DEEP-COVER ASSIGNMENT

After Holt McKnight’s criminal informant disappears, the DEA agent must go undercover to get close to the missing man’s sister, who may know more than she’s letting on. But when Blair Sullivan’s attacked, it’s up to him to protect her—without blowing his cover. Blair isn’t sure she can trust her new neighbor, Holt. After all, the last charming and handsome man she fell for was her late husband, and he turned out to be the brother of a ruthless drug lord. Yet when it’s clear the target on her back is somehow linked to her past, she has no choice but to accept Holt’s protection. Even if getting close is the last thing her scarred heart can handle.

“Blair, you’re in trouble. I can tell.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Frustration leaped into his words. Not just because he was losing precious time finding her brother and his colleague, but he wanted her trust. Holt wanted her to lean on him.

Even though he shouldn’t.

“I—”

“It’s obvious you’re worried but you won’t go to the police.” He softened. It was time to give her the peace she so desperately needed. “I know someone who can help who isn’t a cop. He’s a private investigator. And he could look into what happened. Maybe find out where Jeremy is.”

For a brief moment her chin quivered and her eyes seemed hopeful, but she tamped it down. Inhaling deeply, she shook her head. “Jeremy has a friend. Someone he said he could depend on. He helped him get clean and keeps him accountable. He might know where Jeremy is. Could you...could you help me find him?”

Holt’s insides wilted.

Yeah. He could help her find that friend. She was staring right at him with watery eyes, and he wanted desperately to tell her. His gut said she was innocent. But his job said to follow protocol. He’d never been more torn. But he’d never once broken cover. He couldn’t start now.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Holt and Blair’s story. Maybe you can relate to Holt. He had big dreams and lots of plans that he’d committed to the Lord, but a tragedy in his life ripped them out of his grasp and he feared to dream again. To hope again. He buried his faith when he buried someone he loved deeply. One of my favorite accounts in the Bible is Jesus traveling to raise Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus’s sisters were devastated. All seemed lost. No hope. And yet Jesus called Lazarus to come forth. The passage tells us that he immediately arose and came out of the tomb, still bandaged from his grave clothes.

Maybe all your hopes and dreams have decayed in a tomb built by tragedy, pain, loss. If you can muster up even a mustard-seed-sized amount of faith to believe that God can heal your heart, raise up dead or new dreams—like Holt, you’ll find that peace and joy you’ve been craving for so long but were afraid to grab hold of. Maybe it’s time for you to trust Jesus to say, “Come forth!” and see what He raises to life!

I’d love for you to get Patched In! My newsletter subscribers receive first looks at book covers, excerpts and occasional FREE novellas, as well as notifications when new books release. Sign up today at www.jessicarpatch.com. Please feel free to email me at jessica@jessicarpatch.com, join me on my Facebook page, www.Facebook.com/jessica rpatch, for daily discussions and take a peek at my Pinterest board to meet the characters and get an up-close view of the scenes from the book.

Warmly,

Jessica

JESSICA R. PATCH lives in the mid-South, where she pens inspirational contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. When she’s not hunched over her laptop or going on adventurous trips with willing friends in the name of research, you can find her watching way too much Netflix with her family and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. To learn more about Jessica, please visit her at jessicarpatch.com.

Concealed Identity

Jessica R. Patch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Now hope does not disappoint,

because the love of God has been poured out

in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

—Romans 5:5

To my son, Myles, for inspiring me with your endless imagination and amazing me with your servant’s heart. I love you.

Thanks go out to:

My agent, Rachel Kent, for continuing to champion and believe in my writing.

My editor, Shana Asaro. As always, thank you for your keen eye and amazing editorial skills.

Susan Tuttle: thank you for brainstorming and seeing me through yet another book.

Special thanks to Sergeant/SWAT Commander Greg Carson for helping me get my DEA information correct and for so many great ideas. If something’s not right, or stretched, it’s my fault!

And to Jesus. For Your glory always. My hope is in You alone.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Blair Sullivan glanced in the side-view mirror of her company’s box truck. The dark SUV seemed a little too close for comfort, and with her past, she wasn’t taking any chances. Not when the windows were tinted far beyond the legal limit. It looked exactly like the types of vehicles she’d ridden in over the years.

And no one good had ever been inside.

Pulse skittering, she laid on the gas while her sister, Gigi, obliviously switched radio stations and rambled about lunch destination choices. She must have pressed the pause button with her on-again, off-again boyfriend who co-owned the Black-Eyed Pea. That was where they normally ate their meals, since neither had mastered the kitchen, unless peanut butter and jelly counted.

“It’s hotter than blue blazes.” Gigi lifted her hair, a shade lighter and a few inches shorter than Blair’s, from her neck. “You notice Mr. Hollywood noticing you at the auction this morning? Because I did. I also noticed you noticing him.”

Could she use notice in a sentence one more time?

Blair’s stomach roiled as she glanced in her side-view mirror again. The SUV continued to follow. Could be paranoia. She’d been looking over her shoulder since her late husband, Mateo, was gunned down in Colombia. Not long after their wedding, she’d discovered he was a drug lord in a major cartel and not the man she’d believed him to be. But at that point, it was too late to get out alive. Blair had shielded Gigi from that world of fear, and she wasn’t about to pull her into it now.

It’s a casual drive home. Act normal.

A few cars sped by. Not much traffic this Saturday morning. Her heart rate continued to elevate as memories surfaced, but she forced herself to engage in conversation. “He wasn’t noticing me. He was watching to see if I’d keep bidding on the storage unit.” He had been attractive, though. Built like a superhero made of steel. Dark scruff that did little to hide the deep dimple in his squared chin.

Okay, so she’d noticed. Every woman at the storage unit auction had perked up when he had swaggered onto the scene. Not just because he was movie star good-looking, but he was new to the monthly auctions. “That reminds me, did you see Ronnie Lawson or hear him mention he wouldn’t be there today?”

The SUV continued to ride her bumper. She was going seventy!

“How does Mr. Hollywood even remotely remind you of Ronnie?” She snorted. “I didn’t hear jack, but I know you’d have lost that unit if he had. He seems to enjoy outbidding you.” Gigi paused, her dark eyes concerned. “Hey, you okay? You look wigged out.”

Blair cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” She breathed evenly, pasted a fake smile on her face and hammered the gas pedal as she exited the ramp onto the outskirts of her small town of Hope, Tennessee. The place where she’d started over. Where her grandparents had lived most of their lives. The only place Blair had ever felt safe and at home. “Just feeling buyer’s remorse. I may have paid more than I should for that unit.”

She’d hoped the SUV wouldn’t have taken the ramp, too. But it had. What to do... What to do...

“You’ll know once you get home and inventory everything. So, about the guy. He looked exactly like Superman. Coal-black hair. And those eyes. No one has eyes that blue but Superman.”

At twenty-six, and two years younger than Blair, Gigi acted more like fifteen. She wasn’t going to let up on the hot topic. Mystery Auction Man was no Superman. Superman didn’t hold wildfire in his eyes. Red flags had flown high. She’d been duped by charm and good looks before and ended up marrying the man behind them. Never again. No more falling for liars and men who pretended to be one thing when they were something else entirely.

Blair changed lanes, the SUV stayed in the right one. Okay, maybe she was being paranoid after all. A few cars zinged by, leaving the bypass she was now on empty. Only them and the SUV.

“Fine,” Gigi said, “if you don’t want to talk about Mr. Hollywood, let’s talk about our brother. You heard from him?”

Another flop of her stomach. Jeremy hadn’t called or answered any of her texts and voice mails in several days. It wasn’t like she could pop on over to his apartment, since he lived in Memphis, though she’d tried to get him to move to Hope. Closer to her and Gigi since their father traveled regularly now that he was retired. Right now he was off in the West Indies and her brother was AWOL. Surely Jeremy hadn’t relapsed. He’d been doing so well. Lord, please keep Jeremy out of trouble again. Watch over him.

The SUV changed lanes and zoned in on her bumper. Blair white-knuckled the steering wheel and slid her upper lip into her mouth, concentrating. Thinking. Praying. Lord, let me simply be paranoid. She shifted back into the right lane, hoping the driver was in a hurry and would pass her.

Please. Please. Please.

Pulse pounding as they shifted in behind her, Blair inhaled and exhaled. “Can you turn the radio down?” She couldn’t think straight. Her head buzzed.

“Why?” Gigi lowered the volume but huffed. “Blair, what’s wrong with you?”

The SUV rammed the back of her truck.

Gigi squealed. “What was that?”

“Sit tight.” Blair increased speed. Nothing but fields for miles on their way home. Of course, she wasn’t dumb enough to try to make it there and lead her pursuer to the house, but she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She could hardly swallow.

She glanced in the rearview.

The SUV was gone!

But there it was in her side mirror, gaining.

“Reach under the seat and get my gun, Gigi!”

