His business is protection

Shannon Cooper came to Nightshade Island to carry out a mission. But she can’t do it without the mysterious Gideon Stone. The enigmatic, battle-hardened former soldier is much more than just the island’s caretaker. And the powerful feelings he’s awakening go deeper than fleeting desire.

Former special ops, Gideon has seen danger up close and personal. Now, protecting Shannon from deadly mercenaries is his first priority. But who will shield him from the onslaught of emotion the beautiful computer tech is arousing? As a storm hurtles up the Alabama Gulf Coast, mirroring the passion raging through his defenses, Gideon will do whatever it takes to survive...and explore a relationship as impossible as it is irresistible....

“Guess we made it through the night more or less unscathed, huh?”

Shannon followed Gideon’s gaze and released a soft sigh. The cool morning breeze off the gulf lifted her dark hair, sending a few strands dancing against his cheeks. She smelled like a fresh morning rain, despite having traipsed through the sea grass, climbed up and down a thirty-foot lighthouse and taken down a special forces marine twice her size with her bare hands.

She was formidable, he thought, rolling the word around in his head, savoring it.

Fearing it.

He’d known, the second he saw her waiting on the pier at Terrebonne Marina, that she was going to be trouble for him.

He just hadn’t realized how much.

Secret Assignment
Paula Graves

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Shannon Cooper—Though Cooper Security’s computer tech has long wanted to run a field operation, helping a widow archive her late husband’s belongings isn’t what she had in mind—until black-masked intruders show up, pursuing a deadly agenda.

Gideon Stone—Owing a blood debt to the family of the fellow marine who died saving his life, Gideon will do anything to keep Lydia Ross safe, even put up with a pretty young computer geek who wastes no time getting under his tough skin.

Lydia Ross—The army widow is still grieving the loss of her husband and her son. But when intruders strike the private Gulf of Mexico island where she’s lived for most of her life, she shows the steel in her spine that made her the ideal army wife.

General Edward Ross—The late army general kept a coded journal during his last few years of service. Now a whole lot of dangerous people want to get their hands on the journal. What secrets does it contain?

Security Services Unit (SSU)—MacLear Security’s secret unit disbanded when the company fell to scandal. But some of the operatives are still selling their services to whomever’s willing to pay.

Damon North—The undercover agent has finally made his way back into the SSU, dedicated to bringing the dangerous mercenary unit down. But how far is he willing to go to convince the unit that he’s trustworthy?

Raymond Stephens—The dishonorably discharged ex-marine who found his home in the corrupt SSU still nurses a grudge against Gideon Stone. Will the new SSU mission to steal the general’s journal give him a chance to even the score?

For my mom,

who’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t.

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

Excerpt

Chapter One

Murky green water lapped against the pilings of the Terrebonne Marina docks, rocking the boats hitched to the moorings. The breeze blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico was steamy-hot, fueled by temperatures in the mid-nineties and eighty-percent humidity.

August in Alabama, Shannon Cooper thought bleakly as she wilted in the sweltering heat on a bench by an empty boat slip. The dog days were bad enough back home, where mountains and woods offered some small protection against the Southern summer’s excesses. But down here in Terrebonne, a mosquito-infested dot on the Alabama Gulf Coast map, August was a ruthless son of a—

She heard the boat before she saw it, the engine rattle drawing her gaze toward the middle of Terrebonne Bay. Cutting through the wakes left by other boats, a drab white fishing yacht that had seen better days headed straight toward the boat slip where she sat waiting for her ride to Nightshade Island.

The boat eased into the slip, avoiding all but the lightest of bounces against the protective bumpers lining the dock. The engine growled to a stop, and Shannon pushed to her feet.

A colossus of a man stepped onto the deck, all broad shoulders, long legs and unwelcoming scowl. Shannon was used to large men—between her brothers and cousins, she’d been surrounded by strapping, athletic men all her life. But the man who walked to the boat’s deck railing exuded a commanding presence made all the more intimidating by the impatient hostility hardened like stone in his masculine features.

He didn’t speak until he’d finished lashing the boat to the moorings with sturdy ropes. That task done, he rose to his impressive height and addressed her in a deep, growling Southern drawl. “Shannon Cooper?”

