“Make Me Stop,” He Said. “Tell Me This Is Wrong.”

Natalie froze. “I can’t.” She wanted to caress his face, to follow the angles and hard lines, to shape them with her hands. But she couldn’t seem to summon the courage.

“Say it,” he beckoned.

Silent, she remained where she was, her body flooded with warmth. She needed him, and she couldn’t bear to let go, to lose the connection. He closed his eyes. With a quaking hand, she pressed her palm to his chest and felt the erratic beats.

When he opened his eyes, she took her hand away. A minute passed. Or mabe it was a second. For Natalie, time stood still.

“I can’t,” she said again. “I can’t tell you it’s wrong.”

“Then I’m taking you.” Zack’s voice turned rough. “I’m taking all of you.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to another passionate month at Silhouette Desire. A Scandal Between the Sheets is breaking out as Brenda Jackson pens the next tale in the scintillating DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS series. We all love the melodrama and mayhem that surrounds this Southern family—how about you?

The superb Beverly Barton stops by Silhouette Desire with an extra wonderful title in her bestselling series THE PROTECTORS. Keeping Baby Secret will keep you on the edge of your seat—and curl your toes all at the same time. What would you do if you had to change your name and your entire history? Sheri WhiteFeather tackles that compelling question when her heroine is forced to enter the witness protection program in A Kept Woman. Seems she was a kept woman of another sort, as well…so be sure to pick up this fabulous read if you want the juicy details.

Kristi Gold has written the final, fabulous installment of THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY series with Fit for a Sheikh. (But don’t worry, we promise those sexy cattlemen with be back.) And rounding out the month are two wonderful stories filled with an extra dose of passion: Linda Conrad’s dramatic Slow Dancing With A Texan and Emilie Rose’s suppercharged A Passionate Proposal.

Enjoy all we have to offer this month—and every month—at Silhouette Desire.

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

A Kept Woman
Sheri Whitefeather

SHERI WHITEFEATHER

lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, attending powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri’s husband, a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, inspires many of her stories. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817. Visit her Web site at www.SheriWhiteFeather.com.

To my readers:

Many of you have commented that you enjoy stories

that push the envelope, and A Kept Woman

is no exception. I was particularly fascinated by the

early days of WITSEC (the witness protection program)

and decided to combine some of the early security

methods with the modern program. A Kept Woman

is my interpretation of a security field inspector toppling

into a forbidden, heart-bound affair with a witness.

This story blends fact, fiction and creative liberties and

does not necessarily represent the inner workings

of this highly effective and controversial program.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

One

Natalie Pascal was nervous. Deputy U.S. Marshal Zack Ryder sensed it from the moment he saw her. As a WITSEC field inspector, he’d encountered plenty of edgy witnesses, and this stunning blonde was no exception. Scanning the passengers filtering into the baggage claim area, he moved forward to make his presence known, to greet the woman he’d been assigned to relocate.

“Natalie.” He said her name and she looked up and caught his gaze. For a moment, they just stood in the midst of a bustling airport, staring at each other. Like strangers, he thought, whose lives were about to collide.

“So you’re him,” she said.

He nodded. “Yep. I’m him. Zack Ryder.” Her field inspector, the deputy marshal who would help Nancy Perris adjust to her new identity, to becoming Natalie Pascal.

She didn’t extend her hand and he didn’t offer his. He figured she wasn’t keen on shaking hands with a lawman, on being too friendly. He’d seen old photographs of her; he knew her history. Prior to her acceptance into the Witness Security Program, she’d been a hot-as-sin, buxom brunette, as well as the girlfriend of a Los Angeles mobster.

These days, she was a reed-thin blonde, with stylishly cropped hair and tinted contacts. The golden-brown color made her eyes seem cougarlike, but he supposed the smoky black liner enhanced the effect, too. Tall and chic, she wore an elegant pantsuit, tailored to fit her slim form.

Zack motioned to the luggage turntable. “Let me know when you see your bags.”

She shifted her purse, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “There’s only one.”

He didn’t comment. He already knew she was traveling light. WITSEC would deliver the rest of her belongings, what little there was. Natalie had liquidated just about everything she owned, everything her mobster boyfriend had given her. “So,” he said, reverting to small talk. “How was your flight?”

She glanced away, making him aware of her discomfort. Arriving in an unfamiliar city to meet an unfamiliar man couldn’t be easy. But it beat the hell out of the alternative, he thought. Natalie had agreed to testify against her former lover. And if the mob found her, they would kill her. Her old boyfriend wasn’t an underling. He was David Halloway, the new boss of the West Coast Family.

Finally, she shifted her gaze back to his, and when she did, they stared at each other again. “My flight was fine. Just fine,” she added in a cracked whisper, in a voice so low he could barely hear it.

Because he got the crazy notion to touch her, he broke eye contact. Was she for real? Or was she playing head games? He’d expected her to be a revamped gun moll, but he hadn’t predicted the delicate edge of vulnerability.

Zack remained silent. He was pretty good at idle chitchat. But at the moment, communicating with this woman eluded him.

“That one is mine,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

She motioned to a suitcase on the turntable. “The one with the gold ribbon.”

“Got it.” A bit terse, he reached for the bag. Over the years, he’d learned not to trust too deeply, not to allow the criminals-turned-witnesses to con him, not to BS their way into his good graces. He wasn’t about to get compromised, especially by a mistress.

He turned to face her, and she took a step back, confusing him even more. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, and he guided her to the parking lot. It was his job to protect her, to give her a chance to start a new life. And Zack was damn good at his job.

Silent, Natalie walked beside him. Her strides weren’t as long as his, but they were close. She moved like a runway model, like a lean, lithe, sexual creature—a woman who’d gotten by on her looks.