“Gun! You carry a gun?” Gigi’s eyes widened, hysteria and questions blaring loud and clear.

Blair didn’t have a choice. “Now is not the time. Get it,” she hollered, and floored it. Gigi’s hands trembled as she handed Blair her Glock.

“What are you going to do?” Gigi’s voice squeaked with panic.

Good question. She had to protect Gigi and herself. Blair had learned a thing or two—if only indirectly—being married to Mateo. Always be wary and always be on the offense.

She rolled her window down and aimed the gun, hoping her time at the gun range and some prayer would help her hit the tire and spin the SUV out.

Gigi’s anxious cries echoed through the cab.

Blair gripped the gun with clammy hands, lungs squeezing, and fired a round.

The SUV rammed her again, sending them lurching. What was that thing made of—steel? The passenger window lowered. A man she didn’t recognize, wearing dark glasses, raised the barrel of a gun.

Blair cracked off another shot, missing the tire, but hitting the metal around it. The SUV swerved, giving them time to veer ahead.

Gigi screeched.

Cracks sounded in the body of the truck.

“Lord, save us!” Blair prayed, then shifted in her seat. “Take the wheel and the gas!” she commanded, and raised her gun, firing at the tires again. Blood whooshed in her ears, and her throat had turned as dry as dead grass.

Gigi scooted over, gathered the wheel and replaced Blair’s foot with hers on the gas pedal. “I’m scared!”

“Me, too, G. Hold on and pray.” Blair didn’t want to hang out the window, but she couldn’t get a clear shot at the tire. What other choice was there? If she didn’t spin the SUV out, she and Gigi might get killed.

Blair turned in the driver’s seat and leaned out the window.

Another pop pierced the air, and the SUV struck the corner edge of her vehicle.

“I’m losing control,” Gigi shrieked, and flinched. “Blair!”

Her truck swerved and Blair whirled around to take the wheel, but it was too late. They sailed into the ditch on the right side of the road.

Shots were fired in rapid succession as if a gun war was happening behind them.

Blair’s head nailed the steering wheel. Her neck popped and a blinding pain shot clear to her toes. Gigi, eyes closed, slumped against the passenger-side door, her long walnut hair covering her face.

“Gigi!” Blair called.

Another round of shots were fired.

With blurred vision, she groped for the gun that had clattered to the floorboard and grabbed it. She had to save them from whoever was trying to kill them. Why were they being targeted?

Blair forced the driver’s door open. Hot, sticky blood oozed down her forehead and cheek. Hands shaking, she stumbled into the brush on the side of the road. The world tipped.

The SUV fled the scene as a red truck stopped on the side of the road.

A man bounded toward her as she tottered to the ground.

* * *

DEA Agent Holt McKnight raced toward the woman he’d identified as Blair Sullivan, who had collapsed into the waist-high weeds. He’d been on his way back from the auction outside town but had to stop about six miles back for gas. Somewhere between the gas station and here, someone had emerged and tried—worst-case scenario—to kill Blair and her sister. Best-case, scare and run them off the road.

Based on things her brother, Jeremy, had told Holt in casual conversations, Blair wouldn’t hurt a fly. From the hailstorm of bullets, Holt wasn’t so sure. Not exactly the same innocent-looking woman he’d observed at the storage auction this morning.

Either way, Holt had a job to do and Blair Sullivan’s sunny smile and warm eyes weren’t going to interfere. Jeremy, his criminal informant, and Bryan Livingston, his DEA colleague, were missing. The only connection between the disappearances was Alejandro Gonzalez, the right-hand man of the Juarez Mexican Cartel, who had last been seen in Hope.

Holt had jumped on the undercover assignment to investigate and hopefully find Agent Livingston and Jeremy alive. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Jeremy. Not only was he his CI, but Holt had been mentoring him over a year after helping him get into rehab in Memphis.

Holt knelt over Blair. Blood slicked her cheek and neck, but the injury didn’t appear too bad. Next to her lay a Glock .380 auto. Slimline. Nice choice. It appeared Blair knew guns. But then, she’d been married to a criminal who trafficked them along with drugs. How could a woman who seemed so kind and gentle have gotten messed up with someone like Mateo Salvador?

Holt checked her pulse. Steady.

Blair’s long eyelashes fluttered and rose to reveal dazed eyes the color of medium-roasted coffee beans. Man, but she was beautiful. Get a grip, Holt. She’s a person of interest and you know her past. She shot up and skittered back. “Get away from me!” She searched along the ground frantically.

Holt raised her gun. “Looking for this?”

Terror pulsed in her eyes, and she held her hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then that makes two of us.” But trouble had reared its ugly head. Question was, had it come for her or because of her?

Easing into his cover, he pasted on a grin, hoping to disarm her. He needed Blair Sullivan to trust him. “I’m Holt Renard. Was on my way home when I came up behind that vehicle.” He’d been following her for two days, not that he wouldn’t recognize her. Jeremy had a few family photos on his mantel, and Holt had thoroughly examined the case files on Mateo Salvador. “Why were they shooting at you?”

Not that she’d tell him if she did know, but she was scared and it might tumble out. Had it been Alejandro in that SUV? Or Hector Salvador, her late husband’s brother and the head of the Colombian Salvador Cartel? Did he find out Blair was fraternizing with his greatest enemy? Was she playing both sides? Eyes that held goodness and honesty told him she wasn’t playing anyone. But looks could be deceiving.

Recognition lit her face. “I know you. You were at the auction today. Trying to outbid me. You’re Superman.”

Wow, she’d really nailed her head good. He’d been called a lot of things, but Superman wasn’t one of them. Had to admit, he kinda liked the idea. But reality smacked him with truth. Holt was no one’s hero. The one person he’d wanted to save most in his life, he couldn’t.

He cocked his head and contained his amusement.

She shook her head as if confused. “Did I say that out loud?”

“That I’m Superman? Yeah. You said that. And you’re right—I was at the auction today.” It had been a great place to blend in and study her without raising suspicion. He didn’t think she’d paid him a lick of attention. Apparently, she had. He clasped her hands and helped her to her feet. She swayed a bit, and he steadied her. “Got a name?” he asked.

“Gigi!” Blair’s face flashed with panic, and she hobbled to her truck. She opened the passenger door, and Blair’s sister moaned and touched her head as she exited the vehicle. A small cut above her forehead oozed a few drops of blood. “You okay, G?”

Gigi nodded and then threw up in the field.

“We need to get her to a hospital.” Holt stepped closer.

Blair held Gigi’s hair away from her face and soothed her, stroking her back. Holt’s chest squeezed. Her soft voice and words of comfort to her sister moved him, not to mention she was ridiculously pretty. Fairly tall, even compared to his six-foot-three frame. Curvy where she should be, but delicate. Surely this woman wasn’t neck-deep in drug trafficking.

Gigi turned in his direction and moaned. “Naturally, the guy with the eyes would see me ralph.”

Holt chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, you did it gracefully.”

“It doesn’t.”

Blair smirked, then sobered. “I want to get out of here.” She looked at Holt. “Blair. Sullivan. And this is my sister—”

“Gigi. Yeah I got that. Seems you might need a little medical attention.” He pointed to her head.

She touched it and sighed. “It’s not that bad. Thank you for checking on us.”

Not that Holt came to their aid to get close to Blair, but he did hope it might be an open door to gain her confidence. Whether she was involved with the cartel or not, Blair could be the key to helping him find Jeremy and Bryan. And time was not on his side.

“What happened? Who were those crazies?” Gigi took the water bottle Blair gave her and swished some water in her mouth before spitting it out and climbing back inside the truck.

“Yeah, who were those crazies?” Holt asked, frowning. Blair had no business driving after knocking her head like that.

Blair shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around in case they decide to come back and introduce themselves. Thanks again for your help.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Hollywood.” Gigi smiled and then winced.

“It’s Holt, in case the head injury has you confused.” With all the acting he was about to do, Hollywood fit much better than Superman.

Blair leaned out her driver’s-side window. She looked too petite to be driving this bulky thing. But clearly, the woman was strong. And brave. “Had you not shown up when you did, I don’t know what would have happened. You must have scared them off.”

Holt studied her, searching her eyes for answers to what might have actually gone wrong. Nothing there but terror and confusion. “I guess I did.” It took squeezing off a few rounds himself. Relieved Blair didn’t realize he’d used his weapon, he relaxed his shoulders. “You sure you’re okay to drive? I can give you a lift to the hospital, and we can come back for your truck later.”

Blair’s face blanched.

Did she not plan on seeking medical attention? Not if she didn’t want questions raised.

“I can manage,” Blair finally said. “Besides, my stuff’s in the back and I’m not leaving it.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll be fine.”