She quelled the dismay squirming in the pit of her stomach and raised her chin. “Yes. And you?”

His lips pressed to a line. “Gideon Stone.”

The name matched the one her brother had given her. She wished Jesse had thought to include a photo of the man. “Do you have any identification?”

His eyes narrowing, he pulled a slim wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and showed her his driver’s license. Gideon Stone. Age thirty-four. Six-five, 220 pounds. In the photo, he looked pissed-off.

She glanced at him and saw the photo was a good likeness.

“Thank you,” she said politely.

His expression didn’t soften at all as his gaze shifted downward. “Is that all you have?”

She looked at the duffel bag sitting on the dock beside her. She’d packed light, figuring she could wash clothes at least once while she was on the island. “Doesn’t Mrs. Ross have a washer and dryer?”

His eyebrows quirked slightly. “Yes.”

“Then yes. That’s all I have.” She eyed the large fishing vessel, a Hatteras Convertible Sportfisherman. Even though it had seen better days, it seemed in no danger of sinking, she noted with relief.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She blinked, taken aback. “Do this?”

“Come out to Nightshade Island.” He nodded toward the clouds rolling in from the southeast. “There’s a storm headed our way.”

A tropical storm roiling in the Caribbean was lining up to move into the Gulf of Mexico before the end of the week, but surely they would have plenty of time to evacuate if the situation became dangerous. “All the more reason to archive the general’s papers and collections quickly,” she said reasonably. “Mrs. Ross will want to take them with her if she’s forced to evacuate, and we’ll have them secured and ready to go. Were you able to procure the items we requested for storage?”

“Yes.” He walked toward the dockside fuel pump a few yards away.

She watched through narrowed eyes as he pumped fuel into the yacht’s tanks, wondering if his surly attitude was situational or inherent. “Is there a problem with my coming here?”

He looked up at her, his eyes hooded. “Should there be?”

Well, that was a strange response. “I don’t think so. You do know Mrs. Ross hired us to help her itemize her husband’s things and pack them up securely for the move, right?”

“Right.” But he sounded suspicious anyway.

She sighed and picked up the duffel bag, shoving it over the rail onto the boat deck. If she had been dressed in shorts and a T-shirt—her preferred attire on scorching days—she’d have hauled herself over the deck railing as well. But she’d dressed to give a good first impression, although perspiration had already begun soaking through the cotton of her sleeveless shell and no doubt had left dark stains on the back of her light gray summer suit jacket.

Besides, she doubted she could have worn anything that would impress Gideon Stone.

She walked around to the back of the boat where a set of low steps gave her a more dignified entry to the boat. The boat’s name was painted there, in straight blue letters. Lorelei.

She darted a glance at Gideon Stone, wondering for the first time if the boat belonged to Mrs. Ross or to him. She tried to picture the grim boat pilot as the sort of romantic who’d name a boat after a lover but gave up quickly.

Her brother had given her a job to do. It might be boring grunt work, but she was going to do it as well as she’d ever done anything in her life. Then maybe he’d take her contributions to Cooper Security more seriously and let her take part in more challenging assignments.

Gideon finished fueling up and nodded toward the steps. “We’re ready to shove off.”

“Want me to get the other rope?” she asked as he bent to unlash the back rope from the mooring.

“I’ll get it.” His tone set her teeth on edge.

Once the boat was untied, he showed her into the cabin on the main deck, waving toward a worn but comfortable-looking L-shaped sofa inside. “There are life jackets in the cabinets under the sofa if you need one. You do know how to use one?”

She forced herself to smile as if his gruff manner didn’t make her want to swat him. “Practically grew up in a marina.” She’d spent half her childhood at Cooper Cove Marina with her aunt and uncle while her father was on duty with the sheriff’s department.

The cabin was larger than it looked from outside, though perhaps the illusion of space was a result of its well-placed accommodations. The sofa ran the length of the port side, while a long set of storage cabinets lined the starboard, ending where a small but well-appointed galley took up the rest of the wall space. Gideon waved his large hand toward the small refrigerator. “There’s bottled water and soft drinks in the cooler. Mrs. Ross thought you might need something to drink on a day like today.”

His tone suggested he couldn’t care less about her comfort, and he didn’t stick around to make sure she found something to her liking, heading out to the deck without another word. He went straight up the ladder to the pilothouse overhead.