They reached his black sedan and he popped the trunk and stowed her bag. When he opened the passenger door for her, she gave him a hesitant look. Did she think he had a trick up his sleeve because he was behaving like a gentleman?

He climbed behind the wheel, and she buckled her seat belt and gazed out the windshield. He reached for his cigarettes and shook one from the pack. Igniting the tip, he inhaled a gust of nicotine and tobacco, a habit he had no intention of breaking. At forty, he was more than set in his ways.

Squinting through a haze of smoke, Zack backed out of the parking stall, wishing Natalie didn’t rub him the wrong way. He’d relocated criminals, as well as innocent people. Husbands, wives, children. Families who’d sacrificed their safety to do the right thing. He wasn’t sure where Natalie Pascal fit in. For the first time in his career, a witness had managed to baffle him.

He slid her a sideways glance, and she pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She placed her hands on her lap. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“This is a monumental change. Different from what you’re used to.”

“I can handle it.”

Could she? he wondered. She’d been a kept woman for most of her adult life and, at twenty-nine, that left her out of the mainstream loop. “It’s okay to be scared.”

She barely blinked. “Scared? About relocating to Idaho? I’m looking forward to living in Coeur d’Alene. I’ve heard it’s a nice place.”

“Yes, it is.” But he wasn’t buying her I’m-in-control facade. Although WITSEC had provided her with psychological counseling to prepare her for the move, she was still anxious, he thought. Restless about her future, afraid the West Coast Family would find her.

“WITSEC showed me a videotape of Coeur d’Alene,” she said.

“I know,” he responded, wondering why she’d agreed to testify against her former lover. Revenge? Fear? With Natalie, he couldn’t be sure.

What kind of woman would sleep with a mobster? A married mobster, no less. Her affair with David Halloway shouldn’t matter, but the idea twisted Zack’s gut, reminding him of the day he’d caught his ex-wife in bed with another man.

When his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, he eased his grip. In a roundabout way, his wife had blamed him for her infidelity, claiming his job had interfered with their marriage. But that was a load of bull. In Zack’s mind, cheating was cheating. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault.

Natalie stared straight ahead, watching the bumper of the car in front of them. For the past thirty minutes, the ride had been quiet, the conversation stilted.

Why did Zack Ryder have to remind her of David? They didn’t look anything alike, but the deputy marshal was big and tough and brimming with power. He possessed a domineering presence, just like David. The man she’d loved. The man who’d destroyed her.

She shifted in her seat, then turned to study Zack’s profile. His neatly trimmed hair was a deep, dark shade of brown, and his temples and sideburns bore faint threads of gray. He was handsome, in a hard, imposing sort of way. She knew WITSEC inspectors were highly trained security specialists, but Zack made her nervous. Then again, this whole experience made her nervous.

The trial was still a ways off, but the Marshal Service had promised to provide around-the-clock protection when she returned to L.A. to testify. Of course, this was different. Zack wouldn’t be with her twenty-four hours a day. Natalie wasn’t in a “danger area.” She was on highway 90, heading for Coeur d’Alene.

WITSEC had gone to great lengths to establish her new identity, to alter her appearance, to help Nancy Perris disappear. They’d kept her in a secure location until they felt it was safe to put her on a plane and send her to Idaho. To meet Zack Ryder.

He glanced over at her and for one pulse-jarring second, she froze. When he turned back to the road, she let out the breath she’d been holding.

In spite of the help she’d been getting from the Marshal Service, Natalie wasn’t comfortable around lawmen. The good-cop bad-cop thing set her on edge. She could never tell who was who.

“We’re almost there,” Zack said.

“We are?” She opened her purse, prepared to reapply her lipstick, then realized what she was doing. Fumbling with her bag, she cursed her stupidity. David had encouraged her to primp, to make sure she looked perfect every time she appeared in public. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to break. Her fingers itched to secure her compact, but she closed her purse instead. She wasn’t about to flip open her mirror and gloss up her lips in front of Zack.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Still stressing over her compact, she looked up. “What?”

“Do you want to eat?”

She shook her head. Food was the furthest thing from her mind.

He gave her a quick study. “I’ll bet you refused the meal on your plane, too.”

Natalie didn’t respond. She’d been told that her field inspector would play a definitive role in her relocation, that his commitment to her would be on a long-term basis. Yet she couldn’t imagine sharing her emotions with this man. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d awakened this morning, fresh from a nightmare and battling a stomachache.

He exited the highway and headed into town. Curious, she peered out the window. The sidewalks of Coeur d’Alene were busy, the shops quaint and inviting. She liked the idea of living in a resort community, but her quest for independence wasn’t nearly as liberating as she’d hoped it would be. The newness made her feel like a knobby-kneed kid on the first day of school.

As Zack turned onto another street and pulled into a parking lot, she noticed the sandwich shop. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting us some lunch.”

“Us?”

“Yes, us. We’re both going to eat. I’m not going to let you waste away. Not on my watch.”

Because his concern seemed genuine, she fought a wave of confusion. He was big and strong, and a part of her wanted to cling to him. But she’d made that mistake with David. No matter how lonely she was, no matter how much she longed for a friend, she wouldn’t allow herself to need another man. Not even her field inspector.

“You don’t have to fuss over me,” she told him.

“Good grief, woman. It’s just a sandwich.”

No, she thought. It was more than that. So much more.

Zack got out of the car, leaving her alone with her thoughts. He disappeared into the eatery, and she recalled the first meal David had bought her. She’d been a love-starved teenager living on the streets, seduced by the comfort of one simple lunch.

Zack returned a short while later. He put the sodas he’d purchased in the cup holder between their seats and handed her the bag. “You can have your pick. Ham and cheese or roast beef and avocado.”

