“I’m not going to stay,” Dante said bluntly. He wouldn’t be less than honest with her.

“I know,” Sara whispered.

“I’m not going to change my life or who I am, not for you or anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“We’re just two unattached adults looking for a little fun. That’s it.”

“If you say so.” She grabbed his belt with one hand and held on.

“Nothing is going to—”

Sara interrupted him with a laugh. “Dammit, Dante, why don’t you just shut up and kiss me?”

Dear Reader,

In many ways, it’s easier to write about a character who’s appeared in a couple of previous stories. You already know him and can avoid the sometimes lengthy process of discovering those wonderful and annoying traits that make him unique.

But I have discovered a flip side. Dante Mangino has been a favorite character of mine for years now. He’s made an appearance in several other stories that featured investigators from the Benning Agency. But after his secondary story line in One Major Distraction, I had a very difficult time finding a woman for him. Maybe he was still grieving for the love he lost, or maybe I simply couldn’t find a woman worthy of him. In any case, he was very, very stubborn. Still, I knew he deserved his happy ending, and I was determined to give it to him.

Eventually the story came together, and this is it. Dante had to rebuild his life, and rediscover joy. Along came Sara, the girl who had gotten away from a teenage Dante many years ago. I hope you enjoy their story.

Best,

Linda

The Guardian
Linda Winstead Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA WINSTEAD JONES

has written more than fifty romance books in several subgenres: historical, fairy tale, paranormal, and of course romantic suspense. She’s won the Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence twice, is a three time RITA® Award finalist and (writing as Linda Fallon) was winner of the 2004 RITA® Award for paranormal romance.

Linda lives in North Alabama with her husband of thirty-four years. She can be reached via www.eharlequin.com or her own Web site, www.lindawinsteadjones.com.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The doorbell chimed as Sara stepped into a tennis shoe, preparing for her usual evening walk along quiet streets that wound beneath oak trees older than her recently deceased grandfather’s grandfather. She muttered an annoyed, “Shoot,” and stumbled toward the door with one shoe on and untied and the other clutched in her hand. Opal, invaluable housekeeper, chef and occasional answerer of doorbells, had just left for the day. Didn’t that figure?

Sara opened the door, expecting to find a kid selling cookies or band candy, or a neighbor with a complaint or a request, or a Tillman resident with a problem that couldn’t wait until morning. From the day she’d agreed to run for office, she’d known being mayor of the small town she’d always called home—in her heart, at least—would be full-time, but she hadn’t known exactly how full. The fact that more than half the town felt they knew her well enough to drop in unannounced or call at two in the morning didn’t help matters any.

What she found on her front porch was none of the ordinary, boring people she’d expected. For a moment, she was speechless.

They just didn’t make men like this anymore, did they? Not in Tillman, not anywhere that she’d ever seen. The man on her front porch was the clichéd tall, dark and handsome, wearing a nicely fitted suit and expensive shoes and sporting a head of thick black hair that was conservatively cut but not buzzed to the scalp. One look at his face, and her stomach dropped out from under her. Her toes tingled. Whatever words she should’ve spoken got stuck in her throat. She should’ve been better prepared; she’d known she’d see him sooner or later.

Dante Mangino, the object of a long-ago summer romance she’d never been able to forget, shifted his coat jacket aside to reveal the badge attached to his belt. He obviously hadn’t recognized her yet, and with a combination of heartbreak and relief she wondered if he’d forgotten all about her. She’d been so worried about running into him down at city hall, she’d played the possibilities of their first encounter in her mind again and again—and he didn’t even remember her.

She shouldn’t be surprised. After all, they’d been seventeen last time they’d seen one another, a very long eighteen years ago, and while she’d experienced a real, intense love, at least for a while, she’d never fooled herself into thinking that what Dante had felt had been anything more than raging teenage hormones.

He’d changed, just as she had. He was older, bigger, less pretty and more manly. And he’d cut his hair. Sara tried to convince herself that if she hadn’t known Dante was in town, she might not recognize him.

Since he showed no hint of recollection, she decided to play the game that way. She gathered her composure and smiled politely. “You must be Sergeant Mangino.”

“That’s me,” he answered.

“How nice of you to stop by. I heard you were in town, helping out your cousin Chief Edwards during this unfortunate manpower shortage, and I was hoping we’d get a chance to meet.” He’d been in town for two weeks, and until now she’d managed to avoid him. Yes, she’d avoided him at the same time she’d fantasized about their first meeting after all these years. Did that mean she was emotionally twelve years old where he was concerned? How embarrassing. Perhaps it was just as well that they get this over with, once and for all.

Sara opened the door wider and invited him into the foyer, where Vance antiques that had been collected over many years indicated money and influence. Decent money and local influence, at least. She’d inherited everything here, and none of it really felt as if it was hers. She was a keeper. A guardian. “It’s nice of you to stop by to introduce yourself. I’m so grateful that you agreed to join us until we can rebuild the department. The chief and I both appreciate your time and sacrifice. This is a difficult time for our city, but we’ll soon recover and be all the better for it.”

Dante looked confused. His eyes narrowed slightly, his nose wrinkled, and she could see the bewilderment on his face. He had always been so easy to read. For her, at least. His eyes gave away so much. “You’re…”

“Mayor Vance.” Sara offered her hand, the one that didn’t continue to clutch a walking shoe. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was just on my way out for a walk.” She sat in a foyer chair, which was upholstered in a striped fabric, where she slipped on her other shoe and then bent to tie them both. It was good to break eye contact for a moment; good to take the opportunity to take a deep, calming breath. Even after all these years, Dante made her nervous. She could swear that the very air in the house had changed, grown thicker and warmer the moment he’d entered.

As she stared at her shoelaces and pulled one more snugly into place, she said, “If you have any questions about your job here, or if you have any suggestions about the department, please feel free to stop by my office anytime.”

It was a dismissal, one anyone in their right mind should recognize, but he didn’t move. After a painfully long moment, he said, “I’m not here to introduce myself, Mayor Vance. I’m here about the theft.”

Sara took another long, deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. Great. Not only had some pervert stolen her underwear, she now had to discuss the matter, in detail, with a man who made her nervous. With a drool-worthy guy who’d once had his hand up her blouse and had apparently forgotten. How unflattering. How humiliating. Again she said, “Come by my office in the morning and…”

“Did the crime take place at your office?”

“Of course not,” she responded.

“Then why would I want to interview you there?”

Interview. Of course. Dante had come to ask her about the bras and panties that had been stolen from the clothesline in her backyard. It made sense, she supposed, that he would want to question her here. She should’ve simply replaced the missing garments and moved on.

“It was no big deal,” she said. “Really. I’m sure it was nothing more than a practical joke played by bored kids. There are lots of middle-school-age kids in the neighborhood, and it’s just the sort of prank they might think was amusing, stealing the mayor’s…underthings.”

Dante didn’t agree with her and leave her in peace, as he should have. He didn’t take another look at her face and ask, “Don’t I know you?” The annoying man took a small notepad from his breast pocket and flipped it open. “Three bras and four pairs of panties,” he said without blushing or stammering, “valued at four hundred and twenty-five dollars.” He flipped the notebook closed with the same grace and ease with which he’d opened it. “That’s some fancy underwear, Mayor Vance.”

