Share the joys, heartbreaks, challenges and triumphs of the people who inhabit the small Oregon town of Thunder Point with #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr

With its breathtaking vistas and down-to-earth people, Thunder Point is the perfect place for FBI agent Laine Carrington to recuperate from a gunshot wound and contemplate her future. The locals embraced Laine as one of their own after she risked her life to save a young girl from a dangerous cult. Knowing her wounds go beyond the physical, Laine hopes she’ll fit in for a while and find her true self in a town that feels safe. She may even learn to open her heart to others, something an undercover agent has little time to indulge.

Eric Gentry is also new to Thunder Point. Although he’s a man with a dark past, he’s determined to put down roots and get to know the daughter he only recently discovered. When Laine and Eric meet, their attraction is obvious to everyone. But while the law enforcement agent and the reformed criminal want to make things work, their differences may run too deep…unless they take a chance on each other and find that deep and mysterious bond that belongs to those who choose love over fear.

Praise for #1 New York Times

and USA TODAY bestselling author

ROBYN

CARR

“A touch of danger and suspense make the latest in Carr’s Thunder Point series a powerful read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Hero

“With her trademark mixture of humor, realistic conflict, and razor-sharp insights, Carr brings Thunder Point to vivid life.”

—Library Journal on The Newcomer

“No one can do small-town life like Carr.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Wanderer

“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here....You won’t want to put this one down.”

—RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak

“An intensely satisfying read. By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional, it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

The Chance

Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This story is lovingly dedicated to

the caregivers of the world.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract from Four Friends

Extract from The Hero

One

When Laine Carrington arrived in Thunder Point, she went directly to the hill above the beach and sat in the parking lot beside Cooper’s bar. She didn’t go inside—she would do that later. She just wanted to see if the view from this perch matched the pictures she’d been sent. She let out her breath, not even realizing she’d been holding it. The vista before her was even better.

What am I doing here? she asked herself again. She’d been asking herself over three thousand miles of driving.

The view was stunning. The beach was wide and long. The huge, black haystack rocks were a powerful contrast against the gray-blue water. The mouth of the bay lay between two promontories, the Pacific stretching endlessly beyond, crashing against the giant rocks, but the water in the bay was calm.

She shivered in the cold and pulled her jacket tighter. It was late January and the damp cold caused her right shoulder to ache all the way to her elbow. She’d had surgery on that shoulder three months ago. A bullet was removed and damage repaired. Maybe it was the bullet that brought her to Thunder Point. Laine had been wounded on the job, then pulled from FBI field service and put on a desk while recovering. She wasn’t given any active cases but she had a computer—she was limited to what amounted to research and clerical work for other agents. When she realized they were going to keep her on that desk for a long time, light duty, assisting rather than leading investigations, she requested a one-year leave of absence to focus on rehab.

Rehab was an excuse. She didn’t need a year. She was close to seventy-five-percent total recovery of the shoulder and in another six months she’d be a hundred percent. But even though she was cleared for duty by the shrink, she wanted time to rethink her career path. And she was allergic to that full-time desk.

Plus, she’d had a miserable holiday visit with her father in Boston. She left angry, went back to her Virginia town house, got in touch with a Realtor in Thunder Point, where she knew a couple of people, and from emailed photos she had chosen a house to rent. A house with a view of the bay. Because Thunder Point, Oregon, was just about as far from Boston as she could get.

Her car was in the parking lot of the bar and she leaned against the hood for a long time, staring at the sea. It was overcast and cold, and there was no one on the water. It was glum, actually. But she liked cloudy or stormy days. Her mother used to call them soup days. Although her mother had been a career woman, she had loved to cook and bake and it was particularly on days like this that she’d come home from her office or the hospital early, arms filled with grocery bags, and spend a few hours in the kitchen. It relaxed her. She loved filling her family with comfort food—thick soups and stews, hearty casseroles, pastas in rich sauces and sweet, soft breads.

Laine sighed. She would never get over losing her mother. It had been five years and she still reached for the phone. Then she’d remember. She’s gone.

It was time to get to town to meet the Realtor. She got in her car, drove out of the parking lot and took the road that crossed the beach and led to the town. There was some construction on the hill—it looked like a few houses were being built on this beachfront hillside. Like Cooper’s bar, they would have the best views in the town.

She drove to the main street and parked in front of the clinic. When she got out of her car she locked it out of habit. She looked up and down the street lined with lampposts still boasting a bit of Christmas garland. Well, it was only January, she thought with a private chuckle.

Laine walked into the clinic and there, sitting behind the counter at her desk, was Devon McAllister. She rose with a wide smile on her face.

“You’re here,” Devon said in a near whisper. She came around the counter and embraced Laine. “There was a part of me afraid you wouldn’t come. That something would happen, that the FBI would have work for you...”

“Can we please not say a lot about that?”

“About what? The commune? The raid? The FBI?”

Laine couldn’t help herself, she brushed the hair back from Devon’s pretty face as if she were a little sister. Laine had taken Devon under her wing in the commune. “About all of it,” she said. “When people find out I work for the FBI they either ask me a ton of weird questions or they get strange, like they’re worried I’m going to do a background check on them or something. At least until I settle in a little bit, let’s downplay all that stuff.”

“What will you say? Because these people want to know everything about everyone. They’re nice about it, but they will ask.”

“I’ll just say I worked on a federal task force, but most of my work was just at a desk, compiling data, research, that sort of thing. Not at all a lie. And I’m on leave because of shoulder surgery.”

“Okay,” Devon said, laughing softly. “They really don’t need to know your task force was counterterrorism until you stumbled on an illegal pot farm in the middle of a cult and that you had shoulder surgery because you were shot in the line of duty.” Then she grinned.

Laine groaned. “Please, I really don’t want to sound that interesting.”

“Well, the only people who know certain details were there that night and they were briefed pretty thoroughly. Rawley, Cooper and Spencer will be very happy to see you,” Devon said. “And of course Mac knows—he’s the law around here, can’t get anything by him. I told Scott, my boss, but I can keep him quiet. He’s pretty easy to control.”

“Is that so?” Laine asked with a smile.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “In Dr. Grant’s case it has more to do with me being happy so I can keep track of all the paperwork in this clinic. He dreads things like insurance filing, especially Medicaid and Medicare. He does it when he has to and frankly, it takes him five times as long as it takes me. He’s not even very good at keeping lab work and patient files up to date.”

“You’re so different from the person I knew on the farm.”

“Actually, I was different in the commune from the person I really am,” Devon said. “This is more me. I was always a good student, a hard worker. But you are the curiosity. How did a sophisticated city girl like you manage to fit into the family like you did?”

Laine smiled, secretly proud. “Specialized training, research, good role-playing.”

“I can see that working for a couple of days, but it was over six months!” Devon reminded her.

She knew. Only too well. “Very good research and role-playing,” she said. Not to mention the fact that lives were at stake and rested on her success or failure. Laine had done a lot of undercover work over the years but her time with The Fellowship had been the longest deep-cover assignment in her career. She had requested it, thinking it would be a brief fact-finding assignment. She thought she could probably fit in, get to the bottom of what was happening there, but what was going on was quite different than what the FBI suspected. They had been looking for evidence of sovereign citizenry, tax evasion, fraud, human trafficking and possible domestic terrorism. What she found, once she was inside, was a giant pot farm fronted by a fake cult.

Laine could have left then, escaped, turned her information over to the task force and let them figure out how to proceed, how to best serve a warrant and get inside to make arrests without creating a small war. But there were women and children behind the fence that surrounded The Fellowship and the men in charge would fight back—they were armed to the teeth. So she stayed, getting as many of them out safely as she could before law enforcement breached the compound. It had been a dangerous and complex operation and in the end, she’d been shot by the cult leader, the boss. Jacob.

“Are you ready to have a little quiet now?” Devon asked.

“You have no idea,” Laine said. But she’d never actually had quiet before. The thought of whole days without plans stretching out in front of her was intimidating.

“I saw it,” Devon said. “The house you rented.”

“You did?”

“Ray Anne, the Realtor I suggested to you, told me which house it was and I peeked in some windows. It’s beautiful. So beautiful.”

“I’ve only seen pictures,” Laine replied. “I understand I was very lucky—that there’s hardly ever rental property available around here.”

“At least not real pretty rental property. This is a vacation home that for some reason the family isn’t going to be using for a while so they’re renting it.”

“Do you know them? The people who own it?”

Devon shook her head. “But I haven’t been here that long. I don’t know everyone, that’s for sure.”

Laine looked at her watch. “I better go meet Ray Anne. Want to come? See the inside from the inside?”

She grinned and nodded. “Let me check with Scott, then I’ll follow you so I can come right back.”

“Maybe I better follow you,” Laine said. “I haven’t even looked in the windows yet.”

* * *

Devon led the way to Laine’s rental. They drove down the main street, past what seemed to amount to the entire commercial district of Thunder Point, took a left and entered a residential neighborhood. A woman who appeared altogether too dressed up exited her BMW in front of a very small house that sat in the middle of about a dozen nondescript houses. The foliage and pines surrounding the little house were deep green even though it was the dead of winter. Virginia or Boston at this time of year would be covered with snow and the trees bare.

Laine was a little shocked at how ordinary and dumpy the little house looked; she had never seen a picture of the front exposure. It seemed very small. There was an ordinary white door with a diamond-shaped window in it and one front window. If this were her house she’d paint the door dark green and add identically colored shutters to that window.

Laine parked, got out and stretched a hand toward the Realtor. “Ms. Dysart?” she asked.

“Call me Ray Anne. So nice to finally meet you, Laine.” She dangled house keys. “I think you’re going to love this. Please, do the honors.”

With Ray Anne close on her tail and Devon following, Laine stepped into the small house and entered a whole new world. Right inside the front door was a spacious foyer and the house opened up before her. To her left, an open staircase and small powder room, to her right, a small and unfurnished room with louvered double doors, perfect for Laine to use as an office. Straight ahead was a great room with a large picture window. To the left of the great room was a big open kitchen with a dining area in front of a matching window. Dividing the two windows were French doors that Ray Anne immediately opened, revealing a very large deck and a view of the bay that just about knocked Laine out. She inhaled deeply, appreciatively. She walked outside to the railing and looked down—the deck sat atop a rocky hill.

“You can’t get to the beach from here,” Ray Anne said from behind her. “There really isn’t much beach—only a little when the tide’s out. You’ll have to go down the street and back through town to the marina. This is considered oceanfront. The only beachfront in Thunder Point is over there, where Cooper is building. Most of us thought there would never be any building there, but Cooper has a plan for maybe as many as twenty single-family residences. The rest of us po’ folk have to get to the beach either from his bar or the marina. This is the north promontory. Straight across there, that’s the south promontory. The previous owner, the guy who left it to Cooper in his will, had always wanted it to be a nature preserve, safe for the wildlife. Much as I’d like him to cut it up and let me sell lots for him, you have to admit it’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” Laine said in a breath. A few trees growing right out of the rocks and hillside below her deck reached up so that their branches brushed the railing. They needed trimming so they wouldn’t obstruct her view.

“It’s so wet and cold right now I didn’t uncover the grill or deck furniture. I thought I’d leave that to you. You might not want to sit outside in this weather.”

Laine looked around for the first time. It looked like she had a table and four chairs, a chaise and a rather large grill under the weatherproof drapes. Laine turned and went inside again, taking note of the great room, divided from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. The pictures had done the interior more credit than it deserved. There was a maroon sofa, two uncomfortable-looking rattan chairs, a nice fireplace and zero homey touches. The breakfast nook held a beat-up but large table with eight cane-back chairs. There was a short hall that led to a laundry room, pantry and interior garage door.

“Bedroom?” she asked.

“Right this way,” Ray Anne said, leading her back toward the front door and up the stairs. Laine and Devon followed along. At the top of the stairs was a set of double doors that stood open to expose a rather small but comfortable-looking master bedroom. Not a suite, but a bedroom. One queen-size bed, one bureau, one bedside table and a fireplace. But it had a triple-wide set of sliding glass doors and a small deck again with the most stunning view. Laine was drawn to it. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at a vision of sitting against big pillows, looking out the window at the clouds, only the fireplace lighting the room.

Falling asleep with the light of the fireplace in the room held a special appeal. Since the shooting, she’d left a light on at night. She never told anyone.

“When the weather gets exciting, watching the lightning over the bay is like a fireworks show,” Ray Anne said. “Around here, it’s all about the view. There are a lot of views in this town. Some have the view in front, some in back, some up the hill, some closer to the water, sometimes from big houses and sometimes from little ones.” Ray Anne stepped to one side. “Bath,” she said, indicating a very functional master bath, dressing area and closet. There was a glassed-in shower, large spa-style tub and wide closet with built-in drawers and shelves.

Laine merely glanced, then her eyes were drawn back to that view again. Devon was oohing and aahing over the size of the master bath and closet space.

“There are two bedrooms down the hall with a jack-and-jill bathroom dividing them. The owner has queen-size beds in each. Storage is limited. They’re small bedrooms but the sofa downstairs pulls out—the house can sleep at least eight. The owners wanted a place for their children and grandchildren to visit. Linen closet across the hall from the master. Downstairs front closet under the stairs. You have a two-car garage,” Ray Anne said as she continued the tour.