When their gazes locked, she realized her stomachache was gone. In its place was a warm little flutter. God help her, she thought. She was attracted to him.

Stunned by the sexual pull, she glanced at his left hand. She didn’t see a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. David hadn’t worn a ring, either. In the beginning, she hadn’t known her lover was married.

“Ham and cheese is fine,” she said, guilt clouding her mind. She’d left David when she’d learned the truth, but it hadn’t taken long for him to convince her to return to him, to be his mistress. And that shamed her most of all.

Zack started the car, and she realized he was taking her to her new home. She’d been told that he would rent her a place, a temporary dwelling until she could find a house of her own.

Natalie kept the sandwich bag on her lap, crinkling a corner of the paper. The rustling sound was better than silence, she decided. Better than the strange energy between her and Zack.

He headed toward the lake, and she rolled down the window to breathe in a gust of fresh air. She could see a glimpse of the water, sparkling in the distance. A body of blue, she thought. As tranquil as a tourist’s dream, as active as a child’s imagination.

Her view of the lake disappeared when he turned onto a tree-lined street. Natalie had never lived in an area like this. She’d been welfare poor; she’d been mistress rich. But she’d never fit into the white-picket-fence world.

He guided the car down a long driveway and stopped at a cozy guest house. Her heart bumped her chest. The windows were trimmed in yellow and the lawn was freshly mowed.

“Is this mine? I expected an apartment.”

He parked his sedan and cut the engine. “It rents by the month, so it didn’t require a lease. The owners live up front. They’re a young family. They seem like nice folks.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

“That you’re a friend of mine who plans to open a boutique in Coeur d’Alene.”

That was close to the truth, she thought. Except for the friend part. “Did you mention that you’re a deputy?”

“Yes, but no one outside the Marshal Service knows I’m with WITSEC. As far as your landlords are concerned, I’m just a local deputy.”

Natalie fell silent. It was obvious his badge had closed the deal. Who wouldn’t trust a federal lawman?

When he exited the car, she followed suit, carrying the sandwich bag. He turned to look at her, and when that little flutter returned to her stomach, she struggled to temper it.

The June air was warm, and a mild breeze blew. Zack stood tall and dark in a black jacket and matching trousers. The sun had bronzed his skin and his eyes were marked with tiny lines. Frown lines, she thought. He shifted their sodas, then handed her one, searching his pockets for the keys to her new home. She wondered if he’d been raised in this area. Maybe he was a member of the Coeur d’Alene Indian tribe. Zack looked as if he might be part Native American.

Finally, he located the keys and unlocked the front door. She stepped inside and tried to contain her excitement. The living room presented a stone hearth, and the kitchen had French doors that led to a barbecue deck. Already she loved it.

“There isn’t much here by the way of furnishings,” he said. “I got you a bed and a dresser. And a dining room table. Just a few things to help you get by. You can pick out whatever else you need.”

“Thank you.” When their eyes met, an indefinable moment passed between them. Heat? Hunger? A stream of tenderness? Natalie couldn’t tell.

“But just remember that you’re on a budget,” he added. “WITSEC will foot the bill for your furniture, but they aren’t going to provide the fancy-ass stuff Halloway used to buy for you.”

She tried not to flinch. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse you for what? Being spoiled? Don’t worry, you’ll get over it.”

Natalie’s heart fell. Yes, she had slept with a married man. And yes, she was guilty, shamed to the bone. But wasn’t it enough that David’s wife vowed to see her dead? Did she have to be judged by a U.S. marshal, as well? Summoning the strength to defy him, she held his gaze. “At least I have enough money to start a business.”

“By selling off everything lover-boy gave you? That’s not the same as earning it.”

She held her ground. “I’m sure it’s more than you have.”

He didn’t back down. “I’ve made some investments.”

She pushed the issue. “I probably still have more than you.”

“Maybe, but I’m not a hot-looking blonde.” He shrugged, then made a silly joke, turning the tide with his offbeat humor. “Can you imagine some mobster putting me up in a condo? Dressing me in sexy lingerie?”

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

“You’re a jerk, Deputy. And you’re not funny.”

He grinned at her. “Then how come you’re fighting a smile?”

Because I’m an idiot, she thought. And she’d been charmed by jerks before. Refusing to break down and smile, she grabbed her drink and sucked on the straw.

“So what do you think of this place?” he asked.

Feigning indifference, she swallowed the soda. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay? I thought it was perfect for a single woman. It even has one of those glamour bathrooms. Big sunken tub, lights around the mirror.” He took the sandwiches from her and placed them on the dining room table. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She accepted the tour, but she kept her distance, making sure their hands didn’t accidentally touch or their shoulders didn’t brush when she squeezed past him in the hallway.

The curtains in the bedroom matched the carpet, and the brass bed he’d provided was made up with a fluffy white quilt and lacy pillows. She shot him a curious glance.

He defended his choice. “What the hell do I know? It seemed like something a woman would like. Besides, it was on sale.”

She thought the bed was pretty, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Where do you live?” she asked, wondering what sort of furnishings he favored.

“I commute between a cabin in the mountains and a house in the city.”

But he wasn’t going to tell her what mountain range or what city, she realized. He knew everything about her, but she wasn’t privy to personal information about him.

“You have my pager number, don’t you?” he asked suddenly.

Natalie nodded. WITSEC had provided it.

“It’s a satellite pager,” he said. “I won’t miss your calls.” He moved toward the dresser, where a telephone sat. “I left a list of local numbers, too. Fire, police. But if you think you’re in danger, call the one at the top. That’ll bring a squad of marshals to your door.”

Her pulse jumped to her throat. She hoped and prayed that she would never have to use that number, but she knew the possibility existed.