Holt couldn’t blame Blair for being suspicious of him, but he’d have to remedy it. Quick. If saving her life didn’t get him in her good graces, he wasn’t sure what would. Charm? He could lay that on pretty thick when necessary, but something about the way she’d carried herself and avoided eye contact with him at the storage auction said charm wasn’t the way to go to win her trust.

Honesty might be the ticket. But that was one thing he couldn’t give. Came with the territory. “You sure?”

“Positive. Thanks again.” That was her polite Southern belle dismissal.

“Okay.” He ambled toward his truck with no intention of letting them out of his sight. Blair cranked the engine and it sputtered to life. She pulled through the tall grass and back onto the road from the shallow ditch. Holt followed at a distance, hoping not to further scare them, but this was the only way into town, and he wanted to make sure they were safe.

As he suspected, they went straight to their home. No medical attention. He clambered out of his truck.

“Why are you following us?” Blair demanded.

He held his hands up in surrender. “You took a whack to the head. Just wanted to make sure you got safely home.”

“Well, we did.”

Holt turned to Gigi, who was tottering out of the truck. He rushed to help her. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

Holt winked. “Imagine that. Are you not going to the hospital? You really should.”

Blair came around and slipped in between Holt and Gigi, creating a protective barrier. “I can take it from here.” She shifted her eyes toward Gigi and studied her sister’s face, as if she were in a battle about whether she should go or not.

“I feel woozy, Blair.”

Blair sighed. “We’ll go see Doc Drummond.”

Ah. The local doctor. “What about the police?” he asked. Didn’t matter to him as much as them receiving some medical care. Better if she didn’t call the police. They’d only get in his way. Besides, based on the homework he’d done on the town, the sheriff was recovering at home from a stroke and the deputy chief was in charge. He was only a year younger than Holt’s thirty-two years. Probably didn’t know diddly-squat. This town barely had two thousand residents. Biggest crime might be cow tipping.

Then again, Alejandro Gonzalez had been spotted here by Agent Livingston, so who knew what was going on? A place like this wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar. Could Alejandro have been meeting the head of the Juarez Cartel? No one had ever seen his face before. Which meant he could be hiding right under their noses.

Did Blair know who he was? Was that why she’d moved here after her husband had been gunned down by the Juarez Cartel? Had she been in on Mateo’s execution? Or had the head of the snake moved here to lie in wait and strike at Blair as a move against her former brother-in-law, Hector Salvador?

Too many questions clogging the wheel. Holt inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on the here and now.

“I’ll call the police once I get my sister to Doc Drummond’s.” Her tone didn’t sound convincing, and her eyes shifted before she looked away. Nope. She wasn’t calling anyone. Seemed odd for someone innocent. “Let me drive you. I know you managed to drive home, but neither of you seem to be in any shape to be behind a wheel.” It killed Holt to see a hurting woman. A stray thought of his high school love crashed into his mind. She’d hurt for so long before the cancer took her, ruining all their dreams for a future together.

But he didn’t want to think about it. Thinking meant feeling. And Holt didn’t want to feel. Not even right now while looking at the lovely Blair Sullivan. He was feeling something. Something he shouldn’t. She was an assignment. That was all.

Blair gnawed her bottom lip. “I think we’ll be okay.”

Gigi was already walking toward his truck. “Do you know where Doc Drummond’s office is?”

“I just moved here, but it’s a small town. In fact, it appears you and I are neighbors. I rented the McCowens’ house across the street.”

“Cool.” Gigi climbed inside the Ford F-150 he was using as his cover vehicle. “You have a head injury, Blair. I don’t want to wreck for the second time today. So get in.”

Blair hesitated and chewed on her thumbnail as if considering the offer. “So you live across the street.” She eyed him. “What brings you to Hope?”

“I’m opening up a used outdoorsman store. Kind of a dream of mine. That’s why I was at the auction today. Trying to stock the place.” And the lies continued. Worst part of his job—especially if he was lying to someone innocent. He wasn’t sure she was, but he wanted her to be.

Blair scowled at Gigi, who had taken up homestead in his truck. “And where is your business?”

Okay, this might be a little too coincidental, but he’d make it work. “Only place I could find for the right price. I leased a building on the square. Right by what appears to be your shop.” He pointed to her bulky box truck. The side was painted with a huge Christmas tree, and the name of her business was scrolled in red: It’s A Wonderful Life Antiques. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, neighbor.”

Blair didn’t budge. She wasn’t buying it. The woman was tough. Smart. If she wasn’t a person of interest professionally, he’d admit she was definitely someone he’d like to get to know personally. But nothing serious. Holt’s heart couldn’t afford to do serious.

“Don’t worry, I won’t come knocking for a cup of sugar. I don’t bake.” If Holt could put her at ease, lower her guard, he could get close. At this rate, he wasn’t getting nearer than arm’s length, and that wasn’t good enough.

“Neither does she,” Gigi called from the cab of the truck. “My head hurts. Let’s go.”

Blair stepped forward and froze. “My gun! Where’s my gun?”

“I have it. You weren’t exactly thinking clearly back there.”

“I’d like it back before I go anywhere with you.” Her tone was laced with suspicion, caution.

Holt slipped it from his waistband and handed it to her. “What are you doing carrying a gun?”

“Why does anyone carry a gun? And I live in the South.” She grabbed her purse from her truck, tucked her gun inside, locked the doors and slowly made her way to his truck. He hoped she had a license to carry a concealed weapon. “Gigi, get out. I’ll take the middle.”

Safeguarding her little sister from the mysterious and probably—in Blair’s eyes—dangerous man. Something about her fierce protectiveness unraveled a cord he’d kept a tight rein over.

No doubt, this woman would sacrifice herself for her family. Whether she was the good guy or the bad. But which was she?

* * *

Blair sat next to Holt in Doc Drummond’s office, staring through the gold lettering painted across the large picture window announcing that this was indeed a doctor’s office. The heat filtering through the pane warmed her face.

“You doing all right?” Holt asked. He hadn’t budged since they entered. This man didn’t even know them. Why would he stick around like this?

“What do you think?” She hadn’t meant the question to come with a sting. “Sorry.” Blair lightly touched the bandaged area of her head where she’d hit it against the steering wheel. Thankfully, her hair covered it. She didn’t need the town asking a bunch of questions, although news traveled at warp speed, so they’d know about the wreck. Not the bullets, though. And she preferred to keep it that way.

Doc Drummond had bought her quick story, which wasn’t a lie, of losing control of the wheel and running off Farley Pass. She probably should have come here in the first place, but she’d been rattled and frightened. She’d wanted to get home. Safe.

Down the cobbled streets, neighbors bounced in and out of shops. Kids licked dripping ice-cream cones; friends laughed and peeked inside each other’s shopping bags. Vehicles lined the area in front of the regal courthouse.

Felicity Potts, the owner of Read It and Steep Bookstore and Tea Company, was sweeping the welcome mat. Blair caught her eye and she waved.

Blair waved back.

“Tea shop. How about I go over there and get a cup for you?” Holt asked.

Blair tried to see past Holt’s good looks to the kindness he showed. Was it real? When it came to men, her judgment stank. Mateo had proven that. “Are you going to get some for yourself, too?”

“Yeah, I don’t do tea.”

Blair smirked; couldn’t help it. “Chamomile.” She reached into her purse. “Let me get you some cash.”

He laid a hand over hers. “I got it. Be back in a minute.”

“Thank you. For the fourth time.”

“Five if you want to thank me for the drive over.” He swept his dark hair out of his eyes and left, jogging across the street.

Blair loved Felicity’s tea. She loved this town. Barely any crime. But today someone had tried to kill Blair and Gigi. Guilt wound her shoulders tight and drummed in her neck. She’d brought a can of worms to Hope. Somehow. Holt had asked her if she was going to call the police. It had almost sounded like he was testing her. Could the man buying her a chamomile tea be behind the attack? His popping up seemed awfully suspicious, but he’d done nothing but help and be friendly.

Mateo had been friendly, too. Charming. Sweet. Fun. Look where that had gotten her.

She leaned her head against the glass and closed her eyes.

The door opened and a blast of heat sucked the cool air from the waiting area. “Blair Sullivan. What in the world happened to your head?”

Blair didn’t need to look up to know who was standing over her. The familiar sugary scent permeated the room as her voice tinkled. Riella Drummond. Doc’s wife. “G and I had a car accident on the way home from the auction today.” Blair opened her eyes to the most-well-put-together woman she’d ever seen. Hair worthy of shampoo commercials and naturally bronzed skin.

Riella sat next to her and laid her purse on a table filled with up-to-date magazines. “Do you need anything? I can have Sophia bring dinner over.”

Sophia, Riella’s housekeeper, made a mean enchilada dish, but Blair didn’t feel right about taking something for nothing, especially when nobody was dying. “No need for all the fuss. We’ll grab a bite at the Black-Eyed Pea if G feels up to it.”

“Ah. Well, I just came to bring my man something to eat. He missed lunch. You sure you don’t want anything? I have plenty.”