Her face grew hot. She’d been raised in a conservative household, and while she had grown up in an age where almost anything was acceptable and she did not exactly embrace the conservatism of her grandparents, she also didn’t feel comfortable discussing her underwear with just anyone. She hadn’t seen Dante in eighteen years and he had forgotten her, so he was in fact, not much better than a stranger. “It was good quality, not fancy,” she responded, proud of herself for not stuttering.

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t spent that much on underwear in my entire life.”

Sara blinked hard. Too much information. “Actually…” She stood, feeling uncomfortable sitting while Dante—what was he these days, anyway, six foot three?—towered over her. “There’s no reason to discuss this any further. I’ve decided to drop the matter.”

“Why?” he asked simply.

“It’s not worth the trouble, and I feel terrible that city time and expense has been wasted on such a trivial matter. I suppose I panicked a bit when I called the police after my housekeeper discovered the…the…”

“Underwear,” he replied when she faltered.

“Was gone,” she finished, annoyed to realize that he could have just as easily supplied the word theft.

“This incident is a nuisance, not worth wasting your valuable time.”

That got a very sexy half grin out of Dante. He was older, bigger, harder, but the grin had not changed. “The way this city pays its officers, at the present my time’s not all that valuable. Mayor Vance,” he added belatedly.

Again, he was out of bounds. “While I do appreciate your help, Sergeant Mangino, the city budget is not something you and I should be discussing,” she said primly, even though getting more money for the city’s employees was high on her wish list. The problem was, she couldn’t fabricate the money required out of thin air, and making budgetary changes was more complicated than she’d thought it would be. She’d been in office not much more than two months, and so far it was slow going. Not that she’d explain any of that to Dante Mangino.

Two things happened at once. Dante turned his head and she got a glimpse of a tattoo creeping out of his starched shirt collar. That was new. Tattoos were pretty much mainstream these days, but they weren’t exactly commonplace among Tillman’s city employees. To have one on his neck…

And the doorbell rang. She walked past Dante to answer, staying well out of his way, happy for the chance to walk away from him for a moment so she could regain her composure. Not much rattled her these days, and she needed to get over this silly reaction to a man who was nothing more than an old boyfriend. An old boyfriend who had forgotten her. As Sara reached for the doorknob, she hoped for the band candy or cookies she had expected when Dante had rung the doorbell.

She threw open the door, and at first she saw nothing. No neighbor, no child selling overpriced fundraiser treats she always felt obligated to buy. Then she glanced down and saw the package sitting on the welcome mat. The smallish—no more than eight inches square—package was pretty, wrapped in bright pink paper and accented with a large silver bow and a stripe of matching ribbon. She bent and picked up the box, wondering if a delivery had mistakenly been made to the wrong house. The package was very light, she noted, but was a little heavier than an empty box of this size should be. As she turned she glanced at the small card attached to the bow. No mistake. Her name—Mayor Sarabeth Louann Vance—was written there in a neat script.

“Your birthday?” Dante asked.

“No.” Sara pushed the front door closed with a gentle push of her hip, then she placed the box on an antique foyer table, carefully pushing back the flower arrangement there to make room for the unexpected gift.

“Who’s it from?” Dante asked sharply.

“I don’t know.” She carefully opened the dangling card, which bore her name. Inside was blank, and she told him so.

She reached for the bow, but suddenly a large, warm, strong hand clamped over her wrist, stilling her movements. Her heart seemed to catch in her chest, not because someone had left her an anonymous package, but because Dante Mangino had touched her.

“Not a good idea, Mayor,” Dante said in a lowered, very dangerous voice that sent a shiver down her spine. He lifted her hand away from the box and dropped it, then fetched a knife from his pocket and opened it with a flick of his thumb.

First he cut the ribbon, then he touched the blade to the end of the box where the paper gapped, barely moving the bright pink wrapping aside with the tip of steel.

“This isn’t necessary,” she said, her voice purposely tight and mayorlike. She was learning to use that tone when necessary. She used it now to push away the unexpected and unwanted physical reaction that had begun—no, that had spiraled out of control—when Dante had touched her.

“Are you sure?” he asked without turning to look at her. “Are you absolutely positive that this box was left by a well-meaning friend who dropped it on your doorstep, rang the bell and ran?”

“Of course I can’t be sure,” she responded.

“Then unbunch your panties and let me do this my way.”

Unbunch her panties? How unprofessional. How ungentlemanly! Unbunch her panties? That was the last straw. She should fire him, here and now. He was insolent and unprofessional and having much too much fun at her expense. Plus he had forgotten her, the most egregious sin of all. She tried to imagine looking Dante in the eye and telling him his services were no longer required. Somehow it didn’t turn out well, not even in her imagination. Better yet, she could call the chief as soon as Dante left her house and insist that the man be fired by someone else.

The problem was they needed this experienced man on the force until more qualified officers could be hired. Tillman needed Dante Mangino much more than he needed them. He was here because his cousin, the chief, had asked for a favor to help rebuild the department, which had been ravaged by a couple of retirements, three transfers to larger departments in the state and one heart attack.

Dante finally studied the attached card with the tip of his knife. His head rotated slowly and he pinned accusing eyes on her. “Sarabeth Louann Caldwell Vance.”

“Yes,” she said, trying very hard to remain calm. Caldwell has not on the card. At least he remembered her name. “My maiden name was Caldwell.” Her mouth went very dry. “Have we met?” The final word came out as a tinny squeak.

He snorted lightly beneath his breath. “You know damn well we have. Sorry, I didn’t immediately connect Mayor Sara Vance with the girl of many names, Sarabeth Louann Caldwell. You’ve changed.” He looked her up and down, openly appraising and seemingly approving. “Your hair’s lighter and you’ve put on twenty pounds, all of it in the right places.” He grinned, and though he was older, the smile was familiarly wicked and tempting. “The eyes haven’t changed at all. Neither has the mouth. As soon as you mentioned the city’s ‘unfortunate manpower shortage’ I knew it was you. Since you didn’t seem to remember me at all, I decided to let it go.” He looked her up and down. “You look good, Sarabeth, and I’m going to kill Jesse for not telling me exactly who the mayor is these days.”

Busted. Dante obviously knew she’d been pretending not to remember him. At least she could pretend not to be mortified. “Everyone just calls me Sara these days, and I do hope you won’t incapacitate my chief of police over a simple misunderstanding. I’m sure he doesn’t have a clue that you and I were once friends.” After all, they’d done their best to hide their short relationship from their friends and families and had done a good job until the very end. Sara had been the A student, good girl, daughter of a prominent local family and, yes, rich. Dante had been in town for the summer to stay with his aunt, uncle and cousins. He’d driven a motorcycle, worn his hair long, smoked too much and stayed out too late. They’d truly had nothing in common, except some perverted chemistry they never would’ve discovered if not for a crazy string of coincidences on one hot summer night.

“Oh, he has more than a clue,” Dante said as he returned his attention to the anonymous gift on the table.

Great. All this time and she’d had no idea that her chief of police knew about her teenage mistake. She’d made more than one, as most teenagers had, but Dante was the big mistake. Foolish of her to think no one outside a very small circle had known. Even more foolish of her to think it mattered now, after so many years.