As Zack continued the tour, she followed, trying to keep her fear in check. In a fit of anger, David had killed one of his associates, then forced her to help him clean up the mess. The blood, the—

“Check out the bathroom.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The bathroom.”

She peered around his shoulder, and he moved out of the way. The tile-lined tub, she noticed, was big enough for two, and a floral-print curtain shielded a separate shower stall.

Speaking of flowers. An artistic bouquet decorated the sink. Pink, purple and red blooms flourished in an elegant glass vase. “Are these from my landlords?”

“No.”

“Then who ordered them?”

“I did.”

Stunned, she merely stared at him. “You?” The man who’d criticized her character? “Are flowers a standard WITSEC procedure?”

“No, but I thought they would brighten up the place.”

“Thank you.” Up until now, she’d been living in a safe-site center, where the doors were electronically bolted and hallways were monitored with security cameras and motion detectors. It hadn’t felt like home.

He finished showing her around and suggested they eat lunch. She sat across from him at the table, confused by his ever changing moods. He seemed judgmental one minute and compassionate the next.

He unwrapped the roast beef sandwich. “I made sure the kitchen was pretty well stocked. Dishes, pots, pans, silverware.” He motioned behind him. “The fridge came with the place. We can go to the market later if you want.”

She picked the onions out of her sandwich. “We?”

“You don’t have a car yet. Who else is supposed to take you shopping?”

Who indeed? Zack Ryder was her only contact in Coeur d’Alene. But that didn’t mean she had to make herself vulnerable to him, she thought. So he’d bought her flowers. So what? It was his job to help witnesses adjust to their new surroundings.

“When can I meet my landlords?” she asked.

“Next week. They’re on vacation right now.”

“What are their names?”

“Steve and Carla. He’s an accountant, and she runs after the kids. A couple of towheaded boys.” Zack chuckled. “From what I gathered, they keep her pretty busy.”

Already Natalie felt a pang of envy. All of her life she’d wanted to be a loving wife and a good, caring mother. But instead, she’d become a toy, a blow-up doll for her lover’s amusement. “I used to be a brunette.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “I’m aware of that, but what does your old hair color have to do with your new landlords?”

“Nothing. You called me a hot-looking blonde earlier. But I was a brunette when I was with David.”

“I wasn’t making a literal statement. And you’re beautiful either way.”

“I don’t need you to compliment me.”

He frowned at her. “I’m not stroking your ego. I’m just stating the facts. You’re going to get a lot of attention no matter where you live. You’re going to turn some heads.”

Was she supposed to downplay her appearance? She’d tried to create a classy image, to mold herself into someone new. “Does that bother you?”

“Why would it?” he responded a bit too defensively.

“No reason.” She tasted her food and battled the annoying little flutter in her stomach. The telltale sign that she was attracted to her field inspector, a man who made her much too aware of her past as another man’s mistress.

Two

Zack didn’t like the sexual vibe that stretched between him and Natalie. He wanted to blame her for it, to tell her to knock it off, but how could he? All she was doing was sitting across from him, rejecting the onions in her sandwich.

But somehow she still managed to stir his imagination. Then again, he’d heard all sorts of things about her. Hot, erotic things. Mob rumors, he supposed. Stories the FBI had passed on to the Marshal Service. Not that Zack normally lent an ear to gossip, but he’d been weaned on organized crime. His uncle had worked for the Marshal Service when the LCN—La Cosa Nostra—had been riding high. And although the West Coast Family wasn’t part of the Italian Mafia, they’d patterned their organization after the guys his uncle used to tell him about.

Zack couldn’t remember who’d circulated the rumors about Natalie. It wasn’t Uncle Joe. He died before the West Coast Family had come into power. But either way, Zack recalled hearing about Nancy Perris. And now here he was, helping her relocate.

According to legend, Nancy was every mobster’s dream. She was good with her hands and even better with her mouth. She got off on arousing David Halloway in public places, in putting her head in his lap.

Was any of that true? Zack didn’t know, but like the red-blooded, sexually obsessed male he was, he had weird fantasies about finding out, about straight-out asking her.

“Is your sandwich okay?” he asked instead.

She nodded and reached for her napkin.

He watched her wipe a drop of mayonnaise from her lips, and while she dabbed at the creamy condiment, his groin sent a dangerous signal to his brain. He nearly cursed out loud. The last thing he needed was to fall under her do-you-want-me-to-put-my-head-in-your-lap? spell. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had done that to him.

“Is yours?” she said.

He shifted in his chair. “Is my what?”

“Sandwich good?”

“I get these pretty often.” He picked up his drink and tried to douse the unwelcome desire. If Zack had a lover, he would go straight home and get laid.

Natalie looked up. “How much time am I going to have to spend with you?”

Too much, he thought. “That depends on how long it takes to get you settled.” For the first month, he normally dealt with a relocated family on a daily, Monday through Friday basis, but he never really knew what to expect. Some witnesses required more guidance than others. “We need to work out a schedule so I can familiarize you with the area, find you a car, help you scout locations for your boutique.” Pausing, he glanced around. “And finish furnishing this house.”

“I want to enroll in school, too.”

“Of course.” He knew she had plans to further her education. All she had was a high-school diploma to her name—her old name and her new one. WITSEC only supplied documents to which a witness was entitled.

“I was told North Idaho College has workforce-training classes.”

Curious, he sat back, gauging her. “What are you interested in taking?”

“Business-related courses.”

Could she be a little more specific? “To prepare you for the boutique?”

She squared her shoulders. “Yes, but I worked at a clothing store. I have experience to rely on, too.”

Her confident posture didn’t fool him. From what he understood, her job as a salesclerk had been short-lived, a few months at best. “That was a long time ago.”

“It’ll come back to me.”

