grip on her nephew’s shoulders. “Get under the bed and stay there until I say it’s safe to come out, understand, Joey? If something happens to me, do what Connor says.”

Mutely he nodded. Any other nine-year-old would be firing questions at her, she thought, as he scrambled off the bed, but someone had made the monsters real for Joey.

Deep inside Tess a hot flame of rage ignited, flared dangerously high and then steadied into an icy fury. Whoever that person was, she told herself, she would make him pay for what he’d done….

If she and her newfound nephew got out of here alive.

In the few seconds it had taken to attend to Joey, the confrontation at the doorway had evolved with frightening speed. She took in the situation with a glance.

Petrie had obviously gone for his own weapon when his cohort, Malden, had fallen. It would have been simple for Connor to have thwarted the agent’s intentions by opening fire, except for the possibility that a stray bullet from any ensuing gun battle might have found an innocent victim. As he had outside the diner, Connor had chosen not to take that risk. She saw worriedly that he’d dropped the revolver he’d used to disable Malden.

The man who’d identified himself as Agent Petrie had no such scruples. Even now he was attempting to bring the automatic in his grasp into position, but Connor, his height and weight definite advantages, was gaining the upper hand. Petrie’s features contorted in agony, his right arm bent back at an angle, but still he didn’t release his grip on his weapon.

“Drop the gun, or the next thing you hear’ll be the sound of your arm breaking,” Connor ground out. “I’ve heard that sound once or twice myself, and believe me, it takes the fight right out of a man.”

The epithet Petrie grunted out in reply was made even more graphically obscene by the raw fury in his tone. Tess saw a flicker of distaste and reluctance cross Connor’s face.

“If that’s the way you want it,” he said briefly. With no discernible effort, he forced the other man’s arm back further, and from between Petrie’s thin lips came a whistling noise.

“All…all right,” he gasped. The fingers that had been clenched so tightly opened in defeat and the gun he’d been holding fell to the worn scrap of carpeting by the door. “Ease off, damn you!”

“Not until you tell me who sent you to kill Joey Begand,” Connor said. She heard an edge of cold rage in his tone. “What happened to the real backup Jansen was sending me? Did you and your partner ambush them along the way? And how did you intercept a secure communication between an area director’s office and an agent in the field anyway, dammit?”

With every question he increased the pressure on Petrie’s arm, and again a breath whistled painfully in the man’s throat. Incredibly, this time it was accompanied by a rusty laugh.

“You’re not even warm, Fed. Yeah, we were sent to eliminate the kid, and if we could we were supposed to make it look like you snapped and shot him yourself. But we didn’t intercept—”

The first shot caught Connor high on the shoulder, breaking his hold on Petrie. Even as Tess’s horrified glance took in Malden, still prone, but with his trouser leg pulled up to reveal an empty ankle holster, the man fired a second time. His wavering aim missed Connor and hit Petrie.

In the middle of Petrie’s forehead a small, neat hole appeared. On the open door behind him was a brilliant explosion of scarlet. His eyes wide and sightless, slowly he collapsed to his knees, pitching face forward onto the carpet. Instant nausea rose in Tess.

But there was no time for squeamishness. Already Malden’s unsteady aim was swinging back toward Connor. Forcing herself not to think about what she was doing, she threw herself across Petrie’s lifeless body, her outstretched arm scrabbling past him for the automatic pistol he’d dropped only seconds ago.

Her fingers closed around it. Clumsily she flicked the safety off, raised herself onto her elbows and squeezed the trigger.

The report of her shot was overlaid with another, louder discharge that came from behind and above her. As if swatted by a giant hand, Malden lifted off the ground, completing a half roll before landing again, this time on his back. One knee jerked up and then slid back down.

She’d just killed a man. This time when the bile rose in her throat, Tess knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep it down. Scrambling to her feet, she took a lurching step across Petrie’s body toward the door, her gaze fixed on the tired clump of bushes just beyond the walkway.

“No!”

Connor’s arm shot out as she stumbled by him. Almost losing her balance, she struck blindly out at him.

“Let me by, Connor. I’m going to be—”

Five years ago she’d gone backpacking in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Tess recalled. It had been in the weeks following the Joy Gaynor incident—which was why, on her third morning out, she’d found herself standing on a ledge a hundred feet above a valley staring into the charcoal predawn and waiting for the sun to show itself over the horizon before doing what she’d decided to do.