One piece of tape at a time, the package was unwrapped with Dante’s little knife. Sara watched as he dissected the paper as if he were a surgeon and the hot-pink wrapping paper, his patient. No move was unsteady or unthinking. The work claimed his entire attention, and she was quite sure he had dismissed her entirely. She might as well have not been in the room at all.

Eventually, he revealed a square, white gift box. He listened to the box, hefted it with the tip of his knife, turned it this way and that, and eventually opened it with the same calculating blade he had used to remove the pink paper.

Fine, dark eyebrows lifted. “Oh,” he muttered as he looked down into the box.

Sara moved to stand beside him, since there was obviously no danger. She reached forward, but again Dante stopped her with that strong hand of his. “No touching,” he said. “There might be prints.”

Sara sighed. “Yes, I’m sure the state lab will be anxious to get right on that. Alert, alert,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Drop those murder cases and get right on this anonymous gift of…” she glanced into the box to spy a jumbled mixture of fine, brightly colored silk. Dante reached into the box with his knife and pulled out a demicup red silk bra adorned with a smattering of black lace. The bra dangled from the short, sharp blade.

“Your size?” he asked.

She glanced at the tag and felt her insides drop. “Yes. But seriously, we don’t have our own fingerprinting facilities, and by the time the state lab gets around to something like this, whatever crime has been committed will be well beyond the statute of limitations.”

“I’m not sending it to the state lab,” he said as he returned the bra to the box. “I work for a top-notch private firm, when I’m not doing one family member or another a favor. The Benning Agency has a more than competent facility and crew. They can handle a little fingerprinting.” He looked down at her. “The undergarments will all be ruined in the process.” His knife blade entered the box again, and he came out with an absurdly insubstantial pair of panties that matched the demibra. “So if you’d rather keep these…”

“No!” she responded hotly, stepping away from Dante and the box. “I’m not going to wear underwear that’s been left on my doorstep by a pervert who obviously has some kind of fetish.”

He returned the panties to the box and came up again with an emerald-green bra no more ample than the red one. “A fetish and very good taste.”

Dante dropped the green bra into the box. So far this was the most interesting crime he’d investigated since coming to the small town of Tillman, Alabama. Just last week he’d nabbed a thief who’d tried to make his getaway on a riding lawn mower. Even when the moron had realized he was being followed, he hadn’t stopped, not even to dump his pillowcase full of loot. There had been a nasty fight at the barbershop over a really bad haircut, and a tussle over a prime parking spot in front of the drug store.

And now this. For his newest assignment he’d be hunting down a creep or creeps who stole underwear and replaced it with sexier stuff. Not that he’d seen what had been stolen from her clothesline, but judging by what little he remembered of Sarabeth Caldwell—now Sara Vance—he suspected her drawers—of the furniture sort—were filled with sensible and sturdy underwear that held everything firmly in place. Personally, he liked a little jiggle. Lovely extra pounds aside, Sara looked as if she avoided jiggling at all cost.

It had been a real shock when she’d looked at him just so and pursed her lips and the past had come rushing back. In his mind Sarabeth—Sara—had remained seventeen, skinny and young and timid. To see her in this woman, to instantly have that part of his life come rushing back, had given him a jolt. Fortunately he was much better at hiding his emotions than he’d been at seventeen.

Jesse deserved an ass-whoopin’ for this one. When he’d handed over the slim file on this case, he could’ve warned his unsuspecting cousin that the mayor was the young, beautiful woman Dante had once made out with in a ’72 Camaro that had not afforded him nearly enough maneuvering room, as he remembered. He had heard that the mayor was a widow, and with a common name like Sara he had suspected she’d be an older woman, one who’d taken up local politics in retirement. No wonder the other investigators didn’t want this job. How could any red-blooded man look at Sara Vance and talk about her bras and panties and not get, well, a bit flustered?

Dante didn’t fluster easily, not even when he had to face down a pretty woman who stammered when she said underwear, who looked naturally sexy with her dark blond hair in a thick ponytail and her T-shirt stretched over nicely shaped breasts encased in what appeared to be, from his vantage point, a very sturdy bra, who had changeable and smart blue eyes that revealed everything. Surprise, annoyance, anger…even a woman’s reluctant interest in a man. He’d seen her interest, as well as her disapproval as her eyes had fallen on the curling end of the tattoo that crawled across his shoulder and partway up his neck.

Pretty or not, Sarabeth Louann Caldwell Vance—how many names did any one woman need, anyway?—was not the kind of woman he’d tangle with. This house and her demeanor screamed old money, her position in politics screamed old power. The set of her mouth and the glint in her eyes screamed, “Interested or not, I don’t fall easily, not anymore. If you think you’re going to feel me up again, you are sadly mistaken.” No, she wouldn’t fall, not into bed, not into relationships, short or long. Dante was definitely into easy, at least where women were concerned.

The thought sounded shallow and callous, even to him, but it was honest enough. He hadn’t fought for anything or anyone that wasn’t assigned by the Benning Agency for a very long time.

“I’m going for my walk, now,” Sara said, her voice almost prim as she dismissed him and the box. “If I don’t hurry, I won’t get home before dark.”

“Wait one minute while I get a pair of gloves from the car.”

She sighed as if waiting for such a short period of time would be an imposition, and then curtly nodded her head in agreement.

When Dante returned, white gloves on so he could handle the box and wrapping paper without leaving his own prints, he could tell that Sara had gathered herself more staunchly together. Whatever interest might’ve once been visible in her eyes was gone, and her chin and mouth seemed to be set more staunchly—more mayorlike. Even her spine was a bit straighter, a bit harder. She had her house keys in one hand and wore an expression that said, Thank you for your service, now get out.

Was she always so unyielding, or was this attitude just for him? They’d shared a few weeks of teenage passion years ago, but he was not the same person he’d been at seventeen. Neither was she.

They exited the front door together, she, locking the door behind her, he, gingerly handling the evidence. She was right: the state lab would laugh at his request if he asked them to print all of this for a panty thief. Bennings, however, had a fairly new and not badly equipped lab, along with a couple of geeks to play with all the toys.

Still, explaining this one wasn’t going to be easy.

He carefully stored the evidence in the trunk of his city-issued unmarked car, a boring, dependable, burgundy Crown Vic. Sara remained close by, tapping her toes, as if anxious for him to leave. Now that they were out of the house, she didn’t have to remain with him until he left, but she seemed compelled to do so. Some “good manners” thing, he supposed.

Dante slammed the trunk and then caught her eye. Crap. She was probably right about this, too. The man he was looking for was likely a perv who was into the new mayor and didn’t know any other way to express his affection, such as it was. The crime, his first real investigative case in Tillman, was creepy but probably perfectly harmless.

Probably. He often worked as a bodyguard for the Benning Agency, so he’d dealt with more than one stalker, more than one perv whose actions went above and beyond what any sane person would think of. It was a mistake to believe that those on the other side of the law would always think and behave rationally. They didn’t, and the results could be—had been—deadly. It had been a long time since he’d seen the world through naive eyes.

“You walk every day?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said in a polite but emotionally distant voice.

“Same time every day?”

“Close enough,” she said, her brow wrinkling.