Blair inhaled the tangy scent of Italian food. She must have stopped in at Mangiare. Another reason Blair adored this town—the wide variety of ethnic groups represented here. And the variety of food choices because of it. It really was a wonderful life.

Until today.

“No, really. I’m fine and Gigi will need to get home soon anyway. She’ll probably want to lie down.”

Riella glanced outside. “You met the man who leased the store next to yours yet?”

Holt Renard. “I did. He gave us a lift, but I don’t really know much about him.” Not nearly enough to feel comfortable. And with the way he’d sent her pulse skittering at the auction, she couldn’t get to know him. “He’s opening an outdoorsman store.”

Riella’s eyebrow lifted. “Speaking of...”

Holt made an entrance and handed Blair her tea.

Riella introduced herself and chitchatted with Holt while Blair sipped her chamomile tea and fretted. She hoped he wouldn’t blab to Riella about the circumstances surrounding the wreck. But Blair couldn’t tell him not to, either. She’d instructed Gigi to keep mum before she saw Doc. She’d have to do some explaining when she got her alone. She’d never wanted Gigi to know how stupid and naive she’d been to fall in with Mateo and his crowd. No way around it now.

“Well, on behalf of Hope, welcome. I’ll have Sophia whip you up a welcome meal.”

Riella didn’t mind offering meals to everyone and anyone. She never had to cook them.

Doc Drummond led Gigi into the waiting area. “No concussion, but watch her anyway. She can take Motrin for the pain. Wake her up every thirty minutes to an hour just in case, and she’ll be right as rain.” He flashed a grin at his wife. “I smell a meatball sub.”

Riella raised a red-and-green bag. “You’re welcome.” She kissed his cheek. Blair hooked her arm around Gigi’s. “Thanks, Doc. We appreciate your help.”

“Be more careful next time, Blair. That beast of a truck is a lot to handle.” Doc Drummond winked. “Nice meeting you, Holt. I’ll have to swing by and check out the store when it’s up and running.”

“Sounds good.”

Doc escorted his wife to the offices. Holt held the door while Blair and Gigi stepped outside underneath the white-and-yellow awning. Even with the shade, it felt like they were charging toward a fire-breathing dragon. Blair looked at Holt. “Can I have a couple of minutes alone with my sister?”

“Sure.” Holt paused, then meandered down the sidewalk out of earshot.

Blair turned to Gigi. “I guess you kept quiet about what really happened.”

“You told me not to say a word, so I listened. I’m not sure what did happen. Are you?”

“Let’s talk about it later. Are you hungry?” Blair studied Gigi. Her color had come back, but her eyes looked tired. And scared.

“I feel like talking about it now. Why do you carry a gun that I don’t know about, and who on this green earth would try to kill us, and why do I have to keep my mouth shut?”

As far as Gigi knew, Mateo Salvador died in South America, gunned down by guerillas. Which wasn’t far from the truth. He had been gunned down. But she wasn’t exactly sure by whom, other than a rival drug cartel aiming to take down Hector.

Blair glanced around. Out here where anyone could listen wasn’t the best place. “We will talk. At home. And I carry a gun for protection like a lot of people.”

“You’re hiding something.”

For Gigi’s own good. To protect her.

“We should call the police, Blair.” Gigi gnawed her bottom lip. “I’m freaking out.”

Maybe she should call them. Chief Deputy Beckett Marsh might be able to help. But then she’d have to reveal her past. Somehow it would leak and the town wouldn’t see her as Blair Sullivan, business owner and honorable neighbor. She’d become Blair Sullivan, former wife of a drug lord who could potentially put friends and family in jeopardy.

Blair rubbed her hands together. “You don’t need to be afraid. Trust me.”

“Who was in that SUV?”

“I honestly don’t know.” But she had a terrifying feeling they would be back.

Gigi grabbed Blair’s shoulders. “You think this involves Jeremy? Are you scared of getting him in hot water with the cops?”

Blair’s knees buckled. She hadn’t once thought it might concern her brother. But that might be the reason he wasn’t answering calls and texts, or hadn’t been by to see them in a few days.

Gigi led her to one of the many benches that lined the sidewalks. Blair collapsed on one, averting her eyes from the colorful wooden box of impatiens that sat directly under the black lamppost.

“Maybe we should call Dad,” Gigi said.

No. Drug cartels were ruthless. Until she knew what she was dealing with, the fewer people involved, the better. “And ruin his Caribbean cruise when we don’t really know anything? Let’s not worry Dad until we have to.”

Gigi stood and crossed her arms across her chest. “Okay, but I expect the full truth before the night is over. It’s not fair to keep me in the dark, Blair.”

No, it wasn’t. Not at this point.

A blue pickup pulled over to the curb and Ronnie Lawson clambered out.

Blair stood next to Gigi. “Oh, great,” she muttered, then bristled as he strode toward her with determination in his eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little fox that stole from my vineyard.” He shoved a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek and pocketed the canister.

“I didn’t steal anything. You should have been at the auction today.” Blair backed away as he shuffled forward, turned his head and spat a spray of tobacco juice.

“Truck broke down on the interstate. I heard it was gonna be a sweet one today.” He glanced at her head and massaged his neck muscles. “What happened to you? Get into a major bidding war?”

“I wrecked on Farley Pass coming home.” She gave Gigi a sidelong glance and prayed she’d keep her trap shut.

“At least you’re not dead.”

Yet. Her nerves hammered.

Ronnie made another step into Blair’s personal space. “You know what I’m gonna ask.”

* * *

Holt had given Blair and Gigi space, but he itched to know what they were discussing. Might be about whether or not to go to the police. Now, out of the corner of his eye, he studied a man with beady eyes and a receding hairline moving in on Blair. He towered over her and she inched back, then scowled. Didn’t appear to be a pleasant conversation. Holt strode toward them. If this guy was messing with her, it’d be for the last time.

“Blair, everything all right?” Holt asked as he ambled up beside her, glaring at the big guy wearing a worn camouflage shirt and jeans.

Blair tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. This is Ronnie Lawson—”

“Own the sporting goods store outside town. You are?” Ronnie sniffed and spat a gob of tobacco onto the road.

“Holt Renard. Just moved here from Memphis.”

Ronnie nodded once. “What brings you to Hope?”

“Opening a used outdoorsman store.” And he continued to build on the tower of lies. “Chasin’ the dream, man. Chasin’ the dream.” Once it hadn’t been too far of a stretch, before his world flipped upside down. Once he’d wanted to major in forestry and settle down in a town much like this one. With Trina.

“I hear ya.” Ronnie returned his attention to Blair. “So, can I come by and check out the inventory?”

Blair placed her hands on her hips. “Sorry you broke down on the interstate this morning, but I haven’t had a chance to comb through everything myself, and you know—”

“You have a dumb ritual of having to see it all before anyone else. Give me a break.”

Holt didn’t like this guy. Manhandling her with his words and his stance. He stepped forward, ready to put the deadhead in his place, if for no other reason than talking ugly to a woman.

“Dumb or not, it’s my thing.”

Blair gave him an icy stare, and Ronnie chuckled. “All right. No need for daggers. Call me if there’s anything I might want.”

“You know I will. As always.” Blair waved as he climbed into the pickup. “Ronnie Lawson is the thorn in my side. Greedy old jerk. I like his wife, though.”

Gigi snickered. “He’s just mad because he lost out on possible sporting goods.”

Holt wasn’t sure what was going on. The guy seemed too interested in Blair’s purchase, but he might always be like this. Holt needed answers. “So, anyone up for food?”

“It’s hot out, but I could eat some soup maybe,” Gigi offered. “Blair?”

She stared at the road and chewed a thumbnail. “I really need to go through the wares from today and inventory it.”

“You whacked your head, Blair. Take a day to rest,” Holt said, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was too hot to stand around out here talkin’ about stock from the auction—or anything else.

“Or let me eat some soup and then get to it.” Gigi gave her the stank-eye and Blair heaved a breath.

“I’ll tell you what,” Holt said, “let’s get a bite to eat and I’ll help you unload the wares and inventory. I know you can’t haul all of that out of the truck alone.” He hoped she’d agree. He needed more time around her and access to snoop.

“I can handle it and it’s a ritual I like to do—study each piece, and...anyway...” Blair glanced across the street. “But okay to something to eat.”

So she wasn’t going to let him go near that truckload of stuff. Why? What ritual? His suspicion rose to new heights. He couldn’t drive her truck, and she’d refused to leave it behind. Was there something inside she didn’t want anyone to see? Was that why the SUV had plowed into her?

They headed down the sidewalk toward the Black-Eyed Pea. Holt pointed at the diner on the corner of the square. “Cool name.”

“Hunter and Jace Black own the place. Gigi dates Hunter...sometimes.” Blair grinned, groaning when Gigi elbowed her.