The sun hadn’t shown itself. Instead the heavens overhead had split open with a crash so loud that she’d clapped her hands to her ears in pain and had nearly fallen from the ledge.

But she hadn’t fallen, and the dozens of lightning strikes that had lit up the mountains over the next hours hadn’t touched her. It had been as if some Great Being had chosen that way to show her that her time to die wasn’t upon her yet, no matter what she’d intended.

When the storm had passed, she’d hiked out of the mountains, had driven back to Albuquerque and had handed in her resignation at work—just a formality, since she’d known she no longer had a future with any legitimate newspaper. Within days she’d landed her job at the Eye-Opener, and although she’d known she couldn’t put the past completely behind her, gradually she’d learned not to dwell on it.

But she’d never forgotten how that first crack of lightning in the Sangre de Cristos had sounded, Tess thought now—as if the very mountains themselves were being split asunder. So, as Connor jerked her backward, her first thought was for Joey, still hiding under the metal bedstead and a prime target for any bolt of lightning following the one that had just lit up the night in front of the motel unit, so close to Connor’s parked sedan that it actually seemed to have come from the car.

Her second thought was the realization that what she’d just seen wasn’t lightning at all, but an explos—

“Take cover! The gas tank’s going to blow next!”

Before she could react to Connor’s hoarse command, a deafening whump! came from the vicinity of the sedan. Tess had a glimpse of the car lifting off the pavement before a towering fireball of yellow flames hid it from view.

“Dammit, woman—down!”

One strong arm snugging her tightly to his body, his other hand spread protectively wide against the back of her head, Connor pulled her to him. She felt herself flying through the air, his arms around her.

They hit the motel room floor heavily a heartbeat later, Connor on the bottom and taking the brunt of the fall. In one swift movement he hooked an ankle around the nearest leg of the dresser, yanking it in front of them, but not before Tess felt a stinging sensation in the back of her thigh.

Against the front of the dresser she heard several fast thuds, as if tennis balls were being volleyed at it. Across the room the telephone jingled once and smashed to the floor. With a high, icy sound of glass shattering, pieces of the dresser’s mirror flashed around them, while sheered-off metal from the explosion outside turned into flying shrapnel.

The bed was in the safest area of the room, shielded by the half-open door of the unit from the storm of debris. Thank God she’d told Joey to hide under there.

From the parking lot outside came a metallic groaning noise that ended with a jarring crash. The abrupt silence that followed was broken only by the roar of flames.

“The car just collapsed onto its axles,” Connor muttered from somewhere near her ear. “You okay?”

He was still holding her, but as he spoke he loosened his grip and peered intently into her face. Tess nodded.

“I…I’m okay.” She heard the tremor in her voice and changed her nod to a shake of her head. “No, I’m not okay. How could I be? I…I killed a man, Connor. He was going to kill us and I didn’t have any choice, but I took a life. I killed a man.”

“You killed my car. I killed Malden,” Connor said abstractedly. He began to get to his feet. “We’ve got to get Joey out of here before the police arrive and decide to engage in a jurisdictional pissing contest with me. I’d win, but I don’t want to waste time getting into it with—”

He paused, his glance sharpening on her. Swiftly he sank back down beside her and took both her hands in his. “I killed him, Tess. I fired just before you did, and my bullet caught him in the upper chest. Your bullet was lower, which was why it ricocheted off the pavement into the car’s gas tank.”

The apparent lack of emotion in his voice was belied by his tight grip on her fingers. Virgil Connor wasn’t the man she’d first seen him as, Tess thought slowly, her gaze locked on his. She had the sudden certainty that he wasn’t even the man he saw himself as. He’d glimpsed her horror at the belief that she’d been responsible for taking Malden down, and some part of him had needed to take that horror away from her.

He got to his feet, pulling her up with him. She saw the spasm of pain that crossed his features, and realized with a start that a similar spasm had involuntarily crossed hers.

“You’re hurt.” His brows drew together. “Where?”

“My leg twinges, that’s all. I think I pulled a muscle when we landed on the floor.” He was all business again, she noted. She followed his lead. “Forget me, what about you?”