And only a few rather tacky prints on the walls, no little touches of home, no plants, of course, and the lamps had been around a long time, Laine thought.

“I had a cleaning crew come through—the carpet is shampooed, bathrooms and kitchen scoured, clean sheets on the beds, some towels on hand. The carpet is fairly new. I don’t know what your plans are for the house, but it will accommodate a large group.”

Laine looked at her in some surprise. “My plan is to live in it.”

“Oh! Wonderful! Are you planning to work around here?”

She shrugged. “I’ll probably do a little computer work. I’m actually on leave from a government job but I can do some work from here—you know, clerical stuff. I had a pretty serious shoulder surgery and with all my vacation and good benefits and—”

“I hope it wasn’t rotator cuff,” Ray Anne said, moving her own shoulder up and down. “That’s the worst! I had that surgery a few years ago and it’s hell, that’s all I can say. It’s fine now but I thought it would take forever!”

Devon met Laine’s eyes, but didn’t comment. She just stood in the master bedroom and looked out at the rock-studded bay.

Laine was thinking about other things, like what the place would feel like with a nicer sofa, with a throw on it for winter nights in front of the fire. And how about some accent tables, designer lighting, paintings on the walls, books on her own bookshelves? Her own sheets and towels and some of her favorite cookware and dishes? And her mother’s small kitchen breakfront, her treasure.

She turned to Ray Anne. “Did you ask the owners if they mind that I store their furnishings and use my own? Of course I’ll cover the cost of packing, moving and storing their things.”

“They said that’s fine as long as their things aren’t damaged.” Ray Anne shrugged. “I can’t imagine how they’d ever know if anything was damaged. This stuff is adequate but old. In fact, as long as you pay your deposit and rent on time and put the place back the way you found it when your lease is up, there are hardly any restrictions in your lease. You should read it over. You can paint as long as you either stick to the colors or return it to the original.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which appears to be renter’s white. No knocking out walls or redesigning the property.” Then she lowered her voice as if to tell a secret. “If you paint some walls, which I would do before nightfall, try not to make them too bold so you’re able to return them to their original color when you move out.”

But Laine could only think of one thing. “Let’s go take a look at that kitchen, see what the owners left for me to use until my stuff comes. The moving truck is on the way—should be here in a day or two.”

“Okay,” Ray Anne said, “but there are plenty of places in town where you can get a bite to eat until you get settled.”

Laine was already on her way to the kitchen and when she got there, she started opening cupboard doors. She found plates, a few pots, a frying pan, utensils, some kitchen linens, just the bare essentials, designed for a vacation rental. But that was all right. She closed the last cupboard door, turned and smiled at Ray Anne and Devon. “I’m good,” she said. “If you could just give me directions to the nearest grocery, I’m going to light the fire and make soup. It looks like a soup day to me.”

* * *

Eric Gentry sat at the counter in the diner having a late breakfast. Next to him was Cooper from the beach bar, doing the same. Then the sheriff’s deputy walked in. Mac pulled off his hat and took the seat beside Eric. Mac’s wife, Gina, brought him a cup of coffee. Then she leaned over the counter and collected a kiss.

“I certainly didn’t get that kind of first-class treatment,” Cooper said with a smile. “And I ordered a whole meal.”

“Yeah, buddy, the day I hear about you getting treatment like that is the day you start walking with a limp.”

Eric chuckled, but he’d never make such a remark. He and Gina had history. And he liked walking straight.

“Mac,” Gina chided with a laugh in her voice.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Mac asked Cooper. “Get sick of Rawley’s cooking out at the bar?”

“Rawley doesn’t cook,” Cooper said. “Sometimes he warms things, but that’s just sometimes.”

“Sarah says he’s a good cook,” Gina pointed out.

“Oh, he cooks for Sarah,” Cooper said of his wife. “When she wanders into the kitchen he asks her right away what she’d like. Now that she’s packin’, Rawley takes real good care of her.”

“Packin’?” Eric asked.

“Pregnant,” three people answered in unison.

“I see,” he said, sitting back and wiping his mouth on the napkin.

“Business must be good,” Mac said to Eric. “I saw a dually pulling a trailer through town, an old Plymouth on the trailer.”

“A 1970 Superbird,” Eric told him. “It’s in for a rebuilt engine, new bench seat and a refurbished dash. I think we’re going to have to refresh that roof, too. It’s the original vinyl and not going to be easy.”

“Bench seat? Not buckets?”

Eric shook his head. “Not in the Superbird. I guess if you drove one of those you got girls and if you got girls, you wanted them sitting right next to you.”

“Where’d it come from?” Mac asked.

“Southern California.”

“Someone would bring an old car up from Southern California?”

Eric sipped his coffee. “It’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar classic. The owner would bring it across six states for the right work. I’ve done a lot of work for him. He owns twenty cars. I think it’s most of his estate. He likes to do a lot of the restoration work himself and he does a great job. He doesn’t have the equipment for replacing an engine block and the car is his baby.”

“His baby?” Gina asked.

“He kisses it before he goes to bed every night. He probably treats the car better than he treats his wife.”

“Boys and their toys,” Gina said.

“You’re putting us on the map,” Mac said. “Imagine—that car is worth more than this diner.”

Eric noticed a couple of young women walking across the street from the clinic. One he knew to be Devon, the doctor’s office manager—he’d met her a couple of months ago and had seen her around. The other one he didn’t recognize. She was wearing a ball cap low over her forehead and fitted yoga pants, a jacket and running shoes. Her blond hair was strung through the back of her cap, noticeable when she turned to laugh at something Devon said.

When they walked into the diner Gina beamed a happy grin and said, “Hey!”

“What’s this?” Devon asked. “Grumpy old men’s club?”

“I beg your pardon,” Cooper replied. “I’m not old.”

“He’s older than me,” Mac said.

Eric said nothing. His eyes were busy with the new girl and when something like that happened it tended to tie up his tongue.

“Laine, you know Cooper and Mac, but have you met Eric? Eric owns the service station and body shop at the end of the street. Eric, this is my friend, Laine Carrington. She’s new in town.”

Eric found himself on his feet. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” she replied. “Please, sit. We’re just going to grab a cup of coffee.” She looked at Gina. “You due for a break?”

“I am,” she said. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

As Devon and Laine headed toward the back of the diner to a booth, Eric followed them with his eyes. Then he guiltily returned his eyes to his coffee cup, grateful to note that Cooper and Mac were discussing how much money was too much to spend on a car. A two-hundred-thousand-dollar Superbird didn’t even enter the conversation.

Eric had a couple of classics, cars he’d restored himself. He’d salvaged them and had planned to restore and sell them, then he got attached. It happened. There were dealers and then there were collectors. Then there were guys like him who were looking to make a few bucks and turned into collectors.

He talked with his friends for a while longer, forcefully keeping his eyes from wandering to that back booth, until finally Mac stood and left the waitress a tip, making the men laugh. Cooper left a ten on the counter for his seven-dollar breakfast.

But Eric walked to the back booth. “Gina, I’m going to need some change. You’re good, but not that good.”

“I’d argue with that, but it will be quicker to get your change.” She snatched the twenty out of his hand and headed for the register.

“Nice meeting you, Laine. If you ever need any dents popped or rough edges smoothed out, I’m your guy,” he said. When he saw Laine and Devon looking at him with wide eyes, he winced. But the women laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

Two

Even though Laine needed help with the heavy lifting and some of the picture-hanging in her new home, it didn’t take any time at all to begin to feel settled. She had learned long ago how to be extremely focused. In less than a week all her furniture was in place right down to throws over couches and pictures on the walls, thanks to a lot of help from Devon and her fiancé, Spencer. The owner’s furnishings were now in storage, packed up and taken away on the same truck that brought hers. She had picked out a couple of walls she wanted to paint and purchased the supplies. Despite the challenge painting with her right arm presented, she was determined to get it done. She could handle most of the trim if it was shoulder level or lower, but reaching the roller above her head would be a job for her left arm. She was getting really good with that left arm! She’d try using her right arm, though—it was great therapy. She was very dedicated to her exercises.

This place was going to be different—she was going to make this home. Her town house in Virginia was where she stayed. Although she had her own things—furniture and accessories—in all the years she was there she had only rented the place. She traveled, went undercover, visited her brother and his family on weekends and holidays. Her town house had been temporary for years and she was away as much as she was there. But this—the house with the view—she was going to make it hers. It was going to be her refuge for the year. She had earned it.

It was Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining for a change. There was one person in Thunder Point she knew and hadn’t yet seen. Someone she really owed. And it looked like a perfect day for a jog through town and across the beach.

As she ran, her mind wandered back to that last assignment. She had gotten almost all of the women and children out of the commune compound through a break in the fence, but her success had been completely foiled when Jacob figured her out. He beat her and confined her, tying her to a chair in his house. She was further foiled when Jacob somehow located and abducted Devon’s three-year-old daughter, Mercy, bringing her back to the camp. Later, when it was all over, the FBI learned he had simply done a computer search for Devon’s address.

At the time, Laine had been his prisoner. So had Mercy. It had been Jacob’s plan to escape with his daughter and whatever money and documents he could gather together. And then he planned to burn the place to the ground, leaving any others, like Laine, behind. He torched the warehouse holding the marijuana plants knowing the fire could spread into a full-on wildfire that would threaten the whole valley—something he no doubt hoped would occupy law enforcement long enough for his escape.

Laine had managed to free herself and grab Mercy, but in the process she’d been shot in the shoulder. By the time help arrived in the form of Rawley, Spencer, Cooper and Devon, she was nearly unconscious from blood loss—her brachial artery had been nicked.

Of course Laine had known Devon and Mercy from her time in the camp but she had no idea who these men who saved her might be. She found out later—it was Rawley Goode, a Vietnam vet in his sixties, who put together a rescue plan in mere minutes. Laine got the details after she was conscious and recovered enough to take it all in.

She jogged across the beach. By the time she got to Cooper’s, she was panting pretty hard. She found the proprietor sitting on the deck in the sun, though he wore a jacket. He had his laptop open and was studying something closely.

“Hey, there,” she said. “How’s the house coming?”

He looked up and smiled at her. “About time you checked out my place. House is coming along ahead of schedule, thank God. Sarah’s had about enough of living in one room.”

“When’s the baby due?” she asked.

“July. We should be in the house by June at the latest.”

“That’s awesome, Cooper.”

“How about your place?” he asked.

“It’s looking good. My stuff came right behind me and the movers took the owner’s furniture to the storage facility. I’m pretty settled already. Just a matter of putting a few more things away.”

“I heard you have a good view.”

“Oh, yes. A big deck and a big kitchen and a couple of fireplaces. If I’m not happy every day, I can’t blame the real estate. Hey, any chance Rawley is around?”

“Last time I noticed he was carrying in supplies. He should be in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you on the way out.”

She went through the bar and into the kitchen. Rawley was crouched, rearranging some things in a cupboard. “Hey, stranger,” she said.

He stood and turned toward her. He wore worn jeans, boots, a heavy shirt over a T-shirt and a red cap. She knew he was in his early sixties but because he was skinny and his face was deeply lined, he looked a little older. She caught the light in his pale blue eyes as he recognized her. Only one corner of his mouth lifted. He nodded toward her right arm. “How’s the wing?” he asked.

“Coming along,” she said, automatically rotating her shoulder. “I’m in good shape now.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Don’t you have spy work to do?”

She smiled, looked down, shook her head. “I’m on leave,” she said. “I need more time before I—” She cleared her throat. “I’m not a spy. I...” He smiled at her and put his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, leaning on his left leg. “Well, not exactly. I’m an investigator. And I think we should downplay that role a little bit.”

“Whatever you want, chickadee,” he said. “Good work,” he added.

“You saved my life.”

“Nah. Not really. I got in that camp to find Mercy. I think it was Spencer saved your life, jogging down some back road, carrying you with his fist shoved against your shoulder on account a’ the bleeding. Yeah, he’s the one I’d say saved you. I’m just an old vet. But I got attached to that little girl and I wasn’t about to let some lunatic take her away from her mother.”

“Some old vet,” she repeated. “A Green Beret with two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star and a Silver Star....”

“Window dressing,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the by-product of staying alive.”

“You’re one of the most decorated men I know.”

“It was a bad time, back then, but we all did our best,” he said. “And there’s a rumor you got yourself a little window dressing, too.”

She gave a nod. “I’ve been notified. I was recommended for an award. You know these things take time.”

He grinned at her. “Notified of what kind of award, exactly?”

“FBI commendation. It’s very big in my crowd. But that’s another thing I’ll try to keep to myself. I’d appreciate it if you’d do that, too.”

“No problem, chickadee. I was never one for struttin’ so I get it.”

“I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “I know you weren’t alone, but I read all the transcripts and everyone agrees, you put a plan together to get Mercy out, along with anyone else stuck in that camp. Will you come to my house for dinner? So I can thank you with food? I love to cook.”