“Lovely meeting you, too, Mr. Stone.” She shrugged off the jacket of her lightweight suit and crossed to the nearest air vent, sighing with pleasure as the cold air blew across her sticky skin. The boat surged under her feet, knocking her temporarily off balance. She caught herself, flattening her hand on the wall until she felt steadier. Keeping contact with the wall in case the boat hit any choppy water as it crossed the bay, she circled to the refrigerator and opened the door, smiling at the sight of several bottles and cans chilling inside.

Her sweet tooth argued for a soft drink, but her good sense went straight for the bottled water. She waited until she reached the bench before she opened it, saving herself a small mess when the boat lurched again just as she was taking her seat.

Good thing she didn’t get seasick, she thought. Not that Gideon Stone had even asked if she might.

She pulled up the shade over the windows and saw land growing more and more distant as they moved out of the sheltered bay and into the choppier waters of the Gulf of Mexico. She wished the surly boat captain hadn’t more or less ordered her to sit down and stay put. Now that she’d had a chance to cool down and rehydrate, she’d love to be outside, taking in the panoramic view of the Gulf.

Who says you have to listen to ol’ Growly Gus? a rebellious voice whispered in her ear. The water wasn’t much choppier than a windy day on Gossamer Lake, and she’d ridden out those kinds of swells in less sturdy boats than the Lorelei.

Why not?

The breeze blowing off the Gulf was cooler out here than it had felt back on the dock, countering the blistering afternoon heat. The cloud cover starting to gather overhead showed no sign of dropping moisture yet, and now that she had her sea legs under her, the walk across the deck to the railing posed no problem at all.

She glanced upward and saw Gideon Stone sitting in the pilothouse, his back to her as he steered the boat into the open water of the Gulf. She craned her neck to see around the bulk of the boat cabin, wondering if Nightshade Island was in sight yet.

She knew from studying a map of the coast that Nightshade Island was a tiny speck of land barely visible on the map of the Alabama Gulf Coast. From preparatory research in the library and online, Shannon had learned the island had belonged to the Stafford family for over a hundred years, passed down generation to generation until it finally fell in the hands of the only remaining member of the original family, Lydia Stafford Ross.

According to Jesse, who’d spoken to Mrs. Ross when he took the assignment for Cooper Security, Mrs. Ross and her husband, U.S. Army General Edward Ross, had lived there most of their married life, although the general had obviously spent a good deal of time away during his military career. “It was his home base,” Jesse had told her. “He kept all his papers, correspondence and collections there.”

Lydia Ross, he’d explained, had agreed to the State of Alabama’s latest offer to purchase the island as a wildlife preserve, so she needed Cooper Security’s help archiving and securing the general’s belongings for the move.

Jesse had tried to make it sound like the best field assignment available, but Shannon knew when someone was throwing her a bone. Clearly her brother was tired of her nagging him to let her out from behind her computer screen and this was his punishment.

“You didn’t like the accommodations?”

Stone’s voice, closer than expected, made her jump. She gripped the railing, fighting a sudden rush of vertigo as she lost her sense of equilibrium. It returned quickly, however, and the world righted beneath her feet.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, she spotted Gideon Stone at the back edge of the pilothouse, gazing down at her. He loomed there, enormous and imposing.

“No, everything’s fine.” She shielded her eyes with her hand. “Is the island in sight yet?”

He hesitated before answering. “Come up. The view’s better.”

He said no more, turning back to the wheel and sitting in the pilot’s chair. She scurried up the ladder before he changed his mind and took the seat beside him.

The view from the pilothouse was better, a 360-degree panorama of Gulf water ahead and shoreline disappearing behind them. In the distance, Shannon spotted a speck of dark green on the hazy turquoise horizon. “Is that Nightshade Island?”

Gideon didn’t answer, gazing at the instrument gauges with a frown on his face. This time she sensed his expression had nothing to do with her.

She followed his gaze to the gauges and didn’t see anything alarming, but now that she thought about it, their speed had slowed noticeably. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He throttled back until they were just idling, then cut the engine.

She shot him a wary look, beginning to wonder if coming onto a boat with a strange man had been her smartest move. “What are you doing?”

“Fuel’s not getting to the engine. I need to find out why.”