As she spoke she remembered what had happened just prior to Malden’s death. She bit back a gasp.

“You were shot, weren’t you?” Placing one palm on his chest, she began to draw aside the right lapel of his jacket. His hand clamped around her wrist, but too late to stop her.

Beneath the suit fabric one whole side of the formerly white shirt was drenched in blood. This time her gasp was audible.

“We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” she said decisively. Releasing his lapel and shaking off his hand, she stepped out from behind the dresser. “Joey!” Ignoring the state of the room, she sped over to the relatively untouched area near the bed and knelt beside it. “Joey, it’s safe to come out now. Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Amazingly, as the nine-year-old scooted out on his back from under the bed like a mechanic from under a car, his eyes shone with excitement. “Wow, that was something, huh? What happened—did they use a rocket launcher or—”

His mouth dropped open as he surveyed the room. “Holy sh—”

“They didn’t use a rocket launcher,” Tess interjected quickly. “And Joey, listen to me—both of those men who came to hurt us are dead. One of them doesn’t—” She took his hands. “One of them doesn’t look so good, so when we walk out I want you to keep your eyes on me, okay? This isn’t like in the movies, and I don’t want you to see it.”

Partly visible, hunkered down on the other side of the door, Connor was covering Petrie with a blanket. But she didn’t want to take the chance of Joey catching sight of anything that might fuel his already-disturbing nightmares.

“Okay, Tess.” Joey swallowed. He squared his shoulders, his gaze still on hers. “I won’t look, but I’m not sorry they’re dead. They came here to kill me, didn’t they? They prob’ly didn’t figure on running into you.”

Connor had been right, Tess thought helplessly. She should have nipped Joey’s hero-worship of her in the bud two days ago, but now wasn’t the time to set him straight. She stood.

From somewhere farther down the row of units came raised voices, the first she’d heard since Connor had opened the door to Malden and Petrie. Obviously, some of the motel’s guests were gathering the courage to investigate.

“I guess they didn’t,” she said weakly. “But Connor was the one who mostly fought them off, and he got hurt. We’re going to have to take him to a hospital right away.”

“No, we’re not.” Connor strode toward them. “For all we know those two weren’t working alone. We’re going to put some distance between us and this place, and then I’m going to contact Jansen again and arrange a secure meet.”

Before she could protest, he went on, his tone impatient. “It’s not your call, Tess. Come on, let’s go.”

The body by the door was just a shape beneath the blanket Connor had thrown over it, and although Malden still lay outside on the walkway, mercifully his prone figure was obscured by shadows. Still, as she hurried Joey by, Tess found herself envying Connor’s seeming unconcern.

He was Belacana, non-Navajo, she reminded herself. To him a dead body was just a dead body. Even if he understood what an Enemy Way was, the concept of a warrior undergoing a ceremony to rid himself of the ghosts of those he’d killed wouldn’t fit his logical view of the world.

She didn’t know how much credence she put in the old beliefs herself, she thought unhappily as they headed across the parking lot. All she knew was that she wished she had some—

“I got corn pollen,” Joey said beside her in a small voice. His backpack slung over his shoulder, he fumbled under the grimy neckband of his tee. “I think you’re supposed to sprinkle some on your tongue and your head. That’s what Mac told me when he gave it to me, anyway.”

“Mac? John MacLeish?”

Connor was ahead of them, but from the stiffening of his posture as she spoke, Tess knew he’d heard her reference to the man the FBI was hunting. Too bad, Agent, she thought with a spurt of defiance. If you think I’m going to take this opportunity to see if Joey’s memory’s starting to come back, you’re wrong. Right now us two Dineh have more important business to attend to.

“Yeah. He said the worst thing that could happen to a man was if he forgot who he was and where he came from. He told me I should be proud to be one of the People.” Joey glanced up. “Some kids had been ragging me, calling me a dumb Indian.”

“I see.”

She did see, Tess thought. The hardscrabble environment of the streets was a perfect breeding ground for ignorance and racism; although also, from what she understood Joey to be saying, equally a place where a homeless man’s rough kindness could reveal itself in giving the gift of pride to a child. For the first time she found herself wondering what kind of person the mysterious MacLeish was. A killer, yes, judging from the Agency’s case against him. But he’d seemingly behaved with compassion and sensitivity toward the boy.

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