“Might could,” he said. “Cloudy and wet weather this time of year, Cooper can manage. But I ain’t much company....”

“How about if I invite Devon, Spencer and Mercy. I’ve been meaning to anyway. They helped a lot with the whole move.”

“Sounds okay.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone and showed it to her. “Got one of these now. Cooper couldn’t stand it if he didn’t know where I was every second. Now he calls this. And I usually don’t answer. But it’s got games and books and a flashlight. Not a bad contraption. Want the number?”

What a kick he was. And he was so full of it—he was not the old bumpkin he portrayed himself to be. He bordered on genius, but he battled PTSD and had for years so he’d never really developed his intellect as much as was possible for him. He told her his number and she merely nodded.

“You don’t wanna write that down somewhere?” he asked.

“I got it,” she said. “I’ll give you a call. And listen...Rawley, there are no words. If you hadn’t done it, gotten inside, run the rescue like you did...”

“Some things just work out to be kismet, chickadee,” he said, showing her a wide grin. “Right place, right time, luck.”

“Skill,” she added. “Courage.”

He looked down, maybe uncomfortably. “Courage. Kind of funny what you’re left with when there ain’t no way out. I just put one foot in front of the other, that’s all. Glad it worked out. You gonna be able to paddle a kayak with that busted-up wing?”

“By spring. I’ll call you in the next day or two.”

“Sounds good. You ain’t one of them vegetarians or anything, are you?”

She laughed. “No. I like hearty, meaty meals.”

“That’s a blessin’. I hate leavin’ the table hungry.” Then he grinned at her again.

She couldn’t help herself. She hugged him. She laid her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms affectionately around him. He might look like a skinny old man but there were solid muscles under her cheek, her arms. She just stood like that for a moment and then she felt him wrap one long, strong arm around her back while the other hand stroked the top of her head a little bit. Then she let go of him.

“I’d say you were the brave one,” he said. “You could’a bled out from that bullet.”

“I’m getting a medal,” she said. “The by-product of staying alive.”

He smiled. It was melancholy.

“You lost a few along the way, didn’t you, Rawley?” she asked.

He lifted a thin, graying eyebrow. “A few. Didn’t you?”

She just nodded, but she wasn’t willing to think about or discuss the details. Ten years in the FBI, a lot of it undercover, they’d lost a couple of men. And then suddenly she knew what he was getting at—he’d rather have the men than the medals.

She slapped his arm gently. “Thanks,” she said. It came out very softly. “I’ll call you about dinner. And you won’t go away hungry.”

“Good enough.”

She left him then and as she walked through the bar she was thinking that old soldiers go away quietly. It was apparent to her that Rawley had used his time in the Army well, but it had also used him up. True heroes never talked about their acts of heroism. He was one in a million.

I’ve used my time in the FBI well, she thought.

When she got back to the deck, Cooper had the laptop closed and his feet up on the rail. “I take it you found him?”

“I did, thanks.”

He pushed a bottle of water across the table toward her. “Are you running back to town, too?”

She took the water and unscrewed the top, taking a drink. “Just across the beach. Then, even though I have ‘house’ things to do, I’m going to take advantage of this sunny day and sit out on my deck. It’s too cold, but the sun feels good.”

“Want some advice? Get yourself one of those little fire pits to put out on the deck. It only gives off a little heat, but it’s cozy.”

“Good idea,” she said.

“I’m putting a fireplace on my deck,” Cooper said. “A half shade out there, too—the sunset is not only stunning, it’s blinding. And a half cover. This place is wet, but the view doesn’t let you ignore it—rain or shine, you like being right in front of it. Truth is, I’m building a deck that happens to have a house attached to it.”

She laughed at him. “How long have you known Rawley?”

“Just a year and change. He kind of came with the property. Ben found him and brought him here. Ben was my friend and left me the property. Rawley had been with Ben a few years.”

“Nice to have someone working for you who knows the business.”

Cooper laughed. “Don’t kid yourself that he works for me. He pretty much does as he pleases, checks in as little as possible and if he tells me to do something, I usually do.” He winked at her. “Chickadee.”

“Is it like having your father around?”

“My father’s not nearly as ornery, but in that age range,” Cooper said. “Rawley is an interesting guy. Real solitary. Real quiet. But he can develop some deep attachments—like to Devon and Mercy. They’re family now. And since Devon doesn’t have any family, that’s good. For that matter, Spencer doesn’t have family, either.”

“But you have family?”

“Tons. All in or near Albuquerque. Parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, their kids. Plus, I have a son—Austin. Spencer and I share a son.” Her expression must have been shocked because he smiled and said, “Spencer married my ex-fiancée and she passed away last year. How about you?”

“I lost my mother a few years ago, but my father and brother live in Boston. I’m very close to my brother—he’s married and has two little girls I adore, even though in my line of work I haven’t seen enough of them.”

“And you’re not on the East Coast?”

“I needed a change,” she said. “There’s something about this place.... In the time I lived on the farm, although under adverse conditions, I got a little attached and wanted to see a little more of the state. And there was the matter of getting to know the people who put everything on the line to get me out of that camp. Plus, my brother is a busy, busy man. And now that I have the time, I’ll probably visit him. Long flight, but so what? I talk to my brother at least a couple of times a week. I guess we’re all used to me living away from the family, so to speak. And hey—you’re not in the mountains of New Mexico.”

“That’s not the surprise. I left home when I joined the Army as a kid and haven’t lived there since. The real surprise is that I live here! I was a rolling stone until I came to Thunder Point. Now I’m a land baron.”

* * *

Laine stood on her deck, hands on hips, looking around, when the phone rang. Her cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter and she went for it. No need for a landline in this house, she only had her cell. When she saw that it was her brother, her face lit up. “Pax!” she said. “How’s it going?”

“I missed two calls from you,” he said. “Sorry about that. Busy week. Lots of surgery.”

“No big deal. We have an understanding—first thing after work comes the wife and kids, then me. I’m very patient.”

“What’s it like out there?”

“Heat wave,” she said with a laugh. “It’s fifty degrees and sunny. I was just looking around the deck to find a good spot for a little portable fire pit so I can bundle up and sit out here at night. What’s Mother Nature doing out there?” she asked.

“You don’t watch the news, I guess.”

In fact she had been obsessed with news of Boston from the weather and current events to the crime. That was where her family was and she thought of them all constantly. But she said, “Not if I can help it.”

“We’re bracing for a nor’easter. Looking at two feet tonight. Roads and airport will probably shut down and everyone will stay home and watch old movies until the electricity goes out.”

“Except you.”

“I’m on call tomorrow night. Tonight I’m watching snow fall and listening to the wind howl.”

“How are Missy and Sissy and Miss Perfect?” she asked.

He let go with a bark of laughter and said, “One of these days I’m going to slip up and call my wife Miss Perfect and when that happens, I’m selling you out. I swear it. Everyone here is fine. Missy is having her first school concert in six weeks and is practicing the cello day and night—it’s almost as big as she is and sounds like mating season at an elk ranch around here. And Sissy is gearing up for a spring dance recital, which for six-year-old girls should be enchanting. Thank God she didn’t choose a musical instrument or I’d start sleeping at the hospital.”

His eight-year-old daughter was Melissa, who they called Missy. His six-year-old daughter was Catherine, who they called Sissy for “sister.” And his wife, Genevieve, she had secretly named Miss Perfect because she was the ultimate wife and mother. She never complained at all. It was unnatural. Here she was, stuck with a couple of kids, tons of responsibility, a mostly absent husband, and yet she took it on with a contented smile. What the hell was that? Laine wondered. Had she no limits?

But Genevieve had two sisters and they were all thicker than thieves. She was a dear and good mother, a faithful wife, a dedicated friend, a beloved daughter and a little too domestic and nurturing for Laine’s blood. And she had taken away Laine’s best friend, her twin brother. She was perfectly wonderful to Laine, but Laine had never warmed to her. They weren’t girlfriends. But then not only did Laine have very few girlfriends, but it was also impossible for anyone to be closer to her than Pax.

“And Senior?”

“The same. You haven’t heard from him, huh?”

“No. Frankly I’m not surprised. I told him not to call me until he’s ready to apologize for being such an ass and has something positive to say to me, so I imagine hell will freeze over before I see his name on the caller ID.”

“You take him too seriously,” Pax said. “Learn to not hear him. Nod, say nothing, do as you please.”

“I can’t,” she said. “You get away with that. He’s not as critical of your choices....”

“Yes, he is. But I don’t care. He’s not driving my bus. And if you’re honest, you have to admit, no one but you has been driving your bus for a long, long time. Like since you were seven.”

“He aggravates me so,” she said. “He thinks if he opens his mouth it must be gospel and we should all thank him for taking the time and trouble to move his tongue against his teeth.”

“Don’t get worked up all over again,” Pax counseled. “It’s over. You moved. I just wish you weren’t so damn far away. Get your computer set up and use Skype with the girls—they miss you.”

“He doesn’t treat you like he does me,” Laine said, unable to let it go yet. “He’s very proud of you!”

“He thinks I took his advice and became a doctor. I didn’t. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And he’s still telling me how to work even though he doesn’t know shit about pediatric surgery. I try to tell him as little as possible, but I also never take him seriously. Now tell me what’s new and exciting in your little town.”

“I painted a wall,” she said with a weary sigh. “Mostly with my left arm. And I’m going to paint another wall, but I think that’s it. I had to have a friend hang the pictures—this arm isn’t strong yet, especially when reaching over my head. I’ve read three books since I talked to you last Tuesday, today was the first day it was decent enough for a good run, but I swear to God the cold makes the screws in my shoulder throb....”

“You know it’s not the screws....”

“Feels like it.”

Laine’s parents were both doctors. Her grandfathers on both sides were doctors. She had two cousins who were doctors. Successful men and women, all. Laine wasn’t the first Carrington or Wescott to choose another profession, but Dr. Paxton Carrington Sr. was appalled when she changed her major from premed to criminal justice. “Believe me, you don’t want to live in a blue-collar world,” he had said. Blue-collar world? It was almost impossible to get into the FBI without an advanced degree.

Laine’s mother had said, “You must find work you feel passionate about. The most important thing in life is finding what gets you up in the morning, what you would do for free, the thing that makes your heart beat. I’m not a doctor because my father was a doctor. And I’m damn sure not a doctor because my husband is one. And I could care less what my children choose to do. Well, if you choose to be homeless drug addicts, I might have an issue....”

“But aren’t you more proud of Pax? A premed honor student?” Laine had asked.

“I look at what’s ahead for you, Laine, and I find it all so exciting, I wish I could live in your skin for just one day!”

“But Dad hates what I’m doing!”

“Does he? He probably thinks he knows what’s best for you, but I’m here to tell you—you’re the only person who can make this choice. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else wants.”

“But admit it, Dad is more proud of Pax!” she had insisted.

“I’m not sure about that. What I know for a fact is that Pax is acting on script. He’s doing exactly what your father expected him to do and it’s easier, more comfortable. You, my darling Laine, are a challenge for him.”

All through college, all through her postgrad program, all through her early years at the FBI, her mother couldn’t wait for her to call, fill her in on all the edgy, interesting stuff she’d worked on or even just knew about.

Senior had said, “What’s that girl thinking? She’s wasting her life on the underworld! The dregs of society!”

When Laine told her father, over Christmas, that she’d been recommended for a commendation from the FBI for saving lives in the line of duty he had said, “As if a medal is going to validate you. Doctors save lives every day.”

And she’d left Boston in an angry huff, vowing she was through with him.

Laine missed her mother so....

* * *

Eric was grateful every day that he had asked Gina McCain if she’d be comfortable with him living in the small town of Thunder Point because he was in the diner where she worked almost daily. Half the time her husband was also there. Eric and Gina went way back. High school for her, though he had been a dropout. Their relationship had been brief but to both of them, very memorable.

Eric bought the local service station in October, had spent two months expanding and updating, and for all that time right up to the present he’d been living in the local motel—the Coastline Inn. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and cheap. There was free coffee in the early morning but no restaurant. Only the diner and McDonald’s served breakfast, unless he felt like going all the way across the beach to Cooper’s place. Since he had no time to look for a house or the energy to fix up both a business and a residence, he bought himself a small dormitory-sized refrigerator and a toaster and settled into the motel. He’d walk down to the motel office early in the morning, grab a large coffee and a newspaper, then head to the station. At lunchtime he’d head to the deli or diner for more satisfying food. He wasn’t much for fast food, something he was stuck with more than he liked. Many busy nights he and his employees made do on burgers or pizza.

He walked into the diner and saw the new girl in town sitting at the counter in front of Gina. She appeared to be finished with breakfast; she looked at him and smiled.

“Hey, Mr. Scratch-and-Dent, just the man I wanted to see!” she said.

“Well now, I don’t get that kind of welcome everywhere I go,” he said.

“I heard you have a great reputation for cosmetic work but I was wondering, how are you under the hood?”

He raised his eyebrows. It was a great double entendre. He sat down and a cup of coffee instantly appeared. “I was a mechanic before I was a body man,” he said, smiling a small smile.