“I’m sure school will help.” According to Natalie’s file, she’d met David Halloway at one of his strip clubs, auditioning to be a lap dancer. And that, he thought, was a far cry from a retail store. “I’ll drive you to the college tomorrow. You can pick up a catalog.”

“What about my furniture? Can we take care of that tomorrow, as well?”

“Sure.”

She blew out an audible breath. “I need to increase my wardrobe, too. My old clothes don’t fit anymore. WITSEC got me some new things, but the selection is rather limited.”

Zack studied the top of her pantsuit. “Looks like you finagled some nice duds to me.”

“Finagled?” Her eyes, those smoky cat eyes, turned sharp. “I’ve gone from a size twelve to a size eight within a matter of months. What was I supposed to wear on this trip? A gunnysack? Or did you expect WITSEC to send me to Idaho naked?”

He cleared his throat. Picturing her naked wasn’t on the agenda. “Fine. I’ll take you to the mall when I get a chance. But don’t ask me to arrange for the funds. That wasn’t part of your MOU.”

“Don’t preach to me about my Memorandum of Understanding. I’m well aware of what was in it.” Defiant, she lifted her chin. “I’m more than capable of buying my own clothes.”

And living on the stipend WITSEC provided, he thought. Until she got her business off the ground, the government would be paying her way.

Finally, they finished their lunch. She crumpled their trash and stuffed it back into the bag. Before things turned tense again, he asked, “Do you want to get groceries now?”

She shook her head. “Truthfully? I don’t feel like going back out.”

“Then give me a list and I’ll take care of it.” He wasn’t about to leave her with an empty fridge. She already looked as though she starved herself.

“That sounds fine to me.” She rose to get her purse, which she’d left on the kitchen counter.

He turned to watch her, to wonder what her audition as a lap dancer had been like. Had she gotten the job? Zack couldn’t be sure. There were no tax records linking her to Halloway’s clubs, but that didn’t mean she and Halloway hadn’t cheated Uncle Sam, keeping Natalie’s earnings off the books.

She returned with a pen and paper and a tiny spiral-bound notebook she must have had in her bag. While she concentrated on a grocery list, he tried to evaluate her. Some of Halloway’s strippers turned tricks, but Natalie had snared the boss.

She handed over the paper, and he scanned the items she’d requested. She’d kept it simple, but she seemed more interested in buying clothes than food. Or taking off her clothes, he reminded himself. Halloway’s clubs were fully nude, with a reputation for being raunchy.

He came to his feet. “Are you sure this is all you want?”

She nodded. “Will you bring my suitcase in before you go?”

He grabbed his keys and went outside. When he came back, she was standing in the living room. The empty background nearly swallowed her whole, and suddenly he didn’t want to leave. Would she be all right by herself? Once again, she looked soft and vulnerable. Nancy Perris. Natalie Pascal. The woman who confused the hell out of him.

The following morning Natalie stood in front of a full-length mirror, assessing her appearance. With clammy fingers, she feathered her shorn hair. She still wasn’t used to being a blonde, but her hair wasn’t the only significant change. Her body was different, too.

Scanning her lean, almost shapeless figure, she smoothed her blouse. Her breast implants had been removed, but eye-popping cleavage would look ridiculous on her now. Besides, David had insisted on increasing the size of her bust. He’d chosen the doctor, booked the consultation and paid for the surgery. Natalie had merely stumbled along like a witless brunette, doting on his generosity. Not that she didn’t think women had a right to endow their bodies, to look and feel more attractive. But pumping up your breasts and squeezing into tight dresses to please a man wasn’t the answer.

With an exhausted sigh, she gazed at her haunted reflection. Brave talk for a woman plagued by nightmares. How many times a week would she have to relive the night of the murder? To remember what David had said to her after the shooting? To recall what he’d done? Natalie had been so shocked, so afraid, so mortally wounded, she’d never told anyone, not even the FBI. Not that it mattered. What had transpired between her and David wouldn’t change the outcome of his trial.

Still standing in front of the mirror, she frowned at the shadows under her eyes. She’d tried to cover them with a concealer, but remnants of a sleepless night still lingered.

Anxious, she glanced at the clock. Zack would be here soon. They’d made arrangements to meet at ten o’clock. She hated being at his mercy, but what could she do? Complain to WITSEC? Tell them her inspector was domineering and critical? Oh, sure. And maybe while she was spouting off, she could admit that she found him sexually stirring, too. That ought to earn her some respect. No, she thought. She wouldn’t involve WITSEC. If she complained, it would be to the man himself.

When the doorbell rang, she nearly jumped. Why did he have to make her so damn nervous?

She answered the summons, and he gave her a polite nod. A silent hello, she supposed. He wore casual clothes: a tan shirt, jeans, a lightweight jacket. He’d also donned a pair of sunglasses. She would prefer to see his eyes. She had the feeling he was scrutinizing her, checking her out beneath the dark shades.

“Ready?” he asked.

She lifted her chin, hoping she appeared more confident than her pounding heart allowed. Natalie kept telling herself that she wasn’t a fraud, but suddenly the idea of going to college seemed a bit too ambitious for a girl who’d barely gotten through high school. “Yes, I’m ready.”

He lit a cigarette, drawing hard and deep. “Then let’s go.”

She led the way to his car. David had been a smoker, too. “That’s a nasty habit.”

“What? This?” He exaggerated his next drag. “It keeps me sane.”

“It’ll probably kill you someday.”

“Beats being crazy.”

By the time they arrived at the Workforce Training Center and picked up a catalog, Natalie decided that having a lawman as an escort wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t the nicest guy in the world, but at least he was armed. Somewhere on his body, he carried a concealed weapon. Was it under his jacket? Holstered to his belt? She’d heard deputy marshals were taught to shoot from the hip. David used to enjoy discussing firearms. Guns were his passion.