“Are we stranded? Should we radio the Coast Guard?”

“Not yet. It may be something easily fixed.” He got up from the pilot’s chair and headed down the ladder.

“Do I need to go get my life jacket now?”

He paused, just his head and shoulders visible now. “We’re not sinking.” He kept climbing down.

“Yet,” she muttered.

She eased over to the pilot’s seat and found it still warm from Gideon’s body. An odd tingle of feminine awareness jittered through her, making her feel vulnerable and intrigued at the same time.

She liked big men. Tall men, men with broad shoulders and strong backs. Men with battle-hardened faces and feral intensity. She knew such men were good to have around when the world went crazy.

But she also knew such men could be very, very dangerous.

Which are you, Gideon Stone?

She looked around the pilothouse and spotted a small olive drab canvas bag sitting next to the console. It lay partially open.

Looking inside it would be wrong. She knew that. Gideon’s private possessions were just that—private. And maybe if she weren’t stranded at the moment on a boat with a man she’d met less than an hour earlier, she’d mind her own business and let it lie.

But her skin still prickled with wariness, and ignoring her healthy fear would be stupid.

She crouched next to the bag and carefully nudged it open until she could see the contents. Inside were a small first aid kit in a blue canvas pouch marked with a white cross, a couple of protein bars and, in the gloomy depths of the bag, the unmistakable outline of a Walther P99 pistol.

Shannon sat back on her heels, her heart pounding.

* * *

O NE LOOK AT the water trap of the engine’s water separator filter and Gideon’s heart sank. It was full.

Sitting back on his heels, he wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He’d fitted the system with a new water separator filter the evening before. He’d checked the bowl of the water trap, too, and it had been clean of all but a small amount of condensation.

No way had this much water collected overnight from mere condensation.

Think, Stone. Think.

He heard footsteps above, distant enough to reassure him that the woman was still up in the pilothouse, but also a reminder he was about to take a stranger to Nightshade Island, a stranger he wasn’t sure he should trust. She’d be sleeping under Mrs. Ross’s roof, where he couldn’t watch her every second.

He’d heard of Cooper Security, but only in passing from an old Marine Corps buddy who’d known the company’s CEO. Greg had assured him Jesse Cooper was a good man—a good marine. Under any other circumstances, his buddy’s word might have been enough for Gideon.

But bad things had been going down recently, starting with General Ross’s death.

The initial judgment was that the single-car crash just north of Terrebonne that had taken the general’s life had been an accident. But the Terrebonne Sheriff’s Department had recently assigned a detective to the accident investigation, which suggested that no matter what the official stance was at the moment, local law enforcement thought there might be more to it.

Gideon had thought so from the beginning. Edward Ross had been the most careful, conscientious driver he’d ever known. And at seventy years old, he’d still had the reflexes and physical stamina of a man twenty years his junior. The idea that the general had misjudged a curve in the middle of the afternoon was entirely unbelievable.

He drained the water from the trap into a bailing bucket. Then, on a hunch, he removed the hose from the electric fuel pump and let the contents of the fuel tank drain slowly into the bucket.

More water, he saw, anger battling dismay. Too much water.

Definitely not just condensation.

The bucket was over half full before the liquid flowing into it switched over from water to fuel. Since water was heavier than diesel, it had poured out first, which meant that most of what remained in the tank should be fuel. More than enough to get them back to the dock to refuel.

He returned the fuel pump hose to its proper position and covered the bucket with a plastic lid to keep the contaminated water from spilling. Still mulling over the implications of the excess water, he removed the saturated water replacement filter and went to the storage bin nearby to get the replacement filter he’d stored there a couple of months ago.

It wasn’t there.

He knew it had been in the bin last night when he checked the boat for this afternoon’s planned trip to the mainland. He hadn’t checked right before the trip because he’d been running hard all morning, helping Mrs. Ross prepare her house for Shannon Cooper’s arrival.

He left the engine well and climbed the steps to the main cabin, suffering a brief moment of suspense before he found a box of supplies—a few brand-new filters included—where he’d left them a couple of days ago when he’d gone out on a supply run.

As he refitted the engine with a replacement filter, he retraced his steps from the night before. System checks. Checked for life jackets in the benches. Checked oil levels, fuel levels. He’d checked the water trap for condensation, finding damn little even after almost three days of disuse.