Laine laughed at his wordplay. “I have a little work that needs to be done,” she said. “Can I make an appointment?”

“You don’t need an appointment. Is the car drivable?”

“Yep. But I just drove it across the country from Virginia and it needs an oil change and everything checked.” She shrugged. “I’m sure she’s very tired. Maybe sore.”

He grinned at that. Only a collector of classics could appreciate an owner who had given her car a gender and possibly a name. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

She laughed. “Look around, Eric. Everyone lives in the neighborhood.”

So, she remembered his name. Or, maybe Gina had told her. “Right. Then just bring it by when you won’t need it for a few hours and I’ll get right to it.” To Gina he said, “Can you ask Stu to mess up three eggs with some green chilies and cheddar?”

“You got it. Side of beans?”

“Pass. Toast, please. And are there any home fries back there that Stu hasn’t burned yet?”

“Tell you what, because it’s you, I’ll flip ’em over on the grill a couple of times. God knows if he gets his hands on ’em, they’ll be charred.”

“You are a queen,” he said.

When Gina took Laine’s empty plate and turned to leave, Laine asked Eric, “You’re here every day?”

He shook his head. “Almost, though. If not for Gina, I’d live on coffee and Pop-Tarts.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m new in town, too. I bought the service station and there was so much to do there, opening it under a new banner after a remodel, I’ve been staying in the Coastline, which makes the Motel 6 look like a five-star luxury resort. One of these days I have to get serious about a house or apartment. It’s so easy, though. And I like walking to work.”

“A car man who likes to walk...”

“I have plenty of other places to drive. Even though we’re operating at full speed, I’m still busy upgrading the station. The previous owner didn’t do any body work, and that takes space. I have a pretty large classic-car clientele.” He took a sip of coffee. “What do you do, Laine?”

“Shoulder exercises,” she said. “I had shoulder surgery about three months ago and it’s a lot better, but I’m not there yet. I decided to take a leave from work and try a new landscape.”

“So you don’t work at all?”

“I’m set up to do computer work, but I’m avoiding it. I just did research—you know, boring stuff. Data, statistics, background checks, tax records, that kind of stuff...”

“For a big company?” he asked.

“Yeah, the biggest company. The Feds.” Then she grinned at him.

“That sounds really...boring.”

She laughed. “I know. I’m sadly good at it. But if anyone from my old department calls me and asks for a hand, they have to clock me in, pay me in comp time. I did a little math—I think I can turn a few months of rehab and vacation into a year off with a view just by doing a little off-site work from home.”

“I dated a woman a while ago who created and managed websites and she hardly ever left the computer....”

“I’m not that girl, I can tell you that. I have no trouble walking away from the computer. And leaving the headquarters meant no more traveling or supervising anyone. I really didn’t love supervising or training computer techies and researchers. I might come up with a new idea for earning a living during the next year.”

With an elbow on the counter, Eric leaned his head into his hand. “How are you with a wrench?”

“Better than you think.”

Gina brought his breakfast.

“I’ll let you eat,” Laine said. “I’ll bring my car over one day this week.”

“Great,” he said. And he watched her walk out the door.

When he turned back, Gina was staring at him. “Did you ask her out?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You obviously want to.”

He picked up his fork. “You don’t know that,” he said, then shoveled eggs into his mouth.

“Those pretty green eyes of yours lit up when you saw her sitting at the counter.”

He swallowed. “I can still appreciate a good-looking woman,” he said. “But I’m very busy these days.”

“You should make time for a more interesting social life than catching meals at the diner.”

“Well, I’m not completely comfortable talking to you about that possibility since you and I were...you know what we were. Involved.”

She laughed and her eyes twinkled. “We were involved for about two weeks and I hope you don’t take this too hard, but I’m completely over you. I was over you at least fifteen years ago.”

He ate more eggs. “It was more than two weeks.”

“Not much more.”

“And I’m over you, too.”

“Good to know. So...how about Laine?”

“Bugger off,” he said.

“She seems to be a nice, stable, attractive—”

The door to the diner opened and Gina’s husband came in for his morning coffee break. He was all uniformed up, gun and all, and although Eric was roughly as tall as Mac, law enforcement uniforms always seemed to take about four inches off his height. Mac leaned over the counter to collect a wifely kiss. Then his coffee appeared.

“Good, you’re here,” Eric said. “Your wife is getting into my personal life. She’s giving me dating advice.”

“You’re dating?” Mac asked.

“No, which is why I shouldn’t have to listen to dating advice.”

Mac raised one eyebrow and peered at Eric. Then he lifted his cup. He was a man of few words.

“You should see his eyes when he runs into Laine. Bip, bop, whiz! And smile? Oh, she makes him smile,” Gina said.

“Bugger off,” Eric said again. And Gina laughed while Mac chuckled into his coffee cup.

“You should be on the lookout for the right woman. You’ve never been married or even engaged, you work all the time. You could use a little stability. And the right woman tends to level a man out. Mellow him. Right, Mac?”

“Whatever you say, baby,” he said, bringing his cup to his lips.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Eric said, scooping up his home fries. “And thanks for keeping these potatoes out of the kiln.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “Business good?”

“Excellent. Now that the station offers more services, we have more business. Norm was winding down, getting ready to sell, looking at retirement, so business was moving out of town. We’re spooling up, adding services, bringing business back. It turns out it wasn’t such a big gamble.”

“Great,” Gina said. “But you’re still living in a motel, not dating. We have to take care of that. You need a decent place to live and a woman.”

Eric drank the last of his coffee, stood, put a twenty on the counter and said, “Extra big tip, Gina, with thanks for the excellent advice.” Although she was laughing as he left the diner, he was thinking, I’m going to have to learn to like fast food. She’s killing me! She’s nosier than a sister!

But he also thought, I could really use some leveling. Some mellowing.

Three

Laine brought her midsize SUV to Eric on Tuesday, the day after they talked. It was a new model and in excellent condition. If he subtracted the cross-country miles from the odometer, she’d only put a few thousand miles on it in a year. Ordinarily he’d have Norm or Manny service the vehicle, but he did it. He found nothing wrong with the car, so he washed and detailed it. Himself.

Eric had four employees. Norm, who had sold him the station, was trying to avoid going on cruises and Elderhostel trips with his wife, so he kept working. No doubt he told the missus it was absolutely necessary to help out during this ownership transition, but he was more honest with Eric—he wanted to unload the station and put the money in the bank but he wasn’t quite ready to indulge in retirement activities that sounded like sheer torture to him. Nor could he fathom spending day after day with his wife.

Manny had come with Eric from Eugene after Eric sold his body shop there. Manny was a good friend from way back and had a wife and a passel of kids. Howie had worked part-time for Norm, was about the same age, didn’t do much—if any—mechanical repairs and the two of them gossiped, drank a lot of coffee and pumped a lot of gas. From the look of the place when Eric took over, neither one of them ever pushed a broom or applied a rag to windows or other surfaces. Both of them might quit before too long because if there was one thing Eric hated it was a dirty shop. Classic car collectors especially liked the garage to look like an operating room. He pushed both of those old boys hard.

And then there was Justin Russell, a lanky, moody seventeen-year-old, who was either troubled or very shy and reminded Eric of himself at that age. Eric suspected he’d hired Justin out of some desire to groom him. It was almost like some sort of psychological experiment, as though by straightening Justin out he could make up for his own delinquent youth. So far that wasn’t happening. But Eric was, if anything, stubborn.

Justin worked hard, had good hands under the hood and remarkable instincts for a kid who hadn’t tinkered with engines much.

Eric went into the bathroom, scrubbed his hands, swiped water over his face for good measure, rinsed his mouth and gave the mirror over the sink a shot of glass cleaner. He wiped out the sink with the paper towel he’d used to dry his hands. Then he appraised himself in the mirror. He had taken off his coveralls and was wearing a mechanic’s uniform—dark blue pants, light blue shirt, Lucky’s sewn onto the shirt. His name was embroidered on the pocket. He’d opted for the new business name since he’d been feeling pretty lucky. There was a part of him that wished he were dressed as a civilian, but this was who he was—a mechanic, a body man. His uniform was clean—he always donned a jumpsuit over his clothes when he got into or under a car engine. His hands were clean, even under the nails.

And then he found Manny and said, “I’m going to deliver a car. I won’t be gone long.”

“Yeah, boss.”

He drove the few short blocks to Laine’s house. He turned off the car. He had her cell phone number and called it from the driveway. “Is this a convenient time to drop off your car?” he asked.

“You don’t have to drop it off,” she said. “I’ll come and get it in an hour or so.”

“Ah, I’m in your driveway,” he said. “If I can just leave the key fob somewhere, we can settle up when it’s convenient.” She didn’t say anything and he waited. “Laine?” he asked. And then he watched as the front door opened and she walked outside, an astonished look on her face. She was dressed the same way as when he’d seen her other times in the diner—yoga pants, heavy short-sleeved sweatshirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt, tennis shoes, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a young girl. A very pretty young girl.

Eric got out of the car and handed over the key fob. He pulled out a receipt from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We serviced the brakes, changed the oil, gave it a lube, rotated the tires and I checked over everything. You’re in very good shape, no surprises. I’d recommend service checks regularly, which depends on how much driving you do. Your car is well cared for.”

“You should’ve just called me,” she said. “I would have come for it.”

“No problem. I was happy to bring it over.”

“But I was going to use plastic to pay for it.”

He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. “You can do that now if you want to or you can come by the shop another time.” He popped an attachment for scanning onto his phone. “Whatever works for you.”

“I didn’t expect you to get to it today,” she said, obviously still surprised.

“We weren’t busy. But there’s no rush on—”

“No, I can pay you now. Come inside, Eric.”

“I don’t mind waiting....”

“For Pete’s sake, come inside!” And she turned to precede him into the house.

Eric stood there for a second. He hadn’t meant to disrupt her day, just wanted to make an effort, show he was both a businessman with great customer service and...well...a gentleman. He followed her a bit slowly. She’d left the door standing open and he entered. It was just a few steps past the foyer staircase into the great room.

“Wow,” he said.

There was a fire ablaze in the hearth, cozy furniture complete with pictures and hangings on the walls, throws on the chair and sectional sofa, a panoramic view of the bay out of the back windows, flowers on the table and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Something was simmering on the stove and Laine used an oven mitt to pull something out of the oven.

“Wow?” she asked.

“It’s so...domestic,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It was earth tones with splashes of lavender and blue here and there. And there was some red but just some, not much. Welcoming. Warm.

“It’s a home,” she said with a laugh.

“I know, but aren’t you single?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve only seen you out for a run and you said you do computer research. The only girlfriend I’ve had in the past few years was that web designer. I don’t think she knew where the kitchen was. And she was allergic to housework. But she loved her computers.”

Laine took off the oven mitts and grabbed her purse. “If I’m going to live here, it’s going to be comfortable. And I like to cook. Not all the time, but it relaxes me. I’m having company for dinner tonight, but I also do this for myself. What happened to the girlfriend?”

“She dumped me for a computer programmer. I bet they live in squalor and are either thin from starvation or getting fat on take-out.”

He saw a framed picture of Laine with a man—a very good-looking man. They appeared so happy. Then there was a second picture on the sofa table, a picture of two little girls. For a second he felt almost sick. She couldn’t have lost her family! That would be too cruel.

She found her credit card and presented it. “My nieces,” she said. “You don’t seem to be too traumatized. About the computer girl.”

She didn’t explain the man, but that was all right. He swiped the card and presented the screen for her to sign. “We probably weren’t right for each other anyway. The biggest thing we had in common was that we worked a lot.”

“Well, what drew you together? Ever ask yourself that?” She scrawled her name across the small screen.

“A friend. You know—one of those friends who can’t stand to see a single man on the loose and has to do something to hook ’em up. Don’t friends do that to you?”

“No,” she said. “Apparently none of my friends were ever concerned.”

“Never married?” he asked.

She just shook her head. “I haven’t dated that much. I travel a lot in my job.”

“But you do computer work. How do you travel for that?”

“No one likes sending people to training, seminars, leadership workshops or temporary duty to other divisions like the government does. To me, the computer is a tool. I’m no more fascinated by it than that. When I’m not working overtime or on the road, I have other interests. I’ve always liked to cook. It reminds me of my mother, who loved to cook.”

“Wow.”

“You’re getting turned on.” She put her card back in her purse. “You just met a woman who likes to cook and live in clean environs and you’re actually getting turned on.”

“No, I swear...”

“Yes, you are! I think you’d marry me right now if I’d promise to love, honor, vacuum and cook.”

“Seriously, no...”

“It’s because you live in a motel. And probably because none of your friends are trying to fix you up,” she said. “You’re looking for a domestic.”

“Hey, I am not. I’m a good cook, too. Very good. In fact, I’ll be happy to cook for you....” He stopped and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I’d have to borrow your kitchen, however.”

She laughed.

“I’ve been renovating and updating the station. From early in the morning to late at night...”

“You’re welcome to join us tonight, if you like. It’s just my friend Devon, her fiancé, her three-year-old and her friend, Rawley.”