“Do you want to see NIC’s main campus?” he asked.

“Sure.” She was curious about North Idaho College, even if the classes she attended would be at the Workforce Training Center.

On the drive to NIC, Zack smoked another cigarette. Natalie spotted the Factory Outlets Mall, but wasn’t about to bring it up. She didn’t want to spar with him again about her clothes. Already the notion of shopping with him weighed heavily on her mind. She would prefer to visit the mall on her own. Of course that meant giving up the comfort of his gun, but she would have to get used to that sooner or later. Zack wasn’t her bodyguard. He wouldn’t be living on her doorstep.

“When are you going to help me find a car?”

He stopped at a red light. “Getting antsy to get back on the road?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

Before the light changed, he snuffed out his cigarette. “What did you drive in your former life?”

“A Mercedes.”

“Let me guess.” He turned to study her, then removed the dark glasses. “An SL500 convertible.” He glanced at the fancy buttons that adorned her blouse. “Silver, with a set of chrome twenties.” When she crossed her arms, his lips tilted in a barely there smile. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Natalie shifted in her seat. The fact that he’d just described her last car, right down to the custom, twenty-inch wheels, set her on edge. What else had he figured out about her? “David didn’t buy it for me. It was leased.”

“Meaning what? That you got a new convertible every couple years?” He chuckled and crossed the intersection. “I think I’ll outfit you in a rusty old Pinto.”

She refused to laugh, to appreciate his sardonic sense of humor. “And I think I’ll outfit you with my fist up your nose.”

He had the gall to grin. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Me, too, she thought, as they arrived at the college.

Five minutes later, Natalie walked beside him, impressed by the spectacular view. NIC’s main campus was located on the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene and the Spokane River. “This is nice.”

“The tuition is affordable, too.” He glanced her way. “Do you want to find a shady spot and look through that catalog?”

She agreed, even though she hadn’t realized that she’d brought the class schedule with her. Silent, they headed toward the nearest shore. The weather was warm, the breeze light and clean. The water stretched for what seemed like an eternity.

He chose a patch of grass beneath a tree. Overall, the campus was quiet, but she assumed summer sessions drew less students. She sat on the ground next to Zack, wondering if he ever picnicked by the lake. The last outdoor activity Natalie had planned had been on the day of the murder, the day David had destroyed her.

Zack moved closer. “Let’s take a look.”

Caught off guard, she opened the catalog. Suddenly she could smell his cologne, a musky scent mingling with the elements.

“How about this?” He pointed to a workshop geared for writing a business plan. “And this?” A financial strategies course.

Natalie turned the next page. “All of these classes seem important,” she said, hoping and praying she could pull this off. In her mind’s eye, she could see the boutique she intended to open. She’d dreamed up every detail, yet deep down she was afraid of failing, of discovering that she’d gotten in over her head. “Did you go to college?”

He nodded. “I have a degree in criminal justice.”

“Oh.” Did she think a WITSEC inspector would be uneducated? Someone she could relate to? “How old are you?”

“Forty.”

She studied his profile. He was the same age as David, but David covered the gray in his hair and worried about the crow’s-feet that had begun to form at the corners of his eyes.

Zack leaned into her, his shoulder brushing hers. “They must have a training program of some sort. A group of classes—” He flipped through the catalog. “And here it is. Check this out. Twelve three-hour sessions on Wednesday nights, with just about every course you’ll need.”

She read the program outline. It did look promising. “The first class starts next month.”

“That’s perfect, don’t you think? You’ll have some time to settle in before you start school.”

Touched by his enthusiasm, her heart made a girlish leap. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had supported her endeavors. He lifted his head to look at her, and she realized how close their faces were.

Close enough to kiss.

When she lowered her gaze to his mouth, he scooted back, and a blast of shame nailed her straight in the chest. He handed her the catalog, and she summoned the courage to ask the dreaded question. “Are you married, Zack?”

“What? No.” He flinched, then frowned at her, an expression that made him seem tougher than he already was. “I’m divorced.”

“Recently?”

“It’s been four years.”

“Was it a bitter separation?” she asked, a bit too curious for her own good.

“Bitter?” His frown deepened. “Are you kidding? It was friendly as hell. Especially after I threatened to shoot her lover’s balls off.”

Natalie nearly swallowed her tongue. “She cheated on you?”

His gaze locked on to hers. “It happens.”

The way it had happened between her and David? Was Zack comparing his situation to hers? Blaming her for being the other woman? Did he empathize with Ellen Halloway?

Natalie tore at a blade of grass. Surely Zack knew that David’s wife was responsible for putting a hit on her. Ellen had forgiven her husband, but she wasn’t about to forgive Natalie for turning him over to the police. Or for occupying his bed.

Should she explain? Try to make Zack understand?

She gazed at the lake, at a boat bobbing in the distance. “I didn’t know David was married. Not at first. When he talked about having family commitments, I thought he meant the West Coast Family. He never mentioned Ellen. Or his children.”

“What did you do when you found out?”

“I left him.”

He gave her a startled stare. “You did?”

“I called an old friend and started sleeping on her couch. Then I pounded the pavement for a job. I didn’t have any skills, but I knew I could work at a clothing store. I’ve always had a good sense of style.”

“So that’s when you worked in retail? I thought it was before you met Halloway.”

“No, it was after.”

“For all the good it did.” Zack reached for a cigarette, then cursed when his lighter wouldn’t ignite. “You went back to him. When things got tough, you quit your job and took the easy way out.”

“None of it was easy.” She fidgeted with the catalog on her lap. “But yes, I went back to David.”

“Even though he was still married?”

“He told me that he was going to leave Ellen someday. When his children were older, when he could avoid a messy divorce.”