Dante looked her up and down. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into skipping your walk today.” It would soon enough be dark, and while the neighborhood appeared to be peaceful, someone had just dumped a box full of sexy underwear on her doorstep and then run from the scene.

“No,” she answered sharply. “This is all very strange, but I won’t be scared into hiding in my house. Besides, I need the exercise.”

“I’ll buy you a treadmill.”

She laughed, and then apparently decided she’d stuck around long enough in the name of courtesy. Sara turned away and headed down the sidewalk, her step brisk, her head back, her hips set into intriguing motion.

“Still want to drop this case?” he called after her, his eyes focused on the sway of her hips.

“I suppose not,” she answered reluctantly, not slowing down, not looking back.

Dante sighed and got behind the wheel of the Crown Vic. He’d rather be in his own pickup truck, but Jesse had insisted. The job came with rules that required a haircut, a suit, a tie and this old woman’s car. Jesse was doing a lot of insisting these days for someone who had asked for such a huge favor.

The mayor didn’t look back, not even when Dante cranked the engine. He watched her for a moment, mentally marking Sara as trouble of the worst sort, mentally cursing Jesse for throwing him into this case without warning, mentally undressing the staid politician and wondering what she’d look like in that green silk bra and matching panties. Yes, she’d been a skinny teenage girl when last he’d touched her, but she’d filled out in all the right places.

Dante cursed succinctly, and then he rolled down the street, following the woman who steadfastly refused to look back.

Chapter 2

So, maybe she should’ve taken Dante’s advice and stayed in tonight. Usually, Sara relaxed completely when she walked. Usually, she didn’t think about anything but the beauty of the old trees and houses that lined the streets in this part of town, the fresh air that filled her lungs—and maybe that pair of black dress pants she wanted to get back into, and wouldn’t if she didn’t get enough exercise. Five pounds would do it. Maybe ten. Dante might think differently, but as far as she was concerned there was no such thing as the right place on her body for twenty pounds.

Of course, he wasn’t as thin as he’d once been, either, but it looked as if everything he’d added was muscle. Every change made him look more handsome, more manly. His jaw seemed sharper, his nose slightly more prominent and yet as straight and perfect as ever. There was muscle in his neck and a power to his hands that made it clear he was no longer a child. There was less softness in his face and his body, less vulnerability in his eyes. She knew no specifics, but she got the sense that life had not been entirely kind to Dante.

Just minutes after leaving her house, she wished with all she had that she’d stayed at home. In the last light of day she noticed every shadow and wondered if someone was hiding within one. She heard every chirping bird, every barking dog, every creak, and she imagined the worst. She walked a little bit faster, but that did nothing to change the shadows and the alarming noises. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to rise up, and her heartbeat increased for reasons other than exercise.

A treadmill, Dante had suggested. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Lydia and Patty had accused her, on more than one occasion, of being perverse. If someone said she shouldn’t do something, she had to give it a try. Robert hadn’t called her perverse, but he had more than once accused her of being stubborn as all get out. Her husband had been gone for four years, gone much too soon, and there were still times that she thought of him and it hurt like hell. She’d decided that the pain—a pain that came less often when she kept herself too busy to think about Robert and all they’d missed—would never go away.

Perverse or stubborn as all get out, those who knew her best said. So, was she walking down a deserted street at dusk simply because a man who made her anxious and twitchy had suggested that she not?

Suddenly, she was positive someone was following her. It wasn’t her imagination, not anymore. She heard a car engine, but no car went past her. The engine was almost idling, the car moved so slowly. The motor purred and whispered, instead of racing as a car engine should. Her neck and the palms of her hands itched. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. She listened for the car to stop at the curb. She listened for the driver to get out and walk to the door of one of the houses she walked past so she could dismiss her worry as silly and unnecessary.

No. Someone had anonymously sent her sexy underwear, in the right size no less, so her worries were not silly. Not silly at all. Had her underwear thief stolen the things that had been drying on the line simply to get her size? That indicated an unhealthy interest and determination and all the other traits one did not want from a secret admirer. Like it or not, she could not brush this incident off as nothing. Not anymore. She took a deep breath, gathered her composure as best she could and turned her head slowly, trying for a nonchalant glance back. She’d pretend to see a neighbor. Maybe she’d even look past the car to smile and wave. Surely if someone was following her they wouldn’t try anything if they knew they’d been seen.

Sara took a deep breath, slowed her step and turned her head—and was immediately relieved and incensed. How dare he? She spun about and stalked toward the car that was so obviously tailing her as if she were the criminal.

Dante Mangino smiled and lifted the fingers that had been resting on the steering wheel of his city car for a casual wave. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty! Conservative suit and short haircut aside, he didn’t look like any police officer she’d ever seen. He was irreverent, fiery—and, after all these years, still the bad boy.

The driver’s-side window was down, allowing him to enjoy the mild March air. One arm rested nonchalantly there, his elbow jutting out of the car.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

He didn’t seem at all taken aback by her obvious annoyance. “Why, ma’am, I’m making sure the mayor of this fine town gets home safe and sound. That’s all.”

Was it her imagination, or was his subtle Southern accent exaggerated a bit for that comment?

Sara’s first impulse was to tell him that it was unnecessary, and then she admitted to herself that she was comforted to see him there, that the shadows did not seem so ominous now that she was not alone, and the noises that had moments earlier seemed out of place were suddenly ordinary and not at all alarming.

“This is ridiculous,” she said in a calm voice. “The least you can do is park your car, get out and walk with me.” She could only imagine what her neighbors would have to say about that, but it was preferable to having him tail her around the block at three miles an hour.

It was obvious by Dante’s expression that he had not expected the invitation. He’d expected—perhaps even wanted—a fight.

“All right,” he said, pulling his car closer to the curb and shutting off the engine. He exited the car in a way that was smooth and graceful and strong. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it was. This man, Chief Jesse Edwards’s cousin or not, was trouble with a capital T.

After the disaster with Dante so many years ago, Sara had worked very hard to be immune to trouble, especially of the male kind. While her friends in college had gone gaga over bad boys with pretty faces, she had always looked for more. She’d looked for intelligence and a sense of humor and kindness. She’d looked for stability. After her brief and fabulous and ultimately unhappy experience with Dante, those were the attributes she deemed to be worthy, not killer dark eyes and a face with sharp lines and nicely shaped lips, and thick heads of hair that might be a warm black or a very dark brown. Not long legs and strong hands and a way of moving that was both graceful and masculine. Those things were nice bonuses, but they were shallow and not at all important.

So why did her mouth go dry as Dante Mangino approached? “You’re not really dressed for walking.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said, and then he smiled.

“You don’t walk very fast.”

Sara resumed her walk. With Dante beside her she felt much less anxious in one way—and much more uneasy in another. She couldn’t allow a man to get under her skin so easily. Her memories of the past were just that—memories of a time gone by. She was not the same person she’d been at seventeen, and neither was he. She didn’t know him at all. Dante was still good-looking, and he was in great physical shape—and he had no manners at all. He had a wicked grin and a way of taking her breath away with a glance.

For so long—from the time she’d met Robert eleven years ago, in fact—her relationships with men other than her husband had been businesslike or comfortably casual. She’d never met any man who made her feel so on edge, so anxious. Sara was old enough and experienced enough to know what that edgy feeling meant.