“Thanks, that’s very nice, but I don’t want to intrude.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll probably run into you at the diner or something. Let me know if the car is unsatisfactory in any way.”

“Can I give you a lift back to the station?”

“Nah, I like the walk. Have a nice evening.”

He walked outside, into the brisk, moist air. He took a deep breath.

Not only had finding a woman been the last thing on his mind, but he also thought it made perfect sense to avoid such attachments in a little town like this, a town where he needed to make a living, needed to be respected by his friends and customers. He really couldn’t risk things like romantic drama. Plus, the only female who really had his attention was Ashley, his seventeen-year-old daughter. And he was making a real effort not to dominate her time—she was a high school senior and had better things to do. Besides, he needed little more than work, peace of mind, a little time with Ashley and an opportunity to watch her complete her growth into a fine young woman.

But then he noticed Laine. And damned if all those resolutions started to grow weak.

* * *

Laine had a very nice dinner with her friends. Spencer brought his son, Austin, a polite and funny ten-year-old. She got the biggest kick out of Rawley, who did very little talking, but was constantly finding things to point out to Mercy. He asked if she wanted her doll to sit at the table with them, prompted her to scrape up red sauce onto her garlic toast, asked if she had drawn any pictures of him lately and wanted to know what movies she’d been watching on her hand-me-down portable DVD player. To the adults, he didn’t have that much to say unless he was asked a direct question.

Two days later she ran into Eric in the diner. True, she thought she might and timed the end of her run specifically for that purpose. And of course he asked about her little dinner party and if her car was running all right. Two days after that she saw him walking into the deli and she decided it was time to get a pint of Carrie’s fabulous crab salad. He asked how her car was running. Two days after that she saw him in the diner again and he asked her what she’d been cooking lately and...how the car was running.

She could tell he liked her. When he saw her, he brightened. His face opened up a little and she got a good view of that wide, white smile. He kind of leaned toward her to talk. He was starting to really piss her off! She was going to have to make the first move.

It had been ten days and five random meetings since he’d delivered her car. Then she ran into him again. She was going home from the diner, he was headed there. There was the usual small talk—weather, car, cooking—and she said, “This is getting really old, Eric. Why don’t you ask me out? Am I that unappealing?”

His eyes got round and his mouth fell open. “Huh?”

“Very eloquent, but for God’s sake, my car is running just fine, I don’t cook big meals every day but when it’s cloudy, dark and wet, I like soups, stews and casseroles, and I can tell you like me. I can’t tell how much you like me, but I’m sure I’ll get a fix on that in no time. So—we’re both new in town and we only have a few friends. You probably have more than I do, being in business and all, but since we get along, like each other, aren’t dating anyone else, why don’t we go out? We’ll just go eat something. Maybe we can talk about anything other than my car, like our hobbies or something.”

The look on his face was priceless. He was clearly stunned. “Sure,” he finally said.

“Friday night. And I’m not cooking for you. That hungry, desperate look you get in your eyes when you come face-to-face with my domesticity is alarming. I’m not looking for a man to take care of. Or one to take care of me, for that matter. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for more than a run. And I haven’t been out on a date in so long... Well, you wouldn’t believe how long. I’ve been working. Then I’ve been... I’ll explain another time. So, Friday night?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Friday night.” Then he grinned hugely. “You asked me out on a date. You asked me.”

“I got very tired of waiting,” she said with a bit of superior impatience.

“I’ve never been asked out on a date before.”

She looked him up and down. Six-two, one-eighty and built, copper hair, the most enviable green eyes she’d ever seen, a little shadow of beard. Really gorgeous. Those eyes. God those eyes. “You big liar,” she said.

He shook his head and gave a shrug. “Not since the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade.”

“But people fixed you up all the time,” she reminded him.

“That’s when you go to the same birthday party or wedding reception. That’s not a date. And if I liked the woman, I asked.”

She frowned in doubt. “Are you wearing contacts?”

He shook his head again, but he was still grinning like a fool. “A gift from my mother. So, do you like seafood?”

“I’m from Boston,” she informed him.

“I’ll find something. I’ll pick you up at six. Is seven too late for dinner? Because I have to—”

“Shouldn’t I pick you up? Find the restaurant?” she asked.

“Nah, you did the hard part, the asking. I’ll do the rest. And by the way, I’m glad you asked. Thanks.”

“Were you ever going to?”

“I think so, yes. I was being cautious. Not for my sake. For yours.”

“Hmm. You’ll tell me more about that at dinner.”

“Fair enough. And you can tell me about the exciting world of research.”

She shook her head. “I really want you awake on this, our first date.”

* * *

Laine was very good at not overthinking things; she rarely found herself dwelling. On the Friday of her date, she dismissed it from her mind and focused on other things—a computer search for the right new rug for in front of the fireplace in her bedroom. She read a few chapters from a book she’d been into, put in a call to Pax and did a load of laundry. She was highly trained and knew how to place focus exactly where she wanted it. She had proven herself disciplined long ago—it was especially important in deep cover.

She could manage not to think about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in a year and a half. How the devil had it been that long?

She also added a layer of blue polish to her toenails. It was funny the things one missed during a deep-cover assignment. The first two she’d been on had been relatively short—two weeks in a clinic that was suspected of drug trafficking and then four weeks working in a trucker’s dispatch office trying to ferret out the human trafficking connection. But it was over six months in The Fellowship and what she’d really come to grieve was toenail polish, perfume and bath gel. Not to mention hair products. Just because Laine was an FBI agent and an expert markswoman didn’t mean she was a thug or a tomboy. No, sir. She was actually a girlie girl. Yes, she could throw a big guy over the hood of a car and cuff him. And yes, she’d been in some fights—not by choice, but hell, sometimes duty called. She was strong, tough, fearless and feminine.

Finally it was nearly time and she showered, blew out her hair and donned a pair of nice wool slacks, boots, sweater, jacket and long silk scarf. The boots had thin, high heels—Eric was a solid six-two. She could use a little lift.

Her first surprise when she answered the door was how well he cleaned up. She nearly laughed at herself. Had she expected him to arrive in his mechanic’s uniform and sensible lace-up boots? He wore dark jeans, a nice sweater, suede jacket and black cowboy boots. And his name wasn’t sewn anywhere on his outfit.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” she said, turning to lock the door and flinging her white fringed scarf over her shoulder. He stood aside to let her proceed and she suddenly stopped because there in the driveway was the shiniest, cranberry-red, restored car. “Wow.”

“I guess you can appreciate an old car.”

“Nineteen-seventy Chevy El Camino. Car or truck? That’s the question.”

“You know your cars,” he said, coming around her to open the passenger door. “You into cars?”

“Not in a big way, but this is beautiful.” But she did know her cars. She could identify just about any vehicle make and model on sight. That was part of police work. She could also remember license plates without the need to write down the numbers—not exactly a common thing among law enforcement officers, but she had a skilled memory. Beyond skilled, really.

A beautiful restored classic was all about aesthetics and Laine had a sudden and respectful appreciation for what Eric could do. When he joined her in the front seat she was caressing the dash. “Did you do this?”

“I did,” he said, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. “A friend saw her at a farm, a nonworking farm, along with four other old, wrecked cars. The property owner was ancient and didn’t give a hoot about those junkers, so I went there and made him a quick deal, handed him some cash and hauled them back to Oregon to work on. This one, I got attached to. I upgraded it, obviously—it’s not all original.”

“So you buy and restore old cars?”

“Sometimes. I have a steady clientele that comes to me for body work and I’m always on the lookout for deals, steals and old abandoned classics, not to mention original parts. Just body work...”

“This isn’t just body work,” she said, running a hand along the smooth dash. “This is art.”

That made him smile. “That’s my business.”

“I thought your business was mechanics, maintenance. And gas.”

“That’s part of it. We mean to take care of the town if we can. But body work and restoration is my first love. We’re finishing up a new paint bay in the shop. I left a lot of our specialty tools behind and this is a little like starting from scratch, but building a business makes sense. And it’s already working.”

“Wait a minute—left behind?”

“Oh,” he said with a laugh. “Okay, here’s how it went. I bought a failing business a little over ten years ago in Eugene. Over the past decade, with the help of some great mechanics and body men, we made it good and developed a loyal clientele and then some moneybags comes along and wants it bad enough to keep upping his offer until I started looking around for another place to work. Norm’s station had been for sale for years. It’s not much of a garage, really, but it sits on a real nice piece of land with plenty of room to expand. Norm never paid much attention to the space he had—all he wanted to do was pump gas, fix small stuff like brakes. He let a lot of junk collect on his lot rather than putting the space to use. I bought it, cleared it, poured a big slab and we’re expanding, literally one wall at a time. Plumbing and wiring takes more time than anything and in three months, we have a body shop and full-service garage up and running, not to mention new pumps. I’m hoping a couple more former employees from Eugene decide to join me here. We work well together. And I like the ocean.” He glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “Nice little town.”

“Nice little town,” she echoed.

“You’re the mystery,” he said.

“Me? Nah. I’m just someone who finagled an off-site telecommuting job because I had shoulder surgery. We can call it rehab plus leave of absence plus vacation, but it really boils down to—I can’t travel or manage temporary duty assignments, so I get to work from home when I can. And home can be anywhere, right?”

“Yet you drove three thousand miles to get ‘home’?”

“I can trust you to keep your mouth shut about that, right?”

He shrugged. “Who am I gonna tell?”

“Good,” she said.

“No, Laine. I mean, who am I gonna tell?” Then he peered at her with those haunting green eyes.

“The IRS? Because those sons of bitches are mean as snakes.”

He laughed. “Who’s your boss?”

“President Obama. And there could be a supervisor or two between me and Mr. President.” Then she gave him her teasing smile.

He laughed. “Why Thunder Point?”

She sighed. “The short answer is, I have a friend here. Devon is a friend of mine and once she moved here she just couldn’t shut up about this little town. I went online—my specialty, remember—and got a Realtor to send me a bunch of pictures. The longer answer—I put together a plan to take an extended leave from the government job, time to rehab, to think about whether I want to continue to live in the D.C. area, to work that much, that hard. To think about whether my heart’s still in it... It’s complicated. The pressure is terrible sometimes. I’m good at what I do, but seriously, what’s too much? I mean, do you have pressure?”

“Yes,” he said instantly. “But only the kind I like. And that wasn’t any brilliance on my part. I chose this—I like the kind of pressure I have. I serve some pretty high-dollar masters and their half-million-dollar classics. I can’t make too many mistakes. But then, I don’t make too many mistakes. Not at that, anyway.”

I don’t make many mistakes, either, Laine thought. I’m the best at what I do. Yet I can’t keep doing it.

Four

Eric had been optimistic regarding his date with Laine, but he had not really expected it to go as well as it did. First off, she asked a million questions about the restoration of the El Camino, right down to the vinyl truck-bed cover and dash instruments, where he found parts and how he pulled it all together. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew she was appealing directly to his male pride. But he could also tell she was genuinely interested, not just trying to pump him up. By the time they got to the restaurant in Bandon, he had already passed the point of no return. He was no longer just attracted to her, he really liked her.

“I hope this is okay,” he said, pulling into the parking lot of a small restaurant. “It’s not fancy but Cooper says the food is great and it’s not loud.”

“Perfect,” she said, unfastening her seat belt and reaching for the door handle.

He grabbed her wrist. “Wait,” he said. “Let me be a gentleman. At least for tonight. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Well, knock yourself out,” she said, waiting as he came around and opened her door.

When they were inside, he rejected the first table the waitress showed them. “How about that one?” he asked, pointing to a table in the corner rather than in the middle of the room. Then he leaned close and said to the waitress, “First date.”

“Gotcha,” she replied, smiling approvingly.

When they were seated, Laine said, “Either you’re very experienced with first dates or you’re actually suave.”

“How old are you?” he asked. “You look young, very young, but when you open your mouth there’s a whole lot of experience there.”

“Thirty-three,” she said. “Looking young was a problem when I was fifteen. When I was twenty-one, too. But at thirty-three I don’t mind that much and I think when I’m fifty I’ll be grateful. And you are...?”

“Thirty-six. For one more month.”

She ordered a glass of Cabernet, he ordered a beer and they looked at menus. Once they had decided and ordered, he said, “Now it’s your turn, Laine. I want to hear about being a researcher.”

“Aw, no you don’t. But let’s get this out of the way. I work for a government agency on a task force that involves a lot of different government agencies. Like I told you before, I do a lot of background checks, all over the place, none of which I’m allowed to talk about. I have a security clearance. Ninety percent of the time it’s not interesting and when it is interesting I really can’t talk about it. I don’t mean to be dismissive and I’m certainly not being coy, but that’s not what I’d like to talk about, if you can live with that....”

“Secret clearance, huh?” he said. “I bet you’re connected to spooky stuff.”

She shrugged. “I used to think so. But seriously, since that’s not what I’m doing right now...”

“All right, tell me what you’re interested in besides cooking.”