“What about you, Blair? Who do you date?” Could a new boyfriend be into some bad stuff?

Gigi snorted. “Blair? Date?”

Holt spied Blair’s cheeks turning pink, but she didn’t offer a defense or retort. Would she still be grieving Mateo Salvador? He’d been nothing short of a monster with loads of money. It’d been over two years since he died. It had to be Blair’s own decision not to date. Holt couldn’t imagine the dudes in this town not beating her door down to ask her out. If this wasn’t an assignment and he was positive she wasn’t involved directly with drugs, Holt would be beating down her door. But this was an assignment. And personally, he was done opening himself up to love.

“I don’t have time for relationships,” Blair offered, glaring at Gigi, but behind the irritation with her sister lay worry and unease.

She had every right to be afraid and fret. Holt wanted to reassure her that things would be fine. But could he? He’d failed Trina. Holt had given her false hope every day. He’d believed with all his heart that God would heal her. He would let them be together and make a happy life. And in the end? Hope disappointed. Hope failed.

The day he laid Trina to rest, he’d also buried his faith.

They crossed the street and headed down to the storefront where red-and-blue-plaid curtains lined the lower half of picture windows. A large wooden sign hung overhead with black branded lettering: The Black-Eyed Pea. Home cooking, deep-fried deliciousness and the briny scent of seafood clung to the sticky air.

Hopefully, during their meal, Holt would be able to extract more information from Blair and Gigi.

Time was running out.

An hour later, Holt hadn’t learned much more than the fact that Jace Black made a mean po’boy, could fix Blair’s truck if she needed him to and might be into her—which flared a green streak in Holt that irritated and surprised him.

Blair had kept relatively low-key except to admit she stank at cooking. Now on his way to drop the sisters off at home, Holt turned down their country road. Only a few houses sprinkled in the area. A dark pickup truck whizzed by, kicking up dust.

A love song played on the radio. He itched to switch stations. The last thing he needed was a ballad about lasting love. He pulled into Blair’s gravel driveway and cut the engine.

Gigi’s phone rang. “Thanks, Holt.” She answered the call and climbed out of the truck, then sat on the porch steps.

Blair exited the vehicle and Holt dogged her, stopping her before she reached Gigi. “If you need anything at all, I’m only across the street. Or better yet, take my number and call or text.”

Blair huffed but traded numbers. “We’ll be fine.”

Holt wasn’t so sure. “It’s not every day someone gets run off the road and shot at. I’m not an idiot, and I haven’t pushed, but it’s obvious you’re in trouble. And I want to help.”

Blair fidgeted with her cell phone. “I don’t even know you.”

“Fair enough, but I’m not the one running you down with a gun. The fact that you’re not going to the police tells me you’re into some bad stuff—”

“I’m not a criminal!” Blair’s words carried conviction and pain.

He couldn’t help softening. “I didn’t say you were, Blair.” And maybe she wasn’t. He was struggling to imagine she was. “But good people have bad things happen to them.” He’d been a witness to that.

She touched his arm as if she’d known and felt his own pain. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For taking care of us and giving us a ride, but please don’t let what happened get around town.”

Holt would never say a word. Not only because he was undercover, but clearly Blair Sullivan didn’t like the fact that she’d been associated with Mateo Salvador and his criminal activity. And Holt wanted her trust. “I promise you, I won’t say a word to anyone. I don’t promise to stay out of it. You could have died. Whether I know you or not...” He scuffed his toe along the gravel drive. “I don’t want to see anyone die.” Couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t, either.”

“Blair,” Gigi called. “Did you leave the door open after we got home from the auction?” Gigi stood with her keys in hand, staring at the front door.

Blair frowned and marched toward the house. Holt followed. “No. We didn’t go inside and I know I wouldn’t have left it open.”

Holt nudged both women behind him and studied the cracked-open door. “Did ya’ll notice that truck that flew by a minute ago? Either of you recognize it?”

Blair’s hand trembled. “Not really.” She looped her arm in Gigi’s as if trying to hold them both up. Gigi shook her head.

He handed Blair his truck keys. “Go get in my truck and lock the doors. Anything happens, you drive away. Don’t even hesitate.”

Blair stared at the keys, lips quivering.

“Go,” he said with a little more force, and gave her a gentle shove toward the steps.

When she and Gigi were inside the cab of his truck, Holt drew his gun, toed open the front door, then slipped inside. Not a sound except for the refrigerator humming and the air-conditioning unit working to keep the house cool.

Nothing seemed out of place.

He cleared each room downstairs and up. Everything appeared to be in order, but his gut screamed someone had been in here. And the culprit might have been in that pickup. If they’d been five minutes earlier...

Holt came outside. Blair and Gigi whispered inside the truck. Possibly keeping secrets and discussing information he desperately needed to find their brother and Agent Livingston. Blair opened the truck door.

“I didn’t see anything out of place, but come in and take a look. See if you notice anything unusual.”

Blair entered her living room first. “It smells like oil and exhaust.”

Holt sniffed. “You’re right.” Definitely wasn’t Blair’s signature scent. She smelled like a bouquet of springtime, which irked him that he’d picked up on it...enjoyed the fragrance. He had one purpose in being here, and it wasn’t to admire Blair Sullivan’s flowery scent.

He walked the house with her and Gigi.

“I don’t see anything missing.” Blair shivered and rubbed her forearms. “I guess we did leave the door cracked.”

Holt didn’t believe that, and the way Blair was nervously rubbing her arms said she didn’t, either. Gigi’s narrowed eyes confirmed what Holt was thinking.

Blair was lying. But why?

Blair walked to the front door and opened it. “We appreciate you checking out the house. We’re safe now. I’ll call if we need you.”

Another invitation to leave. The last thing he wanted to do. Someone had broken in and they could come back. Blair and Gigi could get hurt. Worse. But she was kicking him to the curb.

Shoving down the fight he wanted to give, he nodded and stepped onto the porch. At least he was across the street. “Please call me, Blair. For anything.”

“I will.” Her eyes were wide with fright but she closed the door, leaving a barrier between them. No matter, he’d just go home and set up his surveillance equipment and play professional Peeping Tom. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

TWO

Blair leaned against the kitchen door, knees quaking, throat tight. Someone had been in her home. Her sanctuary. Nothing was out of place. Whoever had been in here had been doing something else. But what?

Blair rubbed her temples and tried to thwart the headache coming on. Neck muscles coiled, she closed the venetian blinds on her windows, double-checked the locks on the doors and stood in the middle of her living room, staring into nothing. Moments later, she peeked through her blinds.

All was quiet.

A movement through Holt’s sheer curtains caught her attention. Was he watching the house—doing as he promised and standing guard? The idea brought a breath of relief, but not enough for her to let down her defenses.

She tiptoed across her hardwood floor, willing the hairs on her neck to stand down.

Stopping in front of Gigi’s room, Blair heard the shower run, full throttle. Good, Blair needed a few moments alone to process the events of the day and pray. Then she’d confess the whole horrible and humiliating story. She climbed the steep staircase to her bedroom.

She opted for a fresh T-shirt and jeans instead of a shower. If she could work up the nerve later, she needed to inventory today’s purchase. She opened her top drawer and froze.

Inside, lying right on top of her T-shirts, was a white gift box; a red bow had been stuck dead center. She swallowed a lump and hesitated, then took it out. The intruder hadn’t been here to steal something but to deliver a gift—a gift Blair was sure she didn’t want.

Forcing herself to calm down and clear her mind, she slowly opened it. Shrieking, she dropped the lid on the floor and covered her mouth to keep from getting sick.

Inside the box lay a dead rat. Underneath, a slip of paper stole her attention. Eeew. She didn’t want to touch the thing. She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a pair of latex gloves she used for cleaning and psyched herself up to remove the note.

Don’t be a rat. Go to the police or tell anyone about what happened and people you care about die.

With trembling hands, she placed the note back in the drawer, then closed the lid on the rat. She found a trash bag under her bathroom sink and used it to dispose of the box and its contents. She hurried downstairs and took it out to the big garbage can, then came back inside. Gigi stood in the living room, arms crossed, wet hair hanging over her shoulders.

“Time to talk.”

Blair rubbed her brow. “First of all, let me say that everything I’ve done to keep the truth hidden was to protect you. It was all for your own good.”

Gigi narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like where this is going. I need to sit down.”

Blair waited a beat and then balled her fists to her sides as she paced. “The truth is Mateo was a bad man. I didn’t know it at the time, though. Not really. In hindsight, I guess there were some signs, but I ignored them. I was young and in love. But he had dark secrets.”

Gigi’s eyes widened.

Blair pushed back tears. “He smuggled drugs for his brother, Hector.”

“Hector? Mr. Don Juan himself?”

“Good looks doesn’t mean good person. I learned that the hard way. Hector is ruthless. Evil.” Gigi could easily have been smitten by the man. A shiver ran down Blair’s spine.