“And you bought that? A smart lady like you? Sounds like you were making excuses to stay with him. To hold on to that lifestyle.”

“Does it?” She glanced away, hurt by his unwillingness to believe her. And afraid, so deathly afraid, that he could be right.

Three

After Zack and Natalie left NIC, he took her to a furniture store, and now he stood in the middle of a mock living room, wondering what had come over him. He’d just met Natalie yesterday, and today he’d told her about his divorce. He’d admitted, without the slightest reserve, that his wife had boffed another man.

“What do you think of this?” she asked.

He turned to see her admiring a contemporary leather sofa, plumped with faux-fur pillows.

She reached for the tag. “It comes in ivory and black. I prefer the ivory, don’t you?”

He moved forward, wishing he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut, to keep his private life private.

“It’s twelve-hundred dollars.”

“I know. Can you believe it? At that price, I should get the love seat and the matching chair, too.”

He could only stare. “The love seat is nine-hundred bucks. And the chair and ottoman are another grand.”

She looked up. “So?”

“So get a grip.” Had she forgotten that WITSEC had put a conservative cap on her moving expenses? Or that a figure from the Bureau of Labor Statistics determined the amount of her monthly allowance? This wasn’t a high-dollar gig.

“Just imagine how it would look in my house.”

Zack shook his head. He’d had to discourage this kind of spending before. Career criminals didn’t have a clue. They didn’t know how to make their stipend last. And neither, apparently, did Natalie. “I already warned you about being on a budget.”

She ran her hand over the top of the sofa, caressing the upholstery with a lover’s touch. “This is Italian leather.” On a moaning-type sigh, she plopped her butt down, wiggling into the cushions. “You should feel how soft it is.”

He wasn’t about to get orgasmic over a piece of furniture. “How about this?” Attempting to redirect her focus, he walked over to a couch he’d spotted earlier. A simple, durable design with a three-hundred-dollar price tag. “It’s almost the same color.”

She followed him, making a disgusted face the entire way. “That’s taupe, not ivory. And I want leather.”

“By the time you throw in some tables, lamps, a TV, a DVD player, a stereo and the rest of your bedroom outfit, you won’t be able to afford a twelve-hundred dollar couch. Let alone a love seat and matching chair.”

She crossed her arms, but somehow she still managed to look pretty—long and lean and feminine.

“Don’t pout,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she argued.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t, but her lips were full and thick, glossed like sugar-glazed cherries. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in dessert.

She glanced back at the ivory sofa she’d caressed, her voice wistful. “I want that.”

And he wanted to find out if she tasted as good as she looked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I already told you. You can’t afford that.”

“I’ll use some of my own money. In fact, I’ll pay for all of it myself. I’ll buy my own furniture.”

“Bad idea.” He took her arm and guided her away from a salesman who’d been watching them. Or watching her, he should say. The old guy couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. “You have a business to consider, Natalie. You’ve got to get your priorities straight.”

She didn’t respond. She just gazed at him with disappointment in her eyes. And suddenly she reminded him of a wounded child. A street-smart little girl who wasn’t so smart.

He moved closer, close enough that no one could overhear. “How old were you when you met him?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Him. Lover-boy.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, fussing with the Goldilocks strands. “What does that have to do with a couch?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m not discussing this here.”

“Then I want the whole story when we get back to your place.” The truth, he decided. Not the rumors. Or the pieced-together profile he’d read in her file. “I can’t help you if I don’t know who you are.”

“They already made me talk to a psychologist.”

“Where you probably lied through your teeth.”

She turned away, and when she marched back over to the leather sofa, he almost gave in and let her buy the damn thing. Almost, he thought. But not quite.

Once she realized she’d lost the battle, she refused to shop for the rest of day. Zack ignored her temperamental attitude and took her straight home, intent on having the truth-versus-rumor conversation.

The moment, the very second he pulled into her driveway and parked the car, she leaped out, determined to ditch him. He had to give her credit for trying, even if she didn’t have a chance in hell at out-maneuvering him.

He caught up with her and took the keys out of her hand, unlocking the front door and gesturing for her to go inside. She made a beeline for the kitchen and started making the noisiest pot of coffee he’d ever heard, slamming cabinets in her wake.

“I take mine black,” he said.

“Well, bully for you.”

He leaned against counter. “I’m just trying to help.” Trying to understand her, he thought.

“I don’t want to talk about David.”

Zack moved to stand beside her, to take the glass carafe out of her quaking hands. “He hurt you.”

She turned to face him. “He made promises he didn’t keep. So what? Your wife did that to you, too.”

He ignored the emotional dig, the familiar jolt of pain it caused. “Just tell me how old you were when you met him.”

“Seventeen.”

“Son of a bitch.” Zack searched her gaze, probing deeper. “Did he touch you? Did that bastard—”

“No.” Uncomfortable, Natalie stepped back. Did he have to look at her like that? Did he have to make her feel like a victim? “David and I didn’t start dating until I was eighteen.”

“But you met him when you were underage?”

“Yes.” She took the carafe back, determined to keep busy, to make the coffee her system needed. How many postnightmare days could she survive without turning into a zombie?

“Was it at one of his strip clubs?”

She nearly spilled the water. “Who told you that?”

“Is it true?”

She nodded, ashamed of the girl she’d been, of the woman she’d become. “I auditioned to be a dancer.”

“How? With a fake ID?”

The coffee started to drip and a fresh-perked aroma filled the kitchen. “I had a girlfriend who worked there, and she helped me get an ID and set up the audition. I was only trying to pass myself off as eighteen. Fully nude clubs in California don’t serve alcohol, so they hire younger girls.”

“I’m aware of the strip-club ordinances in your state. I know the difference between topless and nude.”