It was unmistakable, how her eyes lit up. “Lots of things. I love horses, though I haven’t had one since college. I rode as a kid—English saddle and dressage competition. I also took karate and competed. First my mom had me in gymnastics, which I remember as great fun, but then I grew into karate, which I still love. I love parasailing and rock climbing—all things I can’t do right now because of a weak arm, but my shoulder is healed and getting stronger all the time, so one of these days... The family had a sailboat, so I know how to sail. By the time the weather warms up, I’ll be ready to strengthen the shoulder with a kayak paddle on a bay that’s usually still and calm. I really love being outdoors.”

“You did all those things as a kid?”

She gave a nod. “What did you do?”

He laughed. “Laine, I think we had very different childhoods. My dad was a postal carrier and my mom was a housewife. I played Little League and sandlot soccer—teams and uniforms were pretty expensive. I suspect you had lots of advantages.”

“My parents were both surgeons. My mother passed away a few years ago and my dad is approaching seventy but he has an active practice and still operates. Not the way he used to—just sometimes. He’s winding down, his partners doing the bulk of the cases, but he’s still involved. Orthopedics.”

“You were a lucky kid,” he said, smiling at her.

Their salads arrived and they talked while they dug in. She told him she had no idea she was a lucky kid and spent far too much time focusing on things that didn’t satisfy her and he admitted that in his neighborhood, he’d had no idea he was poor, until much later, when he could see the difference between the haves and the have-nots.

“And you come from Thunder Point?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We moved there when I was in high school. My folks only lived there a few years, then moved closer to my older sister and her family.”

“And you’re definitely not poor now,” she said.

“I get by. I have some money saved. Not a fortune. I’m pretty tight, when you get down to it.”

“A by-product of growing up not having enough?”

He chewed a mouthful of salad. “More likely a by-product of worrying that I don’t deserve what I have. I didn’t even graduate from high school. I got my GED later.”

“At least you got it!”

By the time their entrées came, they were talking about the differences in their lives to this point in time—she admitted to a successful college experience, while he claimed a few college courses. He told her it was his brother-in-law who helped him buy the first auto body shop in Eugene, but he managed to pay him back and buy him out. Eric was enjoying the conversation, even though he was the poor cousin to her privileged little girl. That didn’t bother him—his parents were good people, just not rich people. He was well aware that their differences ran far deeper, but he wasn’t going to get into that tonight. He wanted to get to know her first; wanted her to get to know him for the person he was now, not the person he had been in years past. Besides, she was playing some cards very close to her own chest—like the top secret jazz she couldn’t talk about. Surely her good friend Devon had been privy to what Laine actually did for a living. And he was willing to bet it wasn’t “research.”

But no matter what was missing, what was there for Eric was plenty. He was further across the line—he really liked her. She was fun and smart and sexy. It sounded like she had a complicated life that she took in stride, which spelled maturity—he appreciated that. There was a certain young wisdom about her when she said things like, “I think it’s too bad when our parents don’t live up to our expectations when it’s even more likely we didn’t live up to theirs.”

Plus...he liked the way she lifted the fork, licked her lips, brushed back her hair. She had a small dimple on the right side of her mouth, very deep blue eyes, one slightly crooked front tooth that gave her smile an impish quality. She was so articulate; he had had to work hard to become articulate when he began to draw a sophisticated clientele. He hadn’t come from a well-educated background and as a kid he hung with lowlifes. She said she didn’t have a million friends, just a few good ones. “I can relate to that,” he said. “Me, too.”

“I’m not very social, when you get down to it,” she said. “I’d much rather have a small dinner with a couple of friends than go to a party. I don’t think I’ve been to a party in...years. A couple of wedding receptions or retirement parties, but those are almost mandatory events.”

“Would you like to be more social?” he asked her.

She shook her head. Then she shrugged and said, “I like what I like. I love fixing dinner for friends. I have a twin brother—another doctor, which makes my father very happy. Pax is his name and he’s the most remarkable man I know—Harvard bred, he’s finishing up a fellowship in pediatric surgery at Brigham and Women’s and he actually has a personality. He’s kind and brilliant.” Then she laughed and said, “I guess you can tell, we’re very close. I’m not close to my sister-in-law, but we both love Pax, so we get along well enough.”

He laughed at that. “I have to admit, my brother-in-law and I are closer than I am to my sister. My sister has been trying to fix me for at least twenty years, my brother-in-law thinks I’m cool.”

They shared a rich chocolate cheesecake for dessert and Eric asked for a cup of coffee while she finished her second glass of wine. “What about that beer?” she asked. “Wasn’t it okay? You didn’t even drink half of it.”

“It was fine, but I’m not much of a drinker, and I’m driving. I should probably worry more about my coffee consumption.”

On the way home he asked her, “When you were a kid, did you do any middle-class stuff, like...you know...Brownies? T-ball? Explorers Club?”

“Nah, my parents had us in accelerated academic programs. We had tutors from the beginning. My father pushed really hard. I didn’t even know about those other things. I was playing chess by eight, Pax was an elementary school leader in science club. My dad had a plan and my mom pretty much went along with it. The only reason I was in karate is because Pax was.” She turned toward him and grinned. “But I took to it better than he did. I can kick the stuffing out of him.”

“Spoken like a true sister.”

Eric pulled into her driveway. He turned to look at her and damn, she was so pretty. This was just about a peak experience for him. “Good first date,” he said, oh so eloquently.

“Excellent first date.”

“Don’t move,” he told her. “Let me be a gentleman.”

He led her toward the door and when they got there she stopped and turned, looking up at him expectantly. “Well?”

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what she was waiting for. “Don’t you want to get to know me better before we have that good-night kiss?” he asked, giving her a chance to make a break for it.

“Look, I haven’t been out on a real date in over a year and before that it was a series of really bad dates with guys I’d never date a second time and this was an excellent date. Didn’t I just say that? And damn it, I want to cap it off with a—”

It rapidly crossed his mind that she must have been a supervisor, at least. He slid his arm around her waist and lifted her up to his lips. She was small but not that light; he could feel the muscles that hadn’t been so obvious. This was a strong woman. He found her mouth with his and planted one on her and then, almost instantly, he fell in love with that mouth. With one hand supporting her at the small of her back and the other plunged into her soft hair at the back of her head, he urged her lips open. He was cautious with his invasive tongue but she wasn’t. She welcomed him, pulled him in, joined him in tongue-play. Her arms circled his neck and held on tight and he moved over her mouth hungrily, drinking in her taste. She was just perfect. It was almost scary how perfect she was. He lapped at her mouth, devoured her, started breathing hard in spite of his intention to be cool. He was not cool. He was over the edge.

He slowly broke away, but didn’t put her on her feet. He loved having her up against him. “Tell the truth. The president works for you....”

That made her laugh. “Want to come in?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

He shook his head. “If I come in, I won’t leave till morning.”

“That’s negotiable....”

“Let’s get to know each other a little better.”

“Wow. I didn’t think men said no.”

“I like you,” he said. “A lot. I don’t want you to have any regrets. I want you to be sure.”

“And you? You want to be sure?” she asked.

Oh, man, he was too sure. But there was a lot about him she didn’t know. And the front stoop was not the place to go through the details. “At least one more date, honey,” he said. “I think we’re both ready, but let’s take it a little slower....”

“You think I’m a slut?”

He laughed at her. “I think you’re a goddess!”

“Correct answer,” she said, wiggling in his arms until he set her on her feet. “Good date, good first kiss, let’s see if you can live up to the rest of it.”

“Oh, the pressure,” he said, chuckling. He leaned down and kissed her nose. “Thank you, Laine. I had a good time.”

“Do you think you’ll ask me out again or are you just going to ask how my car is running for the next week?”

He loved her sass. Loved it. She was so bold; not a coy bone in her body. “Sunday night?”

“Something going on tomorrow night?”

He shook his head. “I’m pretty busy tomorrow during the day, that’s all.”

“Can I cook us dinner?” she asked.

And he knew. He knew. He was going to have to lay it all on her—everything he held in his past. It might just freak her out. And if it didn’t freak her out, he’d be staying till Sunday morning. This was a beautiful, terrifying impasse.

“Sure,” he said. “What time?”

“Six?”

“I’ll be here.”

* * *

After her date, Laine washed her face, brushed her teeth, put on her favorite pajamas, lit the fire in her bedroom and snuggled into bed. Ordinarily she would close her eyes, take a few deep, slow breaths and worry that sleep might elude her or that she’d wake with a start because some deep, subconscious fear chased her in the dark of night.

Before the shooting she had been so highly disciplined she could grab sleep whenever it was available. After the shooting, she had suffered bouts of sleeplessness. Sometimes she thought she heard a gunshot and jolted awake, panting. When the FBI shrink had asked how she’d been sleeping she said, “Groggily, because of pain meds, I suppose. But I sleep. I’ve always been good at sleeping.” She could tell the shrink wasn’t fooled. Agents probably told her that all the time.

But tonight she welcomed a little sleeplessness.

She watched the fire and thought about that man, that handsome, delightful man. And thought about sex. Everything Eric had said and done on their first date indicated a man who was confident and thoughtful enough to be good in bed. She couldn’t remember when she’d had sex last.

Oh, yes, she could—she’d just rather not. It was an agent she’d worked a case with in New York; when the case was wrapped, they’d gone out for drinks, back to his hotel and splat. Very disappointing sex. What was his name? Oh, right, Paul Remmings—DEA. Very nice guy, very sharp and quick, with quick being the operative word. Hmm.

She knew one of the problems in law enforcement was being drawn to like creatures, probably because that’s where she spent most of her time. And when it came to civilians, she couldn’t let herself be transparent with them, which didn’t lend itself to intimacy. If she were completely honest with herself, that was one of the reasons for this hiatus—she needed to expand her boundaries, check out the real world, far away from the FBI.

And bingo, what had the real world offered up? Oh, my, oh, my, oh, Eric. Both tempting and, based on what he said, tempted.

Then she thought about cooking. It would have to showcase the best part of herself. Seafood chowder or bouillabaisse. Maybe crab legs. Or fresh catch...but she was partial to soups and stews, especially on cold nights. She considered a lot of options from chili to chicken soup.

When she did finally fall asleep, she woke to a dark dawn, drizzle and frigid temperatures and it made her smile. This was custom-made for her second date—there would be a fire and a hot, comforting meal. She made a list that included gourmet coffee for him and a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for her. She would make her own cheesecake—something cool on the palate after a heavy meal.

She got her shopping out of the way first, settling on one of her passions—chicken and dumplings. No one had made dumplings like her mother and Laine had all her mother’s skills...and recipes. She’d start with crab-stuffed tomato halves and crispy Parmesan bread sticks. She got a start on her chopping and mixing and then, despite the cold drizzle, she went for a run to burn off a little of that hyper, anticipatory energy.

On her way back to her house, she paced in front of the diner for a while until she was breathing more evenly. Then she went inside and jumped up on a counter stool in front of Gina.

“Hey,” Gina said. “Great day for a run?” she asked, grinning.

“It is, actually. Can you bring me something hot and wonderful?”

“I have a secret stash of instant hot chocolate,” she said, pulling an envelope out of her apron pocket. “I can shoot a little whipped cream on top.”

“Oh, yeah, I want that,” Laine said. Then she looked around. “No crowd today?”

“Saturday lunch in the rain doesn’t usually draw a crowd, which is fine by me.” Gina poured hot water into a cup, added the mix, stirred and put it in front of Laine before bringing out the can of whipped cream. “You must be a dedicated runner to be out in this slop.”

“I like the slop,” she said. She took a sip and said, “Ahhhh.”

“That makes one of you,” Gina said. “I get tired of the rain and fog and live for the sunny days.”

“I had a date last night,” Laine said softly. She smiled and knew her eyes glittered. “A good date. A nice date. And I’m having an encore tonight. I had to burn off some energy. I really don’t want to peak too soon. That’s always a prelude to disappointment....”

Gina looked stunned. “With...?”

“Eric. The gas man.”

“Oh! Wow!”

Laine looked outside and saw him walk out of the deli and hold the door for someone. “And speak of the devil,” she said. And then she watched in wonder as a pretty young woman came out. Eric let the door close, spoke to the young woman briefly, then they hugged. She thought her throat might close. “Oh,” she said quietly. Eric walked away. The woman crossed the street to the diner and Laine saw that she was just a girl, really. “God, she’s so young. What’s going...? He is much too old for her!”

Gina laughed softly. “They’re not dating, Laine. He’s her father.”

Laine’s head snapped back into forward position and looked at Gina in shock. “But...”

The girl came in and walked right behind the counter. “Hi, Mom. Eric gave me an Amazon gift card.” Then she looked at Laine. “Hi,” she said, and Laine could see the resemblance—red hair, green eyes, but that smile belonged to someone else. Gina.

“Ashley, this is Laine. Laine, meet my daughter, Ashley.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ashley said. “I’ll go change and be right out to relieve you.”

Laine was speechless. She didn’t even know what question to form first and she felt the color drain from her face. Great game face, Laine, she chided herself.

“High-school romance,” Gina said. “Eric didn’t know about Ashley until about a year ago. I was very young and raised Ashley alone, with my mother’s help. The deli is my mother’s business—Ashley works there part-time, whenever Mom needs her help. And she’s here a few afternoons and evenings a week.”