Gigi shook her head, then snapped it up. “Is that why you paid for that year I spent in Europe? To keep me away?”

Blair nodded.

“Until you said I could come live with you after Mateo died.”

“I thought it would finally be safe.” Blair had been wrong.

“When you found out the truth, why didn’t you leave? Call Dad?”

Blair smoothed Gigi’s wet hair. “Women don’t leave Salvador men. And Dad might be a marine, but he was no match for a powerful drug cartel. I wanted to, though. Believe me.”

Gigi hugged Blair. “I’m so sorry. You must have been terrified.”

“I was,” she whispered.

“Why didn’t Hector...you know...”

“Kill me?” Blair massaged her aching neck. “Hector is complicated. He was angry when I told him I didn’t want to live on his ranch and let him take care of me. But when I explained I wanted to move here to where Grandma and Grandpa had lived, he changed his tune. Gave me his blessing and offered me money to start up the business and buy a house.”

“Did you accept it?”

Blair frowned. “Hardly. I wanted freedom. Hector’s gifts are like chains. I’d never ask him for anything. It’s not worth the future debt.”

Gigi laced her fingers with Blair’s. “He didn’t care you changed your name back to Sullivan?”

“Not after I told him I wanted to move to Hope and start fresh. Stay out of the limelight. Honestly, I believe God gave me favor in Hector’s eyes.” What other reason could there be for Hector extending such grace when he wasn’t a gracious man?

Gigi rubbed her chin. “You think what happened today had anything to do with Hector? Have you crossed him somehow? Would he think you’ve crossed him?”

No. Hector wouldn’t have tried to kill her. At least, she didn’t think he would. Unless he thought she’d stolen something from him, but she hadn’t. Confusion’s web spun fast enough to make her dizzy. “I don’t think so. But we can’t go to the police. You see why now.” And after the note and disgusting gift, she didn’t dare.

“Did Mateo have anything to do with Jeremy’s drug problem?”

“No. Unfortunately, Jeremy got into all that long before Mateo entered the picture. I hid it even from Jeremy. I had to.”

“So what do we do?”

That was the question. “Right now you try to rest. Then we’ll watch an old movie and eat some dinner.” And she’d call Jeremy again. This could still be something he had ties to. “From now on, lock the doors. Don’t be so friendly with strangers. And watch your back.”

Gigi nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “But no more keeping things from me. Got it?”

Blair pursed her lips. “From this point on.” Meaning what she’d found in the bedroom was off-limits. She had to protect Gigi. She was already terrified enough.

After trying to take their minds off things with TV and a light dinner, Blair changed into a pair of work jeans and boots. Might as well start on unloading the items from the auction before the sun went down. She drove the truck out to the barn and raised the rolling door. A wave of musty heat popped her in the face, sending sweat trickling down her cheeks. She paused at a noise outside the barn and waited. Hairs rose on her arms and she could hardly breathe.

After what seemed like forever, she wrangled herself inside the truck.

She should have taken Holt up on his muscle.

“Hey,” a deep voice sounded from behind.

Blair jumped and shrieked, clasping her hand to her chest. “Holt.” So not telling him that she was just thinking about him. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” He swept his dark bangs from his eyes. “Thought I’d check up on you.”

In the barn? Prickles ran up her spine. She wanted to trust him. She honestly did. “Did you see anyone out there?” Or had the noise been Holt?

“No. Why? Did you?”

“No. But I thought I heard something. Must have been you or my neighbor’s horses. I’m jumpy.”

“Understandable.” Holt scanned the barn and cocked his ear, listening. After a moment, he relaxed. “How’s Gigi?”

Blair forced herself to loosen up. “She’s doing all right. I thought I’d come out and work on unloading the truck, take inventory. Get a look at everything I purchased.” As Ronnie Lawson had pointed out, this was her ritual. Just her and all the goods. She would determine what went into the store, and what would stay stocked in the barn, for now. She liked to imagine the previous owners and the stories behind the objects.

“Can I help?” He stood there, all broad shoulders, no danger in his eyes—just tenderness and concern that nearly sent her reeling. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? Mateo at first. But it had all been lies. “I know you have a thing about going through it alone, but I’d really like to help you, Blair. In so many ways.” His whisper clung to her insides, disarming her guard.

A few Appaloosas grazed near the fence. She’d meant to bring them apples. “I’m used to doing things alone.” It was safer than offering her trust only to have it betrayed.

“I get that. And you seem completely capable. But...I’m here and I have two capable hands, too.” He splayed them on his sides, his white T-shirt clinging to rock-solid biceps and chest.

Could she trust him? They were just collectibles, but she did love her routine. She also dreaded some of the heavy lifting.

“All right. Sure.” She didn’t like being out here alone anyway. If she was really alone. It felt as if a million eyes were staring at her.

She grabbed her work gloves and donned them, her hands instantly turning clammy from the insulation. “I might have an extra pair.” She held up her gloved hands. “Over there on that worktable.”

Holt nodded and rummaged through tools and odds and ends until he found some. “How long have you lived in Hope?”

“Couple of years. My grandparents grew up here. They were happy in Hope. Plus, I love the name of the town and I needed it—hope—when I first settled in.”

“Where are you from originally?” He grabbed a tote from the truck, and Blair motioned for him to stack it near the back wall.

“All over.” She laughed. “Military brat. What about you?”

“I grew up in Memphis. Spent a lot of summers in a town like this. Glory, Mississippi. My grandpa was the sheriff and my grandmother ran a lot of women’s groups...and kept me and my cousin Bryn in line.”

Blair liked the way his eyes lit up as he talked of his grandparents. “My grandpa died when I was very young, but I treasure the memories. Grandma Viola passed shortly after I graduated high school. What about yours?”

“My grandpa died a few years back, but Grandma Mavis is still kickin’ and thinking she’s thirty and not eighty-two. I haven’t seen her since last summer.”

“You should go. See her. You never know how much time you have with someone you love.”

“You’re right.”

Blair heard the heartache in his voice. Who had he lost? That was private and she didn’t want to pry by asking, but she was curious. She focused back on the task at hand. “We can arrange everything in categories. After that, I’ll log each item with a short description, how much I think it’s worth—unless I need an expert. Once I nail down prices, I’ll determine what will go into my store and what will stay in inventory.”

“I know we’re not supposed to covet, but right now I’m coveting your organizational skills. You should help me organize my store.” He continued unloading totes, bags, furniture and garbage sacks full of junk.

Holt lifted a hefty tub and carried it to the housewares piles. “Clearly, you’re in great shape, but some of this is seriously heavy. You never have any help?”

Heat crept into her face, and she brushed the hair sticking to her sweaty cheek with her forearm. “My brother helps out sometimes, after I’ve looked through it. But he’s...unavailable. And Gigi mostly whines, so I don’t even ask. Occasionally, Jace Black from the Black-Eyed Pea helps. Or Mitch Rydell. Have you met him yet? He’s my neighbor. Owns those horses.” She pointed toward the pasture.

“I haven’t met anyone officially.” He sat on the tub, took off his gloves and raked his hands through his damp hair. “Maybe you can introduce me around.”

“Maybe.”

“So, why’s your brother unavailable?” Holt surveyed the barn, taking his sweet time, as if hunting down something. Or maybe she was being paranoid again.

Dread filled her stomach. Sometimes Jeremy liked downtime and took off on his own, but he generally called to check in. “I’m not sure. He’s a loner.”

“He live nearby?”

“Memphis.”

“Cool.”

Holt continued to pepper her with questions. Some she answered; some she dodged. “Okay, enough with the twenty questions.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and surveyed their piles.

“I’m just trying to get to know you, Blair.” Holt threw a dazzling grin her way. In the past, it would have sunk her to her knees. Not anymore. Well, maybe she felt a flutter.

Two hours in, the sun had dipped, but the temperature was still in the lava levels. Blair’s clothing stuck to her skin, stray hairs that had escaped her topknot clung to her cheeks and chin. She headed for an old but working fifties fridge, opened it and handed Holt a bottle of water. She downed hers in record time.

“Not a bad unit.”

No, it wasn’t. She’d overpaid. But sometimes her gut told her it would be worth it—to take the chance. Too bad her gut was always wrong in the romance department.

A turn-of-the-century dresser with intricate piping, a few embroidered decorative pillows and a collection of what appeared to be gorgeous hand-carved wooden ducks—nearly a foot long and several inches wide and deep—still hung in the back of the truck, along with two boxes she hadn’t combed through yet. “I’m wiped out, and I need to check on Gigi. How about we call it a day? I can log these items in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me help.” He scanned the barn again. She’d noticed him poking around a few times. Was he looking for something in particular or was he simply curious?

They walked toward the house. Holt stopped in his tracks and slowly pivoted toward the barn, head tipped.