He’d checked the supply cabinet to make sure the spare filter was there, damn it. He always made sure he kept spares of anything vital because that’s what marines did—hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. And if it hadn’t been there, he’d have grabbed one of the new filters and put it in the cabinet so it would be close at hand.

But clearly, he hadn’t prepared well enough. He should have put some sort of early warning system on the boathouse, at the very least, to make sure nobody could tamper with the boat while he wasn’t around.

Of course, the more pressing question was, why had someone tampered with the fuel? It wouldn’t pose a particularly dangerous situation; the worst it could do was strand him on the water, and even if the radio had been sabotaged, there was enough boat traffic to ensure he wouldn’t stay stranded long. Simple vandalism made no sense as an explanation—maybe if the boat were docked somewhere on shore where there was easy access to someone on foot or in a car. But to sabotage the Lorelei docked out on Nightshade Island, someone would have had to take a boat well out from the mainland, make a no-engine approach and sneak into the boathouse.

No vandalism was worth that effort.

Which left...

He checked his cell phone. No bars. With a sigh, he headed upstairs to the cabin and crossed to the satellite phone attached to the wall near the galley. Lydia Ross answered on the second ring. “Gideon, I was just thinking of you. I forgot to pick up any cherries when we were in town, and I so wanted to cook a cherry crumble for our guest.”

“We’re already behind schedule, Mrs. Ross, and I’m—” He stopped before he said he was heading back to the dock to refuel. Even considering the bucket of water he’d drained from the tank, he had plenty to go back and forth from the island to the dock. Refueling could wait.

He felt the strong urge to head back to the island immediately.

“I’m already halfway back,” he finished. “Look out your bedroom window and you should be able to see us coming soon.” He paused in the middle of the room, taking a look around. Shannon Cooper’s suit jacket still lay on the bench where she’d apparently discarded it earlier. On the table in the galley sat an empty water bottle.

A couple of feet away sat her duffel bag. His gaze settled there and he moved forward, ducking to keep from bumping his head on the cabin’s low ceiling.

“Oh, I must admit I look forward to having company. I’ve let myself become quite the recluse.” Lydia’s soft laugh was rueful. “Is she as nice as she sounded on the phone?”

“She seems very nice,” he said carefully, wondering if Shannon’s innocent face hid a devious mind.

Because there was another possibility he hadn’t considered.

What if Shannon had gone below deck after he’d left her in the cabin? She could have dumped a few bottles of water in the tank in no time through the access hatch, if she knew anything about boat engines.

Practically grew up in a marina...

“Mrs. Ross, why don’t you go up to the widow’s walk?” he suggested. From the large railed-in square of space on the roof of the house, she’d have a largely unobstructed few of the whole island. “You can look for us from there.”

“Gideon, is something the matter?”

He sighed. Despite her gentle manner, Lydia Ross was as savvy as her husband had been, and just as tough in her more refined way. “Mrs. Ross, someone’s sabotaged the boat. I’ve fixed the problem for now, but I’m worried it may have been an attempt to keep me off the island for a while.”

“I see.” He heard steel in her voice. “Shall I get the Remington?”

“I believe you should,” he answered, quietly unzipping the duffel bag. Inside, beneath a tablet computer, he found neatly rolled sets of clothing. Everything inside smelled good, like fresh rain on a hot day. “I’m on my way, but go to the widow’s walk and call if you see any boats trying to come ashore.”

“Will do. I’ll call back.” As she hung up, Gideon froze, his gaze locked on the sleek, black subcompact GLOCK G26 tucked in the bottom of Shannon Cooper’s bag.

She’d come aboard armed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Shannon Cooper’s voice, close behind him, made his heart skitter. He dropped the bag and turned toward her. “Do you sneak on purpose or does it just come—” He stopped cold.

She was holding his Walther in her right hand, barrel pointing down.

“What are you doing with that?”

“This?” She brought the pistol up, still pointing away from him. As he watched with racing pulse, she checked the chamber with easy skill. “I thought I’d ask you the same thing.”