“He didn’t mention...”

“I guess you can’t know everything about each other after one date,” Gina said with a shrug.

“Having a daughter would seem real high on the list,” Laine said. And then she felt the color come back to her face with a vengeance and she thought, What the hell? I’m an experienced undercover investigator! I don’t go pale, don’t flush, don’t allow personal emotions to dominate my behavior or responses. But she said, “You and Eric?”

“Getting along better than I expected we would. I located him and met with him to get some medical history from his side of the family, a purely practical thing. It was Ashley’s decision to meet him and at first it made me very nervous, very paranoid, but it’s worked out well for both of them, I think. He’s changed a lot in seventeen years. But then, so have I.”

But for Laine, there was a red flag. Having children, having a child, being a parent—even a recent or part-time parent—would seem to be one of the most obvious things to mention, maybe right after what you did for a living. How had they spent almost four hours together without that subject coming up? Concealment? Because hiding information was one of the first signs something was wrong.

Is that so, Agent Carrington? she chided herself. But wait, wasn’t her situation a matter of public safety? National security? Almost?

But she said to Gina, “It seems to have worked out, then.”

“Don’t let this get under your skin, Laine. I’m a very happy woman. Mac seems to respect Eric. And Mac isn’t easy. I’m sure when you bring this up to Eric, he’ll give you the whole story. He’s a very nice guy. Now.”

“He wasn’t then?”

“I don’t know, that’s a tough one. He was nice to me, but he was such a typical nineteen-year-old—shiftless, irresponsible, egocentric. And I was a completely typical teenage girl—love was more important than common sense. It’s a terrible trap—but I do believe we’ve outgrown those tendencies. Look, we all have baggage. Don’t we?”

“Sure,” she said. However, Laine believed she could keep the heaviest of her baggage to herself for a long time. And it wasn’t all about her work with the FBI. “But you know what? The best way to take care of this is to take care of this.” She stood up. “What do I owe you for the cocoa?”

“On the house. Don’t draw blood. I forgave him a long time ago and I think he’s forgiven me for keeping Ashley to myself.”

“I won’t hurt him,” she said with a weak smile. Then she got out of the diner before she thought about it any further.

She jogged down the block, hood up and covering her head, and went straight for the station. There were a couple of cars at the pumps being taken care of by a teenager. Inside the garage, she could see someone under the hood of a car. He had long legs she recognized, although now he was wearing a coverall of some kind.

“Eric?”

He peeked out. First he smiled, then he frowned in concern. “Laine, you’re all wet....”

She stepped toward him. “I just met Ashley in the diner. You didn’t mention her.”

He grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. “I meant to, but we were talking about other things.” He grinned at her. “Obviously I can’t keep her a secret. The hair, the eyes—she’s either a clone or mine. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Laine nodded but felt numb.

“She’s beautiful inside, too. Just an awesome kid. Gina and her mother really worked their magic raising her.”

“It makes me wonder, though, what other important things you might be waiting to tell me. Because I like the really major stuff up front. I don’t want to get involved and then find out there are issues like having a family that wasn’t even mentioned.”

Eric frowned as if in thought. He was quiet for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and spoke. “There’s no privacy for talking here, Laine. Go home, get dried off. I’ll wash my hands and come over. I’ll tell you the circumstances, you’ll ask me anything on your mind. We’ll get it all on the table. Before tonight.”

“Before tonight?” she asked, already disappointed.

“I don’t want you to waste your time. I like you. I want you to like me. But I’m not perfect by a stretch. So let’s do it.” He lifted one of those copper brows. “How’s that sound?”

It sounded like bad news was coming. But it had to be done.

“Don’t make me wait too long,” she said. Then she turned and jogged out of the garage and down the hill to her house.

* * *

Laine threw on a warm, dry sweat suit and put her chicken on to stew with a halved onion and the end of the celery stalks in the water. It was one o’clock. She put the ingredients for the Parmesan breadsticks on the counter—that would be her next project. She was determined to make her chicken and dumplings whether her encore date happened or not.

And then there was a knock at the door.

She opened it and there he stood in that blue jacket and pants. She took a breath. “I don’t mean to be like this—so suspicious of everything. Certainly a beautiful, sweet girl like Ashley is nothing to be—”

He came inside, took her elbow in a firm grip and said, “Come on, Laine. Let’s talk.” He directed her to the sofa. They sat there, facing each other. “Ashley’s one of the best things that ever happened to me. She’s letting me help her look at colleges. I shouldn’t even have that privilege—not only am I not educated, but Gina and Mac have been her parents, not me. I didn’t know about Ashley. Well, I wondered...”

“Huh?” she asked.

“I dropped out of high school at sixteen. I thought I had the world by the balls because I was making nine dollars an hour changing oil and tuning up engines. And girls—I had girls. And boy,” he said with a rueful laugh, “I thought I had all the moves, too. I thought I was so slick—God’s gift. And I was just a stupid horny kid. And Gina—she was the prettiest girl. All of fifteen, but I had no brain and it didn’t even register that she was too young. We dated, if you can call it that—it was a few fast-food meals and movies and a lot of making out. And then she said she thought she might be pregnant and I ran like my pants were on fire. I was nineteen and she was fifteen—I almost heard the cell door slam behind me. I headed out of town and didn’t look back. I found work in Idaho—more mechanics. And I found my kind of buds—the kind that worked by day and drank and partied and did some recreational drugs at night. We spent our money partying and I thought I had life figured out until I saw the flashing lights in the rearview mirror. My new buddies stopped for a case of beer and I was driving while they bought the beer because I was nineteen and they were twenty-one.”

Her eyes narrowed. She had not expected this, but she was a trained interrogator and nothing much surprised her.

“Yep. They held up the store. Took the case of beer and eighty dollars—they were such high rollers. There was a silent alarm and my buddies...? They didn’t even really have a gun, thank God, or we might’ve all been killed. One of them stuck his finger out in a sweatshirt pocket and said, ‘Hand over the cash!’ We were tried separately but I had the worst public defender, toughest judge and the longest sentence. I did five years.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “Crap,” she said before she could stop herself. She fell against the couch back and closed her eyes. She put her hand against her forehead.

“Five,” he repeated. “I don’t drink much because for five years I didn’t drink at all and while I was on parole, no drugs and no alcohol was the price of freedom. Believe me, a case of beer is never going to be that important again. I have no intention of going back to the useless imbecile I was. I cleaned up my act, learned some lessons, moved on to a better life. That’s it, Laine. I’m an ex-con. Gina, Mac, Ashley and for all I know the whole town is aware of it. I’m not trying to hide anything but I don’t advertise it. I was going to tell you tonight—I’m not trying to pull anything.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Do we have anything in common?”

He shook his head. “I’m also afraid of heights,” he said. “I won’t be parasailing or rock climbing with you. I can’t even watch movies that have people fighting on the rooftops and ledges of buildings. And I’m in passable good shape but I never took karate. I never took lessons of any kind. You can probably kick my ass, too.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered. “What a mess.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “But this is all I have. I’m a mechanic who was a delinquent and had a baby I didn’t even know about. I thought about Gina and wondered, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate a letter from prison asking about her condition, so I kept my curiosity to myself. That’s it—that’s all I’ve got.” He stood up.

“Eric, I’m an FBI agent.”

He sat back down. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. Not on the job at the moment but that doesn’t change my status. I guess you’ve figured out—I’m not talking about that around town. I don’t need people looking at me funny. I’m a Fed. A fibbie. I hurt my shoulder by getting in the way of a bullet. I can kick your ass. We don’t fool around about that stuff....”

“You can’t weigh one-twenty soaking wet!”

“And I know every dirty trick,” she told him. “I can kill you with my bare hands.”

He shuddered.

“Okay, not with my bare hands, but if I had a corkscrew or hat pin, you could be history. My brother thinks I’m cool. My father thinks I’m ‘blue-collar.’”

Eric laughed in spite of himself. “He’s jealous.”

“Probably not. I’ve never quite measured up to his expectations.”

“Well, after getting arrested, going to prison and being forever an ex-con, my parents have been pretty disappointed in me, as you can imagine. We get along better these days, but they’re older than dirt and lack the energy to stay mad at me. And then there’s Ashley. My mother and sister had no idea I could actually produce something that pure, that brilliant, that beautiful.” He shrugged. “But then, neither did I. I give all the credit to Gina. If I’d had half a brain back then, I’d have let her straighten me out....”

“Do you still love her?” she asked.

He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I never loved her, Laine. I was attracted to her and knew she was an awesome person, but back then I lacked the capacity for real love. She was so lucky I ran. I would’ve dragged her down.”

He stood again. “So, look—I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I mean it. I wanted us to get to know each other a little bit. I was going to tell you tonight. I would never try to trick someone into a relationship with me. It’s all public record. I have no control over that.”

“And you’re trying to start a business in Thunder Point,” she reminded him.

He shrugged. “If I’m lucky, my new customers won’t know I’m an ex-con until they’ve gotten to know me for the guy I am now.”

“I’m stewing the chicken,” she said.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I should’ve told you last night. But damn, I just couldn’t. I was having such a good time. I wanted you to like me, I did.”

She stood up. She put her hands on her hips. “Go home and shower after work and come back. I’m making my mother’s dumplings. They melt in your mouth. I bought special coffee for you and special wine for me....”

“Laine, maybe we’re better off just letting it go right—”

“I’m not supposed to get involved with persons of ill repute, so you better have turned a corner. Because damn it, I’m stewing the chicken. And it’s a wet, cold night.”

“You sure?”

“Are you?” she countered.

He grinned. “As long as you promise all hat pins and corkscrews are out of reach.”

“Six,” she said. “I’ll drop the dumplings after you get here. They’re fragile. We don’t screw with dumplings. Don’t be late.”

Five

Eric felt the impulse to run away, something he hadn’t felt in many years. He wasn’t even sure how many years. This time it was for an entirely different reason—for once he wasn’t afraid of being trapped, he was afraid Laine wouldn’t give him a chance. He was afraid she’d come to her senses. That fear was torturously coupled with his overwhelming desire for her, and his willingness to take any risk to make it happen. It was undeniable. He wanted her. It was so new and hot, he didn’t even recognize the emotions.

His last girlfriend, Cara, had not inspired these feelings in him, not at all. He’d been fond of her. More than fond, really—she was adorable. Cute and funny. When they were together, which hadn’t been too often even when they lived together, they enjoyed each other. They had good sex and he’d been tremendously grateful for that. And when she’d told him they were over, he had barely grieved. It felt a lot like saying goodbye to a friend at the train station. Like, “Good luck, be safe, stay in touch if you can, take care of yourself, I’ll be thinking of you.” Even then he knew that the thought of her wouldn’t keep him awake at night. She was a sweet girl. He’d been lucky to have two nice years with her. He was all too aware Cara had never created a fierce hunger in him. They were like roommates with privileges, excellent privileges. Eric had thought that’s what it was supposed to be like.

But now, he ached for Laine.

All through the afternoon he did what he did best—buried himself in an engine and just let his mind argue with itself. He could do the noble thing and let this relationship end before it began because it was destined to be a disaster. Well, that was if Laine wanted him as much as he wanted her. She was the law, he was the reformed criminal. She came from an educated, mucky-muck Boston family. He came from a lower-middle-class background in which only his brother-in-law had attended college. She wanted to soar from great heights, he liked his feet firmly planted on the ground. And yet he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Eric’s instincts told him it was a dangerous prospect to want someone with the kind of hunger he felt for Laine. It couldn’t work. He tried like bloody hell to turn back, to call her and say, “Look, let’s not be stupid here, we are not going to last through the weekend and we both know it. Let’s cut our losses.”

Instead, he asked Manny to keep the station open for Saturday evening, asked Norm to open Sunday morning, asked Justin to work with Norm.

“My mom usually needs me Sunday mornings. I have to take her to church,” Justin said.

Eric grinned. “You? Church?”

“My mother, church. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Jeez, I just got very excited,” Eric said. “Any chance you pick up pointers while you’re taking your mother to church?”

“Yeah. I don’t pick my nose in public anymore.”

Eric frowned. “Progress,” he said. “Norm can probably handle things in the morning. I won’t be too late.”

Well, look at me, he thought to himself. Trying to talk myself into running for my life before two perfectly innocent people get hurt, but instead I get people to cover for me in the morning like I’m already invited to spend the night. If she’s half as smart as I think she is, she’ll nip this idea in the bud.

He went to his motel to shower, shave and change clothes. At exactly six, he knocked on Laine’s door. She opened the door and just looked at him for a long moment. She looked at him like she hadn’t been expecting him. Then she pulled him inside, kicked the door closed and jumped into his arms. He lifted her off the floor and went after her mouth. Everything he thought about all day long was gone. He leaned back against the closed door and held her against him; he loved that strong, muscled, supple little body in his arms. Had they said hello? They hadn’t even said hello....

He held her tight, his hand running over her butt, his lips urging hers open, his tongue penetrating... He was getting ideas, which preceded getting hard by about three seconds. Her breathing was already rapid and somewhat labored and he was dizzy. He leaned his head back, breaking the lip-lock for a second. “Whoa,” he whispered.