In an instant, Dante Mangino had reawakened a part of her that had been sleeping for such a long time she’d thought it dead and gone.

It would be best to quickly and firmly put him in that business category, to squash whatever it was he aroused in her. “So,” she said casually as they walked down the familiar sidewalk. “Tell me about yourself. Are you married?” She hoped he’d say yes. No matter how attractive he was, no matter how he turned her stomach to mush with a glance, no matter that she still remembered what his arms felt like when they wrapped around her, she would not even consider getting involved with or even fantasizing about a married man.

“Nope,” he answered. He matched her short strides with his long ones with little effort, and offered no details or other information about himself.

“I imagine you have a serious girlfriend,” she said. As long as he was in some sort of committed relationship…

“No,” he said, as decisively as he’d denied being married.

She knew he wasn’t gay. Too bad. That would definitely solve her problem. She was a sensible woman. Why had she felt drawn to this man from the moment she’d opened the door? She didn’t believe in instant attraction! It was too much like love at first sight, which she most definitely did not believe in. She and Robert had been friends first, good friends, and love had come later. It had grown slowly and surely into something special.

Robert had been a lasting, slow burn. Dante had been a firecracker.

“Why the interest in my personal life, Mayor?” Dante asked.

Did he address her as “Mayor” in order to maintain a distance? Was he as uninterested in rekindling what they’d had as she was? It wasn’t as if they’d seen one another and fallen into welcoming arms. “I’m just trying to be friendly, to catch up. After all, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. I’m simply making conversation, and you’re not helping with your one-word answers.”

“Sorry,” he responded, not sounding at all remorseful. “So, let’s catch up. Are you dating anyone? Is there a guy around who would love to see you in that teeny-weeny red silk…”

“Dante Mangino!” Sara snapped. “That is…” she stammered and her step faltered. “That question is so inappropriate, I don’t know how to respond.”

“Yes or no will do,” he said, his step and his voice maddeningly steady. “After all, we’re just making conversation. Just catching up.” There was an edge to his voice as he threw her words back at her.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother,” she muttered. As they rounded the corner she was glad for the ensuing silence. She and Dante had nothing in common these days. They never had! Yes, he was good-looking and a fine example of the male species, but if she had to spend more than a few minutes alone with him, he’d quickly drive her crazy. Of course, they wouldn’t necessarily have to talk…Sara started counting her steps to lead her mind in another direction.

“Is there a boyfriend?” her walking companion asked a short while later, his voice deeper and more thoughtful than it had been before.

“I don’t see that it’s an issue.”

“A boyfriend or ex should be the first suspect in a theft like yours. The angle is very personal, very intimate.”

At least he didn’t say underwear again. “No boyfriend,” she said. “No ex, either,” she added before he could ask.

“That surprises me,” he said, sounding momentarily sincere.

“I’m a widow.”

“I know. Sorry.” His words were simple and short but seemed heartfelt. “So, no boyfriends at all since your husband died?”

“Robert’s been gone four years.” Four years, three months and seven days, to be precise. “No, there hasn’t been anyone since then.” That sting in her heart flared up again. The ache always caught her by surprise, though by now she should be used to it.

“How about unwanted attention?” Dante asked. “Has anyone been asking you out repeatedly, hanging around, sending gifts, writing letters?”

Since he sounded as if he was thinking strictly of business, she did not take offense. “No.” Then she laughed lightly and added, “Unless you count anonymous letters telling me what a terrible mayor I am and how a woman has no business in the office and how…”

Dante stopped in his tracks. “Anonymous letters?”

Sara stopped, too. They had almost completed her usual circuitous course, and she could see her house two doors down. It was all but dark, and where the oaks shadowed her house and the street it truly was night. “It comes with the job.”

“Do any of these letters threaten violence?” Dante snapped.

“No. They’re simply the ramblings of dissatisfied residents of Tillman who’re too cowardly to sign their names.”

Her escort took her arm and led her toward her house. “Did you keep the letters?”

“Yes. I file all correspondence.” He was moving a little bit too fast for her. With his quick step and long legs and the way he held her arm, she had to almost jog to keep pace.

“Tomorrow morning I’d like a look at those letters.”

“Why? They can’t possibly be related to the theft.”

“Can’t possibly?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, so she remained silent as he steered her with purpose toward her own front door.

After driving around the block a couple of times and then grabbing a coffee and sandwich to go at the Tillman Café, Dante parked at the curb in front of the mayor’s house. He was probably being overly cautious, but in his world that was much preferable to not being cautious enough. He’d had the world yanked out from under him once before and wouldn’t allow that to happen again. It was easiest to expect and be prepared for the worst.

When he got a look at the letters in the morning, he’d have a better idea about whether or not he should be concerned. Working for Bennings, he was usually called in after the case had turned serious. He wasn’t sure how to handle something that might be threatening but was more likely to be nothing at all.

By nine-thirty, all the downstairs lights in Sara Vance’s house were out. There were outdoor lights that remained on for security purposes, but he could easily see the interior illumination through the windows, and one by one the lamps and overhead lights were extinguished. He could imagine Sara climbing the stairs, drawing a bath—or did she prefer a shower?—then climbing into bed with a book or maybe some work she’d brought home with her. What would she sleep in? he wondered. Flannel pajamas, maybe. A long, prim nightgown with a drawstring in the hem. Then again, perhaps she had a secret wild side and slept in red satin or, even better, nothing at all. The prim presentation could be a front, a facade that kept unwanted attention at a distance.

You must be Sergeant Mangino, my ass.

Her bedroom faced the street. At least, Dante assumed it was her bedroom, since that was where the last light of the night remained on. Yeah, that was her bedroom. He could see no more than lacy, feminine curtains, and still, he knew. She was there, sitting up in her bed with that book or papers from work in her lap. Maybe there was a television in that room and she was catching the news.

Sitting alone in his car, he smiled. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her right away, but he would never forget Sarabeth Caldwell and those few weeks they’d spent so much time together. They had run in such dissimilar circles that they never should’ve met, but in a small town it had been inevitable.

Her date at a summer party for the popular kids—a party Dante had crashed, thanks to cousin Jesse—had drunk too much beer and had ended up making out with one of Sarabeth’s friends. Moron. The other girl had been easy and, as he remembered, well developed, but she had not been nearly as pretty as Sarabeth.

He remembered stepping outside to smoke and finding her, shoulders shaking and face in hands. For a moment he’d considered sneaking back into the house before she saw him, but instead he’d offered to drive her home.

She’d quickly said yes because she hadn’t wanted to go back into the party and let the others see her cry. The fact that he had seen her crying hadn’t seemed to matter. He had been temporary. In a few weeks he’d be gone, and it wasn’t as though there had been anyone of importance that he could have told about her embarrassment. He’d known that and hadn’t cared. There was no way he could’ve left her there, alone and miserable, hiding and suffering.

He’d taken Jesse’s keys and promised to be back in a matter of minutes. The flat tire could not have come at a better time.

Dante had changed the tire, and Sarabeth had quit crying. She’d gotten angry and accused him of causing the flat tire. He’d laughed at her and she hadn’t liked that at all. These days he could easily arrange a convenient flat tire, with some planning and the right tools, but back then he hadn’t had a clue. He hadn’t had a clue about a lot of things, truth be told.