Chapter Two

Shannon’s bravado was fading fast, but if there was anything she’d learned how to do in a houseful of rough-and-tumble siblings, it was to show no fear. “I want to know what’s going on. Who were you just talking to?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“On the phone, just now. Who were you talking to? You said ‘call me if you see any boats coming ashore.’ Ashore at Nightshade Island? What are you up to?” She nodded toward her duffel bag, lying open on the floor. “Why were you going through my bag?”

“Put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “I’ll keep the Walther.” But she lowered her hand again. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m here to do a job. But I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t like your snooping through my things.”

“Back at you.”

“Your bag was lying open.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. I don’t like being interrogated at gunpoint.”

She laid the Walther on the top of the cabinet nearest her. “Better?”

“I carry a gun for protection. Why do you carry one?”

So he’d seen the GLOCK. “Same reason. I have a license.”

“So do I.”

All her family had concealed carry licenses. She supposed it wouldn’t be unusual for a former marine to have one as well. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Who were you talking to?”

“Lydia Ross. I asked her to go to the high point of the house and look around to see if there was any unusual boat activity around the island.” He took a couple of steps toward her. Slow and steady, as if he were being careful not to spook her.

She was spooked anyway. “Why would you think there might be?”

He moved closer still, his big body looming in the small cabin. He barely had headroom at all, his hair brushing the top of the cabin. He would have to duck to get through the door, she realized. But he could do a lot of damage to her if he wanted.

Did he want to?

“Because someone sabotaged the boat.”

A chill washed over her. “How?”

“Don’t you know?”

The conversation was careening off into unexpected territory. “How would I know?”

He took another step. A long one, bringing him only a few inches from her. His nearness seemed to steal the air from the boat cabin, leaving her feeling light-headed and sluggish. “Someone put at least a half gallon of water in the fuel tank, no doubt in an effort to strand this boat out in the middle of the Gulf. I didn’t do it. But I left you in here for several minutes. All you’d have had to do is grab some of the bottled water in the fridge, go down to the engine room and add the water to the tank through the access port.”

“I wouldn’t know a fuel tank from a fish tank,” she said flatly.

“You said you grew up in a marina.”

“I said I practically grew up in a marina. Which means I know my way around a fishing boat, sure. But nobody ever let me mess with the engines. And they were mostly outboards anyway.” She cocked her head. “You think I’m trying to keep you away from the island so someone else can—do what? Have there been threats to Mrs. Ross?”

Gideon backed away from her a few inches, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. “She’s a wealthy woman. She owns things of value.”

The picture became a little clearer. “You’re not just the caretaker at the island, are you? You’re her bodyguard.”

His grim mouth curved a little, carving a surprising dimple in his cheek. “Just don’t let her hear you say that.”

She dragged her gaze away from the dimple and tried to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts. “You think someone’s trying to keep you away from the island so Mrs. Ross will be more vulnerable?”

“I think we need to get back to the island. Now.”

She stepped aside when he moved forward, bracing herself as he reached for the Walther on the table where she’d placed it. But he just slipped it into the waistband of his jeans.

He stooped under the door and turned to look at her. “You coming?”

“Can I bring my GLOCK?”

His lips curved, triggering the dimple again. “Do you know how to use it?”

She gave him a withering look that only spread his smile so that the other side of his face formed a dimple as well.

“Do what you want,” he said, and headed up the ladder.

She grabbed her GLOCK, still in its holster, and clipped the whole thing to her hip. At the last minute, she went back to the galley and grabbed a couple of bottled waters, tucking them under one arm as she climbed one-handed up to the pilothouse.

“Here,” she offered, holding out one of the bottles to him. “I counted, by the way. Five bottles of water left. I drank one earlier and here’s two more. Eight total. How many did you put in the fridge?”

“Eight,” he admitted.

Suddenly a low moaning wail rose in the air, distant but loud. Beside her, Gideon Stone tensed, his features hardening.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Trouble,” he answered. He grabbed a phone receiver built into the instrument panel and dialed. “What’s wrong?” Anger darkened his face, ice forming in his blue eyes as the person on the other end of the call answered. “Are you sure?”

Shannon tamped down her impatience, peering in the direction of the noise. She realized she could see the island now, a dark mass in the middle of the murky gray-green of the Gulf. It was no more than two miles in length and, from the looks of it, even narrower in width.

The noise was coming from somewhere on the island.