“Double whoa,” she said. “You smell good.”

“You smell even better,” he said.

“I lit the fire upstairs.”

“I love a woman with a plan,” he said, kissing her again. Long and wet and deep and luxurious. She was delicious. She was willing. She was his.

“I didn’t have a plan,” she said. “I didn’t know I was going to do that. I’m not sorry. Let’s just go upstairs. Huh, Eric?”

“What about those fragile dumplings...?”

“Screw the dumplings—they’ll be fine. After we’re fine...”

He slid an arm under her knees and carried her up the stairs. “We’re crazy, you know,” he pointed out to her. “No way this works....”

“This is going to work just fine,” she said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Then the second. Then she had to stop because he was wearing a heavy sweater over his shirt.

“I should’ve known you were a woman who had no trouble asking for what you want.”

“If you have other ideas, you better speak up,” she said.

He stopped in the middle of the staircase. Holding her with one arm, one foot on the next rising step, he rested her bottom on his raised thigh. “All I can say is thank you.” Then he took her lips again. “I’ve been thinking about your mouth all day.”

“Just my mouth?” she said, smiling against his lips.

“If I let myself think about anything else, I might’ve had an injury. How fast can you get naked?”

“Faster than you, I bet.”

He raced up those stairs like lightning.

He put her on her bed and she was up on her knees, shoving his jacket off his shoulders, lifting his sweater by the hem, over his head. He took care of the shirt he wore, disregarding buttons and pulling it over his head. Then he pulled off her sweater and she flopped back on the bed, kicking off her pants.

There he stood in his jeans and boots, looking down at her. “Ho, boy,” he said. “You’re gorgeous. And you’re very fast.”

“Come on, Eric. I showed you mine. Show me yours.”

He sat on the bed and worked off his boots first. “Patience.”

“I don’t have that,” she informed him.

He pulled a couple of foil packages out of his pocket, tossed them on the bedside table, then slid down the jeans. He put a knee on the bed and let her have a look.

“Holy guacamole,” she said. Then she opened her arms and he filled them.

He rolled with her so they were on their sides, locked together with their lips while he slowly caressed her breasts and back and belly. When his fingers moved lower, she grabbed his wrist. “Eric, suit up. The second you touch me, I’m gone. I’ll be way ahead of you.”

He grinned at her and gave her lower lip a gentle nip. “The first time, anyway. I can catch up, no worries.”

Eric wasn’t always great at following orders; he didn’t get the condom right away, as she instructed. He’d spent all day trying not to think about this and the last few minutes praying he wouldn’t be too fast. That became a nonissue right away. He slid a slow, easy finger into her, his thumb brushing against her clitoris, and she went off like a firecracker, clenching and throbbing and drenching him in liquid heat. “God,” he said. “Beautiful. Beautiful.” And then he kept her going for a long, long time until she collapsed beside him, flat on her back, spent. He kissed her cheek. “Can you do that again?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered weakly.

“If you give me two things, I can die a happy man.”

“Name ’em,” she said, her eyes still closed.

“Let me have a little taste, then do that when I’m inside. Let me watch your eyes while I’m there. Blow my mind. Kill me. I’m on a hair trigger.”

Her eyes opened a slit, but they sparkled. Her lips curved in a smile. She opened her legs for him.

He slid down her body, stopping to make sure her peaked nipples got the attention they deserved, then he went farther. He kissed the inside of her thighs, but quickly. He was anxious. He was ravenous. He was ready to explode. He gave her a few licks with a gentle tongue, then a little rougher, thoroughly enjoying her moaning and wiggling against him.

He went back to her mouth. “More later,” he promised. “Laine, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever had on my tongue and I want you so bad, I think I might pass out. Tell me what you want. You can have anything you want. You own me right now.”

“Just get inside me, Eric. Before I climb on you and just take the choice away from you.”

He didn’t make her wait—he slid in slowly, luxuriated for a moment, then began to move. He grabbed her hands in one of his, stretched them over her head and moved faster, then harder, then deeper and harder. She bit his shoulder, groaned, and let him have it, throwing another climax at him. So fierce, so tight, so powerful, he let it all go with a loud moan. She was unstoppable; she was hot as lava. He came until his brain was empty and she was a limp pile of moist flesh beneath him.

“My God,” she said.

“Yeah,” he concurred in a weak breath.

He held his weight off her until he could catch his breath, then with his arms gently cradling her, he rolled them onto their sides again. He kept his mouth on hers, just pressing his lips and tongue against her lips and tongue, holding her against him for as long as he could—he didn’t want to leave her body. He thought it was very probably the best sexual experience of his life. He certainly couldn’t remember anything to compare it to. He wanted to say something emotional, intimate. Something memorable. But all he could come up with was “Are you okay?”

“No,” she said. “All my bones melted.”

He chuckled. “A-plus?”

“Don’t get full of yourself. And don’t stop trying. God, Eric. Have you always been a sex god?”

He raised up on one elbow and looked down at her. He shook his head. “I think I can honestly say, you bring out the best in me.”

“Whew. In a few minutes, I’ll think about those dumplings....”

“Screw the dumplings. I can just live on you.”

“You’ll get very thin,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll be fine. I think we need to do that again. Right away. Before we forget how that works. Damn, baby, we were very good. I think we found what we have in common.”

* * *

They made love again, then showered together and that was just another opportunity to enjoy each other’s bodies. Then they were going to dress to go downstairs to eat but were sidetracked by the bed. By the time they got to the kitchen they were weak with hunger and drunk on sex. Eric had never made love so much in one evening in his life.

They didn’t get to the dumplings until 11:00 p.m. Laine told him she thought they were probably her best ever, but the taste and texture barely registered with Eric. The only thing he could taste was Laine and he didn’t want to forget it for a second.

They sat on the floor in the great room, in front of the fire, trays on their laps, knees almost touching. While they ate, they talked. “This is a completely inappropriate question,” Laine said, “but will you tell me about all your lovers?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “There haven’t been very many. I told you, my last girlfriend was a cute little computer nerd and we lived together for almost two years. She was special in a hundred ways, but we both knew we were temporary from the start and she dumped me last summer for someone more her type.”

“How do you know when you’re temporary?” she asked.

“You tell me, Laine. You’re not married or engaged or serious—and I can’t believe every man in America doesn’t want you for his very own. And you’re here while on leave—you’ll go back to the Bureau. You won’t work out of Thunder Point, I know that. I just refuse to think about it right now. Want to tell me about your men?”

She just shook her head. “My professional life didn’t leave a lot of room for that. I was in a few relationships, short-term, with guys whose lives were just like mine, which meant high pressure, bad hours, temporary assignments, traveling a lot. But your life is different—one business, one address, not so much uncertainty.”

“I found my love mostly in cars,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not a ladies’ man. I like women, but I was busy. Busy trying to rebuild myself. Ten years is a long time to be out of circulation.”

“You said five years....”

“Five in jail, five on parole. Ten years under a microscope. I didn’t test the rules, not even a little bit. And I was nervous about forming attachments.”

“But when you were young, before jail...”

“I was a fuck-around idiot. There’s nothing more to tell about that.”

“There’s a daughter.”

His eyes actually got a little dreamy. She couldn’t help but smile as he talked. “I got so lucky there. And after hearing those scary words one time—‘I think I might be pregnant’—I was very careful. I’m sure she’s the only one, and what a miracle. Wait till you get to know her better. I can’t believe I was a part of creating her. You won’t believe how great she is.”

“Well, Gina’s pretty great, so...”

“I must have a guardian angel after all,” he said. “What are we going to do after we finish dinner?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go back to bed. I want to sleep with you tonight, but that’s your call. I can put on my boots and jacket and head home. I’m just saying, I’m yours tonight.”

“Then you wash, I’ll dry, then we’ll snuggle in.”

“I like that idea.”

When they were back in bed, they whispered to each other, telling little bits of their lives. It was true, they seemed to have little in common, and yet Laine hadn’t felt this compatible with another human being in her adult life.

At three in the morning, Laine woke and reached for him and his side of the bed was empty. “Eric?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Shhh. Go back to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you—I was going to leave a note. My phone went. I have to go tow someone....”

“I didn’t hear the phone,” she said.

“It was on vibrate and I heard it bouncing around the nightstand. The number on the side of the truck, the number the cops have, it’s my cell number. I got a text, wanna see?”

She liked that he wasn’t private about it, hiding his text messages. She shook her head. “What’s up?”

“Big mess on Freemont Bridge near Bandon. The cops threw out stop sticks to disable a car they were chasing and ended up blowing out tires on three civilian cars that weren’t being pursued. My job is going to be easier than theirs. They’re going to have some very annoying paperwork. I texted that I was on my way.”

“Did their man get away?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I can come back. It’s up to you.”

“How long will you be?”

“That depends on how many tow trucks respond. It could be a few hours.”

“You should call me. It’s the only way I’ll know you can’t stop thinking of me.” Then she smiled just as she closed her eyes sleepily.

He kissed her forehead. “I have a feeling you’re going to be under my skin for a very long time,” he said.

* * *

Eric jogged to his station, where he covered his decent clothes with a work coverall and changed out his boots into lace-up, steel-toed work boots. Because he wasn’t sure of the terrain around the bridge, he opted for his flatbed side puller with the nine-thousand-pound hydraulic winch. If he found a car off the road or down an incline, he could get it on the truck. If all he needed to do was tow, he could manage that easily.

Lots of flashing lights along the bridge greeted him. He shone his overhead beams on the scene and got out to investigate. There were two state police cruisers along with a couple of local cop cars from a town south of the bridge. And because this was pretty close to his territory, Mac McCain was there. Eric saw two cars with flats along the side of the bridge and then, predictably, down the hill on the near side of the bridge, a large SUV flipped on its side. The driver must have lost control when the tires were spiked by the stop sticks.

He approached Mac first. “Injuries?”

Mac shook his head. “Guy and his wife in the SUV are a little shook up and she has a couple of bruises, but they exited the vehicle without incident. They’re over there, moaning and groaning about the car.”

“And the bad guy?”

“Who knows?” Mac said. “The Keystone Kops over there thought they had him. I think he pulled off the road into some trees or something and when they came peeling down to the bridge, he turned around and headed in the other direction. Stolen car. We’ll probably find it abandoned before very long.” He grinned. “All these state troopers and sheriff’s department crew look like they’re feeling pretty smug, don’t they? That’s relief you see—so glad they didn’t fuck this up. Can you get that SUV? We have another wrecker coming.”

“I got it. Where do you want that SUV to go?”

“That’s between you and the owner. We’re not impounding anything.”

“Well, let’s see what they want.”

Eric made his way over to a couple standing by the side of the road. He touched the brim of his hat. “Folks? Rough night, I see. I’m here to get your car up that hill. I haven’t looked at it yet, but it’s probably going to need four new tires and since it took a slide, I’d recommend an axel and frame check. It needs to get up on the lift and the undercarriage should be checked to make sure it’s safe. And someone should look at the body for damage. I can handle all of that in Thunder Point. Where are you folks headed?”

The man sucked noisily on a mint. “Home from a visit in Sacramento. We’re almost home. Eugene.”

Eric nodded. “I had a business in Eugene for years,” he said. “Well, I can’t take the car all the way to Eugene for you, but there are good shops in Bandon, North Bend, Coquille or Thunder Point. There’s a motel in Thunder Point—not fancy, but clean and nice. And I can take care of the car tomorrow. I can send someone for the right tires, take a look at your undercarriage, brakes and other essentials. I can even do the body work, but you might want to get closer to home for that, once the car is drivable. If so, I can get you some pictures for your damages report.” Then he ducked slightly to see the woman’s face. She was looking down but lifted her face briefly. “You want someone to look at that, ma’am?”

She just shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Is the police department going to pony up for the repairs?” the man asked, an obvious edge to his voice.

“You’ll have to work that out with them. Why don’t I get this car up the hill while you talk to that man over there,” he said. He indicated to Mac and pulled some gloves out of his pocket. Then he lifted the brim of his hat to look at the man. “Let’s just get you back on the road.”

“You’re kind of cheerful for the middle of the night,” the man said sourly. “Big commission here?” he suggested.

Eric smiled. He was cheerful all right and it had nothing to do with the money he’d make on this tow. “I’m on call to local and county police. As a matter of fact, they woke me up from a very good dream. Now if you’ll talk over where you want me to take your vehicle and move to the other side of the road, I’ll get to work. By the time you decide where you’re spending the rest of the night, I’ll have her loaded on the rig.”

He positioned and braced the wrecker at the side of the road. Using a large flashlight, he moved cautiously down the hill. It wasn’t too rocky; he wedged a boulder out of the way. Examining the car, he found some surprising things. Only one tire was flat and though it was dark, it didn’t appear to be a puncture. There were plenty of scratches and dents, with a small amount of fuel leaking on the ground and dripping into the creek. The chances were excellent that the tank had been nearly empty, but Eric had an industrial-strength fire extinguisher handy on the chance of a spark. The car was lying on the driver’s side, so he pointed the flashlight inside the passenger’s open door and looked inside.

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