Somewhere along the way, he’d kissed Sarabeth. It hadn’t been his first kiss, or hers, but he could still remember kissing her and feeling as if he was falling into nothingness, like nothing else mattered. She’d been a spoiled rich kid who would never have looked his way if she hadn’t needed him, and he’d suspected that the kiss was a revenge of sorts for the cheating boyfriend. None of that had mattered, however, and that kiss had changed everything.

Only one other time in his life had he found himself attracted to a woman who was so totally and completely wrong for him. Whatever contentment he’d found in thinking of the old days with Sarabeth disappeared in a flash as he stared at the house before him and let go of old memories.

Things hadn’t worked out well for Serena. Not at all. Dante didn’t waste his time on women like her—or Sara—anymore. He wasn’t so foolish as to think that he could bring a woman into the world he lived in and then let her go unscathed. Or worse, never let her go at all.

The women who came into and out of his life on a regular basis knew who he was and what he wanted and that he wouldn’t be sticking around for long, and they didn’t care. They lived for the moment, for the night. Four years after her husband’s passing, Sara Vance remained faithful. She likely could not even imagine living for the night, giving herself to a man who wouldn’t stay, throwing herself into the moment strictly for the fun of it. For the pleasure.

Even eighteen years ago she’d been cautious. They’d kissed plenty, and he’d snaked his hand up her blouse more than once, but that had been it. He’d thought he’d die if he didn’t have her, if he didn’t get inside her, but she would have none of it. They’d come close, very close, but in the end Sarabeth Caldwell had been the one to get away, the one female he’d wanted to distraction and had not had. Maybe that was lucky for her.

Around ten-fifteen, the light in her bedroom was switched off. A moment later, the lace curtains at that window moved, very slightly. Was she watching him, now? Did she realize or care that he was keeping an eye on her?

The curtain fell, and he waited. Knowing Sara, she was likely to come storming out of the house in a thick, ugly bathrobe, still managing to look sexy as all get out. She’d order him off her street. She’d order him to go back to his lonely little duplex and get some sleep. When that didn’t happen, he waited for his cell to ring. She was the mayor, after all, and getting his cell number from Jesse wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes.

But no one came running out of the house, and his phone didn’t ring. Maybe she hadn’t seen him after all.

It was after midnight when Dante finally headed toward his rented duplex to grab a few hours of sleep. He was restless, unsettled. It had been a while since he’d thought about Serena. As he drove down the deserted Tillman streets, he wondered if he’d dream of colorful silk and creamy skin, or slit throats and unheard screams.

When the door to her office opened without warning, Sara’s head snapped up. After yesterday evening’s disturbing events, she was more than a little on edge. Jumpy. She was downright jumpy. She was relieved to see her friend Patty walk in, bearing two tall disposable cups of coffee. Dressed for work in a conservative blue suit, with her long dark hair pulled back into a sleek bun, Patty looked very much the professional. There was no hint of the wild child she had once been—not outwardly.

A couple times a week, Patty stopped by on her way to work at the bank. They had coffee and talked for a few minutes. Now that Patty was married, they didn’t get to spend as much time together as they had when Patty had been single and sworn off men, and Sara had been widowed less than a year and newly relocated to Tillman. Sara would never begrudge her friend happiness, but she did miss those days when they’d spent so much time together. Much of that time had been spent convincing themselves that they did not need or want male companionship of any sort. She’d actually believed that for a long time.

“The highlights look good,” Patty said.

Sara patted her tightly restrained hair. “I had it done Friday afternoon. You don’t think it’s too much?” For years she’d worried more than she should about her image. As a Caldwell, as a Vance, as the wife of an assistant district attorney—as mayor. She wore conservative suits that never felt quite right and fashionable shoes that too often pinched her toes. It came with the job, she told herself.

“Not at all. It’s cute.” Patty looked Sara up and down in that way only a good friend could, and her smile faded. “You didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sara sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

“I warned you being mayor wouldn’t be a bed of roses.”

“Many times,” Sara said with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. She sighed in delight. The coffee from Bubba’s Quick Stop was so much better than the sludge her secretary made every morning. Patty sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, and Sara relaxed. This would likely be the most pleasant part of her day, so she might as well enjoy it. “It wasn’t exactly city business that kept me up half the night,” she confessed.

Something in her voice grabbed Patty’s attention. The woman’s eyes sparkled. Aah, yes, there was that hint of the wild child. Her spine straightened. Her lips curved into a smile. “What’s going on?”

Being very careful with her words, Sara told her friend about everything that had happened yesterday. She tried not to make Dante sound too interesting, or even to make him a too-important part of the story. He was ancillary, a necessary evil, no different than any other officer who might’ve been investigating her case. Patty had moved to Tillman her senior year of high school, months after the fiasco with Dante had ended, and there had been no reason to tell her—or anyone else—what had happened. So Sara told the story as if she’d never seen Dante before yesterday.

She did, however, have to end the telling with her looking out of her bedroom window late at night and seeing his car sitting on the street, and she also had to admit that she’d felt comforted at the sight.

“And you didn’t call me?” Patty asked, incensed.

“It was too late.”

“You could’ve called me long before you saw the car on the street. Someone delivers replacement undies, very nice stuff to hear you tell it, to your house and you don’t even call?”

“You have supper at your in-laws every Tuesday,” Sara argued.

“And I’m always happy to be interrupted,” Patty replied. Her eyes narrowed. “There’s more. There’s something you’re not telling me. This Dante Mangino.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee.

“Tell me about him.”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Sara said. “He’s Chief Edwards’s cousin. Apparently he has a lot of experience and has agreed to stay on for a while and help with training and investigations.”

“So why is he sitting outside your window late at night? Was it creepy?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, do you think he’s the underwear thief?”

“No!”

“If this was a movie, he’d be the one,” Patty argued.

“He’s new in town, there’s the underwear theft, sexy stuff is delivered while he’s there, you see him watching your house late at night…”

“If it’s Dante, then who left the box and rang the doorbell while he was standing in my foyer?”

Patty grimaced. “A small detail easily explained away. Somehow.”

“Dante is just…he worries too much, I suppose.” Sara gave a nonchalant wave of her hand, doing her best to dismiss the man in every way. “He sees a shadow and he believes there’s a danger in it. He sees the worst possible scenario in everything he runs across. A couple of unhappy letters and a panty thief, and he’s got me under surveillance.” If not for him, she wouldn’t even be worried about the letters or the underwear. A little bothered, maybe, but not really worried.

Patty cocked her head. “You’re already calling this Mangino character by his first name. That’s rather interesting, knowing you and the way your brain works. Hmm. You also very quickly and decisively dismissed him as a suspect. What does he look like? Is he as hot as his cousin?”

Hotter. “I suppose some women would think he’s attractive, in a…different sort of way from Jesse Edwards.”

“Different how?” Patty could be very persistent.

“Just different.”

Patty smiled. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You’ve got that little twitch to your lips. It’s a dead giveaway. I haven’t seen that twitch since college!” Patty’s grin was insanely wide. “When do I get to meet him?”