“What are you—”

“Shhh.” He placed his index finger on his lips.

Blair’s throat tightened.

The horses in the pasture whinnied.

Bullfrogs croaked from the nearby pond.

A feeling of eeriness seemed to creepy-crawl through the humidity.

Holt’s eyes hardened as he surveyed the yard. Woods flanked her pond, and farther back was Mitch’s pastureland. Anyone could be out there. Fear slicked her bones.

“Stay here,” he whispered before jogging toward the barn.

Blair wrapped her arms around her middle and concentrated on seeing beyond the black of night. Even Holt’s silhouette had disappeared, but his voice boomed, “Hey!”

She heard the sound of feet running through the pasture. Blair’s nerves jittered. Adrenaline raced through her veins. “Holt!”

He’d told her to stay put, but what if he was in trouble? She hurried across the yard as a dark figure jumped the barbed-wire fence and plowed into her.

Her vision obscured by utter darkness and the stranger’s hoodie, she couldn’t make out a face, but his gravelly hiss connected with her ear as he clenched her arm in an iron grasp. “Rats die. Remember that. And don’t expect your boyfriend to save you.” He shoved her and she hit the ground, knocking her head. Again.

* * *

Holt rushed to Blair. Kneeling down, he touched her cheek with his left hand as he still gripped a gun in his right. “Blair, are you hurt?”

She groaned. “No more than I was before.”

Glancing up toward the house, he grinded his teeth, reining in his temper. This guy had gotten away. Again. “Give me your hand.” He helped her to her feet, and ran his hand over her head. “No bumps?”

“No.”

Holt put his arm around her waist and helped her to the back door.

Blair shivered against him. “Did you see his face? What do you think he was doing, prowling in Mitch’s pasture?”

“I think he was hiding out. Waiting on us to leave the barn. Blair, I have to ask. Is there anything in your truck or the barn someone might want?” This was now the second attack since the auction.

“No.”

“I saw him grab you. Did he say anything?”

She opened her mouth, then froze. Something brewed in her eyes and Holt knew it right then. The trust he thought he’d been building in the barn had shattered. She backed up a step.

Something the attacker said had her spooked. And it must have to do with Holt. “What is it? I see he scared you. What did he say?”

Blair looked away. “Nothing. He didn’t say anything.”

Holt let out an exasperated sigh and shoved his gun in his waistband. “Let’s get you inside, then I’m going to take a look around. Make sure whoever it was is long gone, okay?” No point pressing her in this state.

Blair nodded and opened the door, stepping inside.

“Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back as soon as I check it out.” He kept his irritation in check. The longer she held out, the worse off it would be for Jeremy and Agent Livingston. But he couldn’t tell her that, because he couldn’t blow his cover.

Several minutes later, Holt knocked on the kitchen door and Blair jumped like a scared rabbit before she opened it.

“I didn’t see anything but headlights down the road. Could have been the guy. Maybe not. Too far to tell.” He scratched the back of his head. “I should stay. In case he comes back.”

Blair’s eyes turned wary. What had that guy said? “You know I carry a gun, too. I’ll lock up and be careful.”

Grinding his jaw, he surveyed the backyard again. “What if I said please?”

“I’d say I appreciate your politeness but we’ll be okay. You’re just across the street. Besides, I don’t want Gigi to worry. She’s had enough to deal with already. I’ll worry for her.”

And Holt would worry for Blair. Maybe he could charm her into letting him stay. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m quick on the draw.” He smirked. “And I run fast, too.”

Her face relaxed and he had her. He hated the way he had to do it, although charming Blair wasn’t all manipulation. He rather enjoyed it. Liked seeing her smile and getting to know her.

Suddenly, a new resolve formed in her eyes. “You can watch me lock the door again.”

What happened? He blew a resigned breath and pointed to the door. “Get locking.”

He’d have to watch from across the street or take up vigil in her front yard. Not to mention, he needed access to that barn. Something had to be of value inside, and later tonight, he was going to do some sneaking around of his own.

* * *

Holt’s hunt inside Blair’s barn had been a bust last night. She’d padlocked the truck and he hadn’t found anything he considered valuable in the actual storage areas. Of course, she might have put money, drugs or other questionable items in a hiding place before Holt had arrived to help her unload.

Now it was Sunday afternoon and Holt had to pretend to build a fake store under his cover. Blair and Gigi had gone to church this morning, which made it even harder to believe that Blair was directly tied to anything illicit. With each moment, Holt became more convinced she’d been targeted. Possibly from what Jeremy had found out and wanted to divulge to Holt. Possibly over something Hector had done—or not done.

This morning, he’d eaten breakfast at the Magnolia Inn and done a little surveillance, since Agent Livingston had stayed a couple of nights. He’d had lunch at the Black-Eyed Pea, hoping to hear some gossip that might help him somehow. All dead ends. He’d called his handler. No news in Memphis, either. Jeremy’s disappearance was still being looked into and Holt had called his cousin, FBI agent Bryn Hale, to have her pull FBI data. Bryn had put her husband, Eric, an MPD homicide detective, on it locally. Just some unofficial snooping by his friends.

So far, crickets. Where had Jeremy gone? He’d asked Holt to meet him about some information he’d gathered—against Holt’s wishes—but he’d never shown up to the meeting. That was over a week ago.

The door opened to his store.

“We’re not ready for business yet.” He turned to see Gigi holding two cups of coffee.

“Just peeking in on my neighbor. How’s it coming along?”

“Hopelessly.” Story of his life. “I need a vision.”

“You didn’t already have that?”

No. He had a budget from the DEA to make it look real and that was about all. But he had to confess, he’d enjoyed hanging fishing equipment and scouring a few pawn shops for items while doing a little subtle investigating. “You have any outdoor equipment you’d want to sell?”

Gigi shrugged. “You’d have to ask Blair. Didn’t you see anything in the barn last night?”

“Not really.”

“She just opened up. Sunday afternoons are popular with the tourists.” She studied the store. “I could help you, you know.”

“With Blair?” Holt raised an eyebrow.

A slow grin spread and Gigi waggled a finger at him. “With inventory for your business.”

He took the coffee she presented and thought about it. He might have found a way to get closer to Blair. “You say Blair’s next door?”

“She is.”

He stepped outside, Gigi right behind him, into the summer heat and stared at Blair’s window display. A winter wonderland. “What’s up with your sister and Christmas?” From the store’s name, to the Christmas tree on the side of the truck and the Christmas window display...in June, there had to be something to it.

“Ask her.” She opened the door; the bell tinkled. “An angel just got some wings, sis.” She motioned for him to enter. “I’m running over to Felicity’s for a green tea.”

He darted his sight to the bell and shook his head. Blair stood at the counter, handing a stack of mail to a woman with long black hair, olive skin and raven-colored eyes.

“Thanks so much for this. I didn’t mean to be gone as long as I was. I owe you one, Blair.”

“You get a lot of mail, Lola.”

“Mostly boutique stuff.”

Ah. She must run the uppity-looking Bless Her Heart Boutique near Aurora Daniels’s law office. Aurora owned the coffee shop Sufficient Grounds, too.

“Where were you again?” Blair asked.

“Visiting family. Out of state.” She tossed her hair behind her back and shoved the stack of mail in her purse.

Wonder where she’d been traveling? He cleared his throat overzealously. Blair’s gaze skittered over him. “Hey, Holt.”

The boutique owner approached him with a seductive smile. “Lola Medina. We haven’t been formally introduced, but I saw you at the Black-Eyed Pea yesterday when I got into town.”

“Holt Renard. How long have you been on vacation? I could use one already.” And a solid lead.

Lola’s smile was clearly forced. Why wouldn’t she want to tell him where she’d been? Was she hiding something?

“If you’re looking for good vacation spots, Tijuana has an amazing nightlife. You look like you might be interested in that. And Tecate has a fabulous brewery and an even more fabulous spa.” Her earlier smile eased into a suggestive one. “If you ever need a personal tour guide...”

“I’ll let you know. That’s all in Mexico, right? Baja?”

“It is. You ever been to Mexico?”

Not on the record. “Cancun. Puerta Vallarta.”

“I knew you liked nightlife.” She leaned forward. “It’s in the eyes. I’m good at reading people.”

He leaned in as well, until he was in her personal space. “Me, too.”

After a lingering grin, Lola tossed Blair a glance. “Thanks again, friend. I missed being home...and the scenery.”

Holt caught Blair’s frown.

The bell tinkled as Lola breezed out the door and a guy several years younger than Holt entered.

“Hey, Manny. What can I do for you?” Blair asked, and wiped her hands on her jeans.

“It’s what I can do for you.” He set a cake container on the counter. “Sophia made her famous double-chocolate cake. Three layers.”

“Oh. My.” Blair touched her throat. “Tell her she didn’t have to do that.”

“You’ll be sharing that with your new neighbor, right?” Holt asked.