Gideon hung up the phone and reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of binoculars.

“Was that Mrs. Ross? What’s happened? What’s that sound?”

“It’s a foghorn on the lighthouse on the western side of the island—see it there?” He pointed dead ahead. Sure enough, she saw a tall white lighthouse rising above the tree line. “It’s not in use anymore, but the horn still works. I don’t like leaving Mrs. Ross alone on the island, but sometimes I have to, so I had someone rig the power connection from the horn to go to the main house. Mrs. Ross can trigger the horn from the house now. You can hear it all the way to the mainland.”

“Why did she trigger it?”

“There was a boat attempting a landing. Rubber raft, really, with an outboard motor. She saw it from the widow’s walk on top of the house. So she ran and sounded the horn.” He swung his binoculars in an arc, apparently looking for the offending boat. “She said they turned back around and started hightailing it away.”

“Is that unusual?”

He lowered the binoculars to look at her. “We get trespassers,” he admitted. “They don’t always know the island is private. Sometimes you get people having boat trouble.”

“Could today’s incident have been something like that?”

His mouth tightened. “Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so.”

He didn’t answer, settling back in the pilot’s seat and starting the boat engine. To Shannon’s relief, the engine rumbled to life easily enough.

By the time they neared the island, the siren had died away to nothing. They rounded the southern tip of the island and aimed north toward the mouth of a cavernous boathouse. It had to have been built specifically for the Hatteras Convertible, Shannon thought. “How long have the Rosses owned this boat?” she asked as Gideon eased the boat into the shelter.

The interior of the boathouse was dark and shadowy, as if they’d gone from noon to twilight in a matter of seconds. Her eyes, accustomed to the bright sunlight bouncing off the water of the Gulf, had trouble dealing with the sudden darkness, making her temporarily blind.

Out of the gloom, Gideon’s answer rumbled like thunder. “I don’t know. It was here when I came.”

With sunlight through the entrance driving away the worst of the shadows, Shannon’s sight soon adjusted. She followed Gideon Stone down the ladder to the main deck and gathered her things.

“You might want to put away the GLOCK,” Gideon suggested. “Mrs. Ross is probably already on edge.”

Shannon unclipped the holster from her waistband and put the weapon and holster in her duffel bag. Gideon took the bag from her hands as if he were picking up a child’s toy. He slung it over his shoulder and nodded for her to precede him down the pier.

Where the pier ended, a river stone walkway began, winding through lush, tree-shaded grass uphill toward a large house near the top of a small rise. “Stafford House,” Gideon said quietly behind her. “Stafford is Mrs. Ross’s maiden name. The island has been in her family for generations.”

“And the house?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“The old one was badly damaged by Hurricane Frederick decades ago, when Mrs. Ross’s parents were still alive. They rebuilt to make it more hurricane-proof. I’m told the house looks exactly as it did before. Just taller.” He withdrew his gaze from the house and looked at her, his mouth curving too slightly to trigger the dimples again. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights. The bedrooms are on the top floor.”

Stafford House gave the impression of a stately manor, with tall white columns supporting the front portico as well as the balcony on the top floor. Where the roof gable met at a point above the second floor, a widow’s walk ringed the entire roof area. “Is that how Mrs. Ross spotted the intruders?” she asked as they reached the front walkway. The river stones here were edged by monkey grass and unlit walkway lanterns. Shannon imagined it would be lovely at night with the lights on.

“Yes,” Gideon answered tersely.

The front door opened and a small woman in her late sixties walked out onto the long front veranda, a smile on her face. She must have been a stunner in her youth, Shannon thought, as elegant and lovely as she remained in her later years. She wore a short-sleeved cotton blouse in pale yellow and a pair of denim capri pants that showed off slim, smooth ankles.

“You must be Shannon.” She held out her hands in welcome.

Shannon took the older woman’s hands. “Mrs. Ross, it’s nice to meet you. Your home is absolutely beautiful.”

Lydia Ross smiled with pleasure at the compliment. “It will be heartbreaking to leave it behind. But the gentlemen with the Department of Conservation and National Resources have assured me that they plan to work with the Gulf Coast Historic Trust to preserve the house as a museum for visitors to the island.”