Never, if I have anything to say about it. “I’m sure you’ll run into him eventually,” Sara said, cursing the ease with which her old friend could read her. A twitch? Why hadn’t anyone ever told her she had a twitch? “He’s going to be around until I can come up with more money for payroll and Chief Edwards hires more qualified men.”

Patty ignored the subject change to city business. “How serious is it? Are we talking love at first sight?”

Sara sighed and drank more coffee. It was a nice little stall but didn’t last long enough. Finally she said, “There’s nothing at all serious going on here, and even if there were, I don’t believe in love at first sight and you know it.”

“Lust at first sight?” Patty asked without pause.

Again, Sara hesitated. She didn’t believe in that, either, not for a woman thirty-five years old. Not for a woman who’d had her heart broken, first by desertion by choice and later by desertion by death. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Maybe I was just having an off day.” Maybe, even though she did her best to dismiss it as unimportant, the theft and anonymous gift had rattled her more than she’d realized, and a capable man, any capable man, was a comfort.

Maybe she’d simply been alone too long.

Natalie Douglas, Sara’s secretary and maker of terrible coffee, knocked briefly and then opened the door. The young woman was truly beautiful, with pale blond hair stylishly cut, cool gray eyes and a figure any woman would kill for. She was also a more than capable assistant and a whiz with computers. If they could just get past the bad coffee thing…

“There’s a Sergeant Mangino here to see you. Should I tell him to wait?”

“No!” Patty said with a smile. “Bring him to us immediately.”

Natalie ignored Patty’s enthusiastic direction and looked to her boss for an answer, and after a moment Sara nodded her head. “Send him in.”

Patty’s smile widened, and Natalie cast a furtive and blatantly interested glance over her shoulder. Did Dante have this effect on every woman he met? Probably. She should consider that fair warning where he was concerned.

Natalie opened the office door wider, and Dante stepped inside. He glared down at the cup of coffee he had foolishly poured himself in the outer office. “Good God, you could tar a roof with this.”

Whenever Sara had carefully and kindly mentioned that perhaps Natalie could make the coffee less strong, the woman had been insulted. Now she took the cup from Dante’s hand and promised, in a heartfelt, apologetic voice, to pour it all out and make a better pot. When he added a “Thanks, darlin’,” Natalie actually blushed and bit her lower lip in a coy manner.

Sara was momentarily ashamed of her own gender.

Dante nodded to Patty, who all but dropped her jaw at the sight of him. Yes, he was studly, but really…get a grip.

“Do you have those letters?” he asked without preamble, his attention entirely focused on Sara.

“I gathered them together first thing.” She handed over the thin stack, certain he wouldn’t find anything alarming but not altogether sorry that he was going to check to be sure. Dante shook his head at her as he put on a pair of gloves. Only then did he take the stack of letters.

Patty stood. “I have to go or I’ll be late for work. Don’t forget the sock burning. Saturday night, Lydia’s place, just after dark.”

“I’ll be there,” Sara said.

Patty closed the door on her way out, and when she was gone Dante lifted his head to look at Sara. “Sock burning?”

She gave him a genuine smile. “It’s a tradition a couple of friends and I have. Every spring, we gather up all the mismatched socks we’ve managed to accumulate during the year, and we burn them. Lydia lives outside town on a large piece of property. We build a bonfire and ceremoniously dispose of the socks whose mates went missing in the dryer or just got lost or damaged along the way. Except that year we were having such a drought. We skipped the sock burning that year.”

“I have a similar tradition,” Dante deadpanned. “I throw mismatched socks in the trash.”

Must be a man thing. Robert had voiced the same thought, a time or two, back in the days when the bonfires had been planned around infrequent trips home to see family and friends. He had never understood or embraced the annual sock burning, but he had tolerated the event with a smile. Sara remembered well. She thought of Robert and she smiled herself, and this time his memory didn’t hurt. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I didn’t know there had to be fun involved in disposing of…” He stopped abruptly and began carefully riffling through the letters. “Never mind. I should know by now never to question a woman’s logic since there usually is none.”

She could argue that point with him, but chose not to. Not now, at least. “What do you do for fun these days?” The question was out of her mouth before she had time to think it through.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “My idea of fun includes explosives and big guns, or copious amounts of alcohol and loose women.” He glanced up, pinning those dark eyes on her. “And in case you’re wondering, no. The two various forms of recreation don’t mix.”

“Good to know,” she said softly. Her voice took on a different tone as she asked, “Will there be anything else? I have a busy morning planned.”

Dante very gently shook the letters in her direction. “No, this’ll do it. Have a good day.” He dismissed her and turned just as Natalie opened the door. The smitten secretary held a foam cup of steaming coffee in one hand.

“I hope you like this better,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly.

Dante smiled at her. “I’m sure I will, darlin’.”

It took all Sara’s willpower not to snort out loud.

And once the door closed, her first thought was that Dante Mangino had never called her darlin’.

Chapter 3

There was nothing even remotely alarming in the letters Sara had saved. They were all about potholes and city parks, annual festivals and liquor sales. The letters contained no threats, unless you counted the ominous “I will never vote for you again.”

The sexy undies that had been dropped on Sara’s porch were on their way to Bennings’ lab for fingerprinting. Some moron with a sick sense of humor was likely having a bit of fun with the mayor, but when Dante showed up on his doorstep, the fun would end.

The mayor’s office was up one flight of stairs and down one long hallway. Dante was tempted to return the letters to Sara personally, just to see for himself that she was all right. Dumb idea. She was fine. A twisted admirer had stolen her underwear and then replaced it, either because he felt guilty about the theft or because he wanted to envision her in the colorful silk. Either way, there was no danger here, no need for his concern.

Maybe he was overly cautious, but he had one woman’s death on his head and he wouldn’t let that happen again. His internal alarm system was usually accurate, but it had been known to malfunction on occasion. That internal alarm was malfunctioning now, screaming at him because he found himself comparing Sara and Serena in too many ways.

The afternoon was spent training a couple of the newer guys, two cousins not entirely unlike Dante and Jesse, as they had been many years ago. Billy Nance and Sammy Bender were young and eager and more than a little bit competitive. Billy was blond and blue-eyed; Sammy was darker and more intense. They would make good cops if they decided to stick with it.

Training, Dante could handle. He actually relished the work because it allowed him to focus his attentions on someone and something other than the mayor and her panty thief. Since he’d been with Bennings from the beginning, he had often been involved in training. The recruits for the Benning Agency were usually older and more experienced than these guys, but they were no less dedicated. Of course, most of the Benning agents were there for the money, while Billy and Sammy were relentlessly dedicated and hopelessly green, ready and willing to save the world.

Dante enjoyed showing the cousins—the hard way—how ill-prepared they were for physical attack. He liked surprising them with new and unexpected moves, and he really liked it when he saw the ah-ha moment on their faces and knew they’d gotten what he was trying to teach them. If their careers kept them in Tillman, it was possible they would never be in a situation that required these skills. Still, a man could never be too prepared, even if he lived and worked in a town where the last exchanged gunfire left no one so much as scratched, and afterward both men involved had rushed to the police station to file a complaint against the other party. It wasn’t a bad way to live, if you could stand the lack of excitement. Dante wasn’t sure he could. Working for Bennings for so long had turned him into a danger junkie. He needed the rush of adrenaline, the accelerated heartbeat, the uncertainty.