Manny turned and nodded. “Manny Menendez.”

“He’s Sophie’s brother. She works for the Drummonds,” Blair offered, then did what Holt wanted to do. Slid her finger into the icing and closed her eyes to savor it. “This is amazing.”

“I know,” Manny said.

Holt stopped gawking at Blair’s display and faced Manny. “Holt Renard.”

Manny gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Well, Mitch has me shoveling hay today, so I’ll see you later.”

Blair waved her goodbye and turned to Holt. “What brings you in? You know I was getting cake?”

“What’s the deal with that little saying?” He quirked his thumb toward the bell above the door.

“Haven’t you ever seen It’s a Wonderful Life? It’s a classic Christmas movie. Bell rings. An angel gets its wings.”

This woman was adorably strange and confusing. “Maybe. I don’t remember.” Holt scoped out the place. Decorated Christmas trees in every corner, merchandise underneath as if they were Christmas gifts. Even an old mantel had been secured to the wall complete with stockings hanging.

Colored lights ran the length of the walls and hung from the ceiling. “So...what’s up with this?” He twirled his finger around the store.

“I like Christmas.”

Holt feigned shock. “Really? I had no idea.”

Blair tossed him a flat look, but he spotted a fair amount of amusement in her eyes. Hopefully, he could regain the ground he’d lost last night when she suddenly turned wary again. He hated to admit he really liked her.

“Everything in here represents a life lived. Those bowls.” She pointed. “Someone may have mixed dough to make a Christmas pie or to throw together a birthday cake.” She motioned toward an old club chair and ottoman. “A dad might have read his child bedtime stories sitting there, maybe The Night Before Christmas. Somewhere along the line, those memories were tossed out. Not wanted. I find that sad.”

But what did it have to do with Christmas 24/7? Holt perused old books, hutches, curio cabinets, coins, knives, dolls and various stuffed toys.

He understood the concept. He’d kept some of Trina’s belongings for years, then couldn’t bear the memories and had given them away. He jabbed a thumb toward a kiddie tea set. “A little girl had a tea party and invited some of those stuffed animals.”

Blair beamed. The first real smile he’d seen. It lit him up brighter than the window display. “Yes, maybe. And over there a grandfather taught his grandson how to play chess.” Excitement laced her voice. She enjoyed this—imagining, pretending...dreaming.

Holt eyed the old table with a wooden chessboard arranged on top. Something about seeing her thrilled and happy set off a spark in him, and he played along to keep that smile on her face, the childlike wonder in her eyes. “And he went on to win the national championship to make his grandpa proud, but Grandpa died before he saw it and so the boy couldn’t stand to play chess again. And he gave his memories away,” he murmured. Just like Holt.

Running her slender finger down the chessboard, Blair slowly nodded. “Perhaps. People discard memories in the form of objects for all sorts of reasons. I like to think I’m giving someone a chance to make new memories.”

Holt understood more than he wished to.

“You play pretend well.” Blair gave him a nod of approval.

If she only knew how well.

Blair cleared her throat and rubbed her nose, reminding him of Jeremy’s habit. Guilt ate at Holt. For keeping the fact that he knew Jeremy from Blair and because Jeremy’s disappearance might be Holt’s fault.

If something happened to him, how would he look Blair in the eye and explain?

“So, what did you need?” Blair tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“My store needs equipment. I’m working on building my inventory, but it’s sparse. I guess I could set up a few undecorated Christmas trees and call it a forest.”

Blair laughed.

“Gigi said she’d help me. I’m gonna take her up on it.” If his intuition was right and Blair was as protective as he thought, she wouldn’t want Gigi alone with him. She might be laughing and sharing a bit about her business, but being polite was a far cry from trusting someone. She wouldn’t even let him in the house for the night when an intruder had been prowling, which meant Holt didn’t have her solid trust. Yet.

Besides, he didn’t want Gigi helping him. He wanted Blair. Which unsettled him.

Blair scurried behind the counter. “Gigi can’t,” she said, worrying her lip. I’ve—I’ve got her doing a lot of inventory and prepping for the launch of our online store. But...but I can. I’ll do it.” Obviously, she didn’t want to, but would say anything to get Gigi off the hook. He wasn’t proud of manipulating her, but she might be able to help Holt find Jeremy. And it kept him close in case whoever tried to kill her made another attempt. Regardless of why someone had come after her, he wasn’t going to sit idly by and let her be harmed.

“Great. Where do we start?”

“Naming the store for one.”

“I’m all imagined out.”

Waving him off, she rounded the counter. “My store is It’s a Wonderful Life. Because, one, I love the movie. It’s the last thing I watched with my mother before she died. We watched it Christmas night. The next morning she went out shopping and died in a car accident.”

That explained Christmas all year round. Blair was keeping her mother alive through the store. An ache throbbed in his chest.

Blair looked lovingly at her merchandise. “I never want to forget the memories of Christmas with her. How I felt. And it’s also perfect for my store. The little girl who snatches up a princess doll knows in her heart that life got a little better. A hunter finds the blade he’s been searching everywhere for and his Saturday mornings have turned—”

“Wonderful. Not just wonderful but wonder-full.”

Blair squinted at him, nodding. “See? Use your perception and imagination. You’ll have a name before you know it.”

Holt grunted. What was the point of using so much imagination for a store that wasn’t going to ever open.

Blair straightened a stack of old books. “I need to make a trip to Memphis in the morning. There’s a little shop about thirty miles away. A huge junk store. We can use my truck if you want and see if we can’t find some goods there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, do you think you could help me unload that dresser from yesterday’s auction? I’m not in a big hurry, but we’ll need it cleared out before we leave tomorrow.” Blair waved to a woman and young daughter as they entered the store, the mother threatening the child with no ice cream if she touched a single thing. Why bring little kids to places they couldn’t explore? Never made sense to Holt.

“You got it.” Holt had seen into Blair’s heart a little today, and he couldn’t find a single way that, with her sweet spirit and sentimentality, she could be knee-deep in criminal activity.

So why spend all that money on that one storage shed last Saturday? Ronnie Lawson said his truck had broken down. Holt wondered if that had been sabotage or coincidental. No way. Blair Sullivan wasn’t a saboteur. She wasn’t directly involved in drug trafficking.

At least not willingly.

Holt’s gut twisted. He had to know the truth. Just what had Blair gotten herself into?

THREE

Blair had tossed and turned all night. Every creak and pop had her bolting upright in bed and checking in on Gigi, who snored lightly, as if they both hadn’t almost taken a dirt nap. The gun under her pillow had brought some comfort.

She’d learned to shoot with Mateo at the gun range.

Querida, it is important to be able to take care of yourself. It will make me feel better when I am away so long.

Yeah. Right. Little did Blair know she was learning to defend herself from drug lords. But when he called her sweetheart in Spanish... She was so over sweet talk and charm. Blair wanted real honesty. She’d take gruff and unpolished over silvery prose any day.

“I put the dresser in the back room. Did you want me to haul the other stuff out? Some pillows and bric-a-brac.” Holt stood in the store area, hair still damp from his shower and the scent of his soap wafting through the air. She had to ride with that all day? She must be a glutton for punishment.

Blair had planned on going to Jeremy’s apartment today to find answers. Now she had to do it with Holt along. Maybe he wouldn’t ask too many questions. But until she was 100 percent sure he wasn’t dangerous, she’d make sure Gigi didn’t go near him. Which meant Blair had to help him supply his store with merchandise—while keeping an eye on him. Everything felt too coincidental. Or the paranoia was getting the best of her again.

“No. It’s not taking up much room. I’ll get it later. You ready?” Was she? Last night, in between contemplating fatal scenarios, she’d thought about the way he’d slipped into her pretend game so easily. Behind those billion-dollar looks and the killer smile, Holt had some tender spots. Or maybe he was using all that for some hidden agenda.

I’m being ridiculous. Would a coldhearted killer talk about a boy playing chess and losing a grandpa? Confusion gnawed at her gut. She couldn’t trust her judgment. She’d been dangerously wrong before, but that didn’t stop the way she was drawn to him as he used his vivid imagination. The way he’d arrested her heart with the lovely yet tragic story. Holt had shifted something inside of her. But she’d make sure to remedy the feelings. Remain cautious. Stay guarded.

“So, where’s Gigi today?” Holt asked as he hopped in the passenger side of her truck.

“She’s helping out at the senior home.” Which was why Blair chose today to check on Jeremy. She couldn’t shake her suspicion that he was in trouble, and her sister had enough to worry about without being dragged into Blair’s search for answers. “She’s overseeing the weekly activities there.”

Holt nodded. “How long have you wanted to own your own business?”

Blair eased by Farley Pass, the ruts in the grass still there from the other day. Her chest constricted. She glanced in her rearview mirror.

“Since I was sixteen. Before that I wanted to be a race car driver.” She laughed. “How about you?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.