Natalie shifted her stance. She was practically pinned against the counter, with Zack watching every move she made.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My ID passed, at first anyway.” Images of the past clouded her mind. Images of being alone on a stage, of her heart pounding its way out of her chest. “The club was closed, so all I had to do was audition for the manager. He seemed rushed, like he had a lot going on that day. He’d barely glanced at my phony license.” She paused to take a breath. “In the middle of my act, another man came in. It was David, but I didn’t know he was the owner. He was standing in a dark corner. The only thing I could see was the tip of his cigarette.”

“Did you finish taking off your clothes?”

“Yes.” The coffee was almost ready, but she didn’t reach for a cup. Her hands were clammy, her pulse erratic. “My girlfriend had been coaching me, teaching me what to do. I thought I was prepared.” But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. “I danced to the music and strutted along the tip rail. I even straddled the pole. I was naked, wearing a pair of four-inch heels and praying for it to end.”

He remained where he was, studying her with an intense expression. “Why’d you do it?”

“For the money, for a means to be self-sufficient. My mom was always kicking me out of the house. Half the time I had a place to live and half the time I didn’t. She used to bring home these really trashy guys, street-hustler types, and if they started checking me out, talking about how pretty I was, she’d blame me.”

“So you went to the nearest strip club and applied for a job?”

“What else was I going to do? Turn my mother in to social services? This was Hollywood, Zack. I grew up on the boulevard.”

“Tell me about the rest of the audition. What happened after you put your clothes back on?”

“The manager said I wasn’t ready, but that I could come back and try again. He told me to work on my moves, to loosen up. Then David came out of the shadows.” She could still recall the way he’d carried himself. His strength. His power. “He asked to see my ID, and suddenly I got scared. I wouldn’t show it to him. I grabbed my purse and split.”

Zack turned to pour the coffee. He handed her a cup and took a sip of his. Grateful for the interruption, Natalie doctored hers with milk and sugar.

“When did you see Halloway again?”

“A few days later. I was hanging out in front of a sandwich shop near the Wax Museum, panhandling with some other kids, and this Jaguar pulled up. No one paid much attention. We were used to seeing expensive cars.”

“How convenient for Halloway. Just running into you like that.” Zack’s tone indicated his disgust. “You know damn well he tracked you down. He went looking for you.”

Natalie tasted her coffee. What Zack said was true, but at the time, she hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d chalked up the panhandling encounter to chance. “David gave my friends some money and offered to take me to lunch.”

“Did you know he was a mobster then? Or did you find out later?”

“I knew. My girlfriend already told me that Denny Halloway’s son owned the club. David wasn’t as well-known as his father, but he was earning a reputation.”

“As what? A pervert? You were seventeen, and lover-boy was what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

“You’re eleven years older than me,” she pointed out.

He gave her a tight look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, she gulped the hot drink and felt it burn the back of her throat.

He didn’t let it go. “Are you comparing me to him?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Bull.”

She tightened her fingers around the cup. “It’s just the age factor.” And his commanding personality, she thought. The way he made her knees weak and her nipples hard. “I wouldn’t compare a deputy marshal to a mobster.”

“I sure as hell hope not.” He trapped her against the counter again, watching her the way a spider watched a fly. “What drew you to him? What was it?”

The same things that drew her to Zack, she thought. The same overpowering ingredients that lured her into his web. “He gave me a place to stay whenever my mother kicked me out.”

“He was just trying to get into your pants. Pulling the friend routine until he earned your trust.”

And what was Zack doing? she wondered. What was the deputy marshal’s agenda? “I thought he loved me.”

“He sure had your number.”

Natalie wasn’t about to disagree. She’d been putty in David’s hands. Or Play-Doh, she supposed, considering how young she’d been. “Love stinks.”

“Amen to that.”

She set her coffee aside, and he drained his cup and put it in the sink. “I guess you’ve been there,” she said.

He shrugged, and she wondered if his heart had turned cold, if he hated the woman he’d married.

He reached into his jacket for a cigarette. After shaking one from the pack, he stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Can I smoke in here? Or do I have to go outside?”

She almost gave him permission to light up, then thought better of it. David used to smoke in the condo he’d provided for her, but this was different. She had a voice now. She didn’t have to cater to a man’s needs. “Outside.”

“That’s what I figured.” He headed for the French doors that led to the barbecue deck.

Natalie followed, although she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she needed some air. Or maybe she just wanted to question him the way he’d questioned her.

They stood on the redwood planks, the sun at their backs. The lighter Zack had struggled with earlier ignited on the first try, and he lit the cigarette and inhaled.

“What’s your ex-wife’s name?” she asked.

He gave her a pissed-off look and she wondered if smoke was going to come out of his nose.

“Who the hell cares,” he said.

“I do.”

“You’re just trying to pay me back for interrogating you.”

His observational skills annoyed her, but she figured it was part of his training, part of his lawman’s psyche. “Why do you have to be such an ass?”

When he raised his eyebrows at her, she knew she’d gotten his goat. Score one for the mistress, she thought.

“Her name is Ida.”

“Ida?”

He nodded. “Ida-Humped-Another-Guy.”

Natalie couldn’t help but laugh. Trust Zack. “You did?”

He laughed, too. “No. Ida did.”

“Is that really her name?”

“Truthfully?” He flicked his ashes. “It’s Raquel.”

Suspicious, she tilted her head. “For sure?”

“Yep. That’s her. Mrs. Wreak-Hell.”

“Knock it off.” Without thinking, she took a playful jab at his shoulder.

He grinned and nudged her right back, knocking her off balance. She regained her footing and realized they were flirting. He seemed to realize it, too. All too quickly, they both sobered. And then neither of them could think of anything to say. Not a single word. Just awkward silence.

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