Even though throughout the afternoon the green recruits both ended up in the air and on their backs—multiple times—they remained eager to learn and willing to take whatever punishment was necessary to prepare themselves for what might come their way. When Billy managed to toss his instructor to his back, through the rush of pain Dante felt like a proud papa.

The chief met Dante as training finished for the day. His cousin wore a wide smile. Jesse had always been the golden boy of the family, and that had not changed. He’d married a sweet girl who’d dutifully given birth to two sons and a daughter. He’d been a detective in Birmingham for years before taking the job here in Tillman, coming home like a good son and making his mama proud.

When Billy and Sammy were on their way back to the station, breathless and exhilarated and out of hearing range, Jesse said, “Aunt Debra loves the haircut. She says it makes you look years younger, and maybe now you can get a woman.”

Dante glared. “Where is she?”

“No need to look over your shoulder,” Jesse said with a grin. “Your mom’s still in Florida. We sent her a picture.”

Dante could not remember having his picture taken since getting the haircut required for this job. He could only imagine his mother’s delight. They didn’t speak often, but when they did, his hair, a job she could explain to her friends, the right kind of woman and the grandchildren she did not have were always subjects of conversation. “How?”

“Janice took a shot with her cell phone when you were over for supper last week. She sent it to Aunt Debra by e-mail.”

“I hate technology,” Dante said as he headed for his car.

Jesse laughed and followed. He was likely waiting for Dante to say something, anything, about the mayor. Jesse was the only person in the world who knew about what happened that summer. He was also the only person in the world who knew how Dante had felt about Sarabeth Caldwell, way back when. Dante didn’t alleviate his cousin’s curiosity about the reunion. Jesse had obviously thought it would be a great joke to send Dante in unprepared. He could stew a while.

“Want to come by for supper tonight?” Jesse asked.

“Ethan has baseball practice, but he’ll be finished by six.”

“No, thanks,” Dante said.

“You’re just mad because Janice told you that you can’t use the s word or the f word at a Little League game.”

“Or any of the c words,” Dante added. “Besides, I only slipped up once, and none of the kids heard me.”

“No, but one of the mothers did,” Jesse said with a grin. “She went straight to Janice, too.”

Which is likely why Janice had snapped a photo and sent it to his mother. Revenge. “I have plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

“A run. A shower. A quick supper. Simple.” Maybe not so simple if he worked in an evening stroll with the mayor. He’d probably ride by her place. He’d probably stop if he saw her leave the house. He’d probably drive around the block until he knew for sure that she was in for the night—or not. Maybe he’d just go to her door and forget the sneaky tactics. Dammit, he’d seen too much bad stuff in the past few years. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t write off Sara’s recent troubles as nothing of concern, not without knowing more.

Sara dressed for her walk, then sat in the foyer and placed her hands in her lap. She was not a coward. She would not become a coward. And still, she couldn’t help but remember how anxious she’d felt last night when she hadn’t known Dante was following her. What if the man who’d stolen her underwear and replaced it with teeny slips of colorful silk was out there right now, watching? What if he had been watching for weeks or months? She shuddered.

She’d never minded living alone. She missed Robert, of course—she’d cried for his loss for a long time. But she’d never been afraid to be alone, to make her own way, to live in this big house on her own. Not until now.

Some days she thought it wasn’t fair that she had lost so much. Her mother when she was just four; her father not long after she’d turned twelve. She’d had her grandfather, her beloved Papa, of course, and had never felt unloved or abandoned, but now even he was gone. Grandparents, parents, Robert…

When the doorbell rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She sprang toward the door and peeked through the glass panel beside it, pulling back the fabric that offered some gauzy privacy. She almost melted in relief when she saw Dante standing there. No suit tonight. He was dressed in a T-shirt and longish shorts and running shoes. There was also no gun, not that she could see.

She opened the door.

“You’re late,” he said simply.

“For what?”

“You said you walk at the same time every evening, so you’re late.”

“I was thinking of skipping my walk tonight,” she confessed.

He took in her attire—tennis shoes and shorts and T-shirt—and lifted his eyebrows.

“All right,” she confessed, “I was sitting here about to chicken out. I wondered if the sicko who left that underwear on my porch might be watching. If that makes me a coward, then so be it.”

“It makes you smart. Cautious,” he added. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” And then he grinned. “Besides, I’m here to keep you company on your walk. I need a bit of exercise myself.”

She doubted her idea of exercise would raise so much as a bead of sweat on his body, but she didn’t argue. “I’ll grab my house keys.”

Yesterday she had been a bit stunned by Dante’s presence on her doorstep and in her usually staid life. Tonight as they walked she was more comfortable. She didn’t wonder if anyone was watching. She didn’t care. They talked about Tillman and how it had changed in recent years, and they talked about Jesse and his family—mostly the kids. Sara felt a bitter pang as they talked about the newest addition to the family, little Olivia. She’d wanted children, at least one child, but Robert had convinced her that they had plenty of time. As an assistant D.A. he worked such long hours, he hadn’t thought it would be fair to her to bring a child into the world when he wasn’t home more to be a proper father. When he went into private practice, the time would be better. They had years to plan their family. He’d been wrong, and now here she was, thirty-five years old, alone, burying herself in politics and charities to make the days fly past.

Suddenly it seemed she didn’t want the days to fly past. What was she missing by hiding so much of herself away? Was it really too late?

“Do you have children?” she asked, trying to make the question sound casual and meaningless.

Dante reacted quickly and with decisiveness. “No. Not my thing.”

He said it wasn’t his “thing,” but Dante would be a protective father, she imagined. Maybe he wouldn’t be involved in Little League and school activities the way his cousin was, but he wouldn’t be neglectful or uncaring. He had taken to protecting her quite easily. She could only imagine how he would be with a child.

She’d be a wonderful mother, if only she had the chance….

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. She wasn’t getting any younger. Sara squirmed in her own skin. Was she hiding here in Tillman where she felt safe? Was she so afraid of losing again that she’d shut down her hopes and desires? She hadn’t been so acutely aware of her ticking biological clock until Dante had appeared on her doorstep. Coincidence? Unlikely. Very unlikely.

“Let me make you dinner,” she said as her house came into view.

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

“I know it’s not necessary.” She stopped where the sidewalk met the walkway to her front door. For a moment she looked into his eyes, not flinching at the power she saw there, not ignoring the potent pull that had not diminished in eighteen years. No wonder she had fallen into his arms so easily, all those years ago. No wonder she had gotten lost in his kiss. Even now, their chemistry was explosive. She’d never known anything like it.

“I want you to stay. I want to talk. I’d like to know what your life has been like since I saw you last.” Would it be too telling to admit that she was tired of eating alone almost every night? Would it be too forward to admit that she simply didn’t want him to go? “Providing a meal is the least I can do to thank you for keeping me company so I can walk in peace.”

Dante did hesitate, but not for long. “Sure. Why not?”

He shouldn’t be here. Sitting in Sara’s kitchen watching her cook and listening to her talk seemed to pull at him, as if she were drawing him into her life one tiny bit at a time. She was a woman now, not a girl, but her movements and the tone of her voice were familiar enough to make that pull seem easy and natural.

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