Thinking about the family home back in Gossamer Ridge, the shabby but well-loved house where her father had raised his six boisterous children, Shannon felt a twinge of sympathy for Lydia’s plight. Her father’s home was no longer the place she lived, but it was still home to her, a place to which she knew she could retreat if she needed.

“Where will you live when you leave here?” she asked as Lydia showed her inside the house.

“My sister-in-law owns a farm in Burkettville. Her husband died a few years ago, and I know she’s missing him terribly. Perhaps we’ll be able to give each other some relief from the loneliness.” She smiled. “It will be lovely to be around my nieces and nephews more.”

Lydia’s words sounded sincere, but in her eyes Shannon saw anxiety, as if she feared what further changes her future might hold.

There was no foyer inside, as she’d expected, only a large, airy room that seemed to spread all the way from the front of the house to the back. It was part living room, part dining room, with a large, airy kitchen near the back and, through several sets of French doors, a long veranda that overlooked a raised garden.

“Gideon, dear, I’ve given Shannon the blue room.” As Gideon headed up the stairs to the top floor, Lydia turned to Shannon with a smile. “You don’t mind if I call you Shannon, do you? And you must call me Lydia.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve tried to get Gideon to call me by my given name as well, but he’s so formal! My husband said it was because he was a marine.”

Shannon smiled back. “Two of my brothers were marines. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Lydia showed her into the kitchen, where a small tray of cheese and crackers sat on the narrow breakfast bar, along with a pitcher of iced tea. “I hope you like sweet tea. I can come up with some soft drinks if you prefer.”

“Tea is perfect.” Shannon sat where Lydia indicated and took a couple of crackers and some slices of Havarti cheese from the tray. “Is it okay if I get started this afternoon? Going through your husband’s papers, I mean.”

Lydia looked surprised. “I thought you’d want to rest and start fresh in the morning.”

“I’ll do whatever you wish,” Shannon said quickly, reading Lydia’s reluctance. “We can spend this afternoon getting to know each other if that’s what you prefer.”

Lydia smiled ruefully. “I’m quite transparent, aren’t I? It is rare for me to have female companionship these days. I haven’t ventured to the mainland for more than a couple of hours at a time since Edward’s death. It’s hard to know how to deal with old friends—sometimes, I feel as if they’re watching me carefully in anticipation of a breakdown.”

Shannon impulsively put her hand atop Lydia’s where it lay on the counter. “My sister lost her husband a few years ago, and she used to think the same thing. She didn’t even like to be around the family sometimes because of it. But it wasn’t what we were thinking, I promise. We just wanted to help her however she needed it.”

Tears brimmed in Lydia’s eyes, but she held on to them, as if refusing to let them fall. “And did you help her?”

Shannon smiled. “As much as she’d let us. But there’s a happy ending—she remarried a week ago.”

“Well, lovely for her!” Lydia’s smile looked genuine. “The young are not meant to be alone.”

“I don’t think anyone’s meant to be alone.”

Lydia patted her hand. “I am fortunate, then, to have a kind young man like Gideon to keep me company, no?”

As if speaking his name conjured him into appearing, Gideon came down the stairs and entered the kitchen with long, floor-eating strides. “I need to do a patrol of the island,” he said tersely. “If you need me, I’ll have the two-way with me.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re too good to me.”

An odd, pained look flashed in Gideon’s blue eyes before he nodded goodbye and headed back through the front door.

“How did Mr. Stone come to be your caretaker?” Shannon asked curiously, seeing an answering pain in her hostess’s eyes.

Lydia smiled, but there was anguish in her expression. “My son died saving his life.”

* * *

A BOUT A QUARTER mile north of the house, Gideon found the spot on the beach where the raft had tried to come ashore. Something like a Zodiac would be able to accommodate a crew of four, the number of men Mrs. Ross had seen from the widow’s walk. It would also fit Mrs. Ross’s description of the vessel she’d seen.

A fishing boat off course might be an accidental visitor. But a Zodiac—it made no sense that a Zodiac or any sort of motorized raft would have been traveling the Gulf of Mexico on a pleasure cruise. More likely, it had been a landing boat from a larger craft, like the Hatteras or something even larger.

He’d retrieved his binoculars from the Lorelei before he started his island circuit and lifted them now toward the Gulf of Mexico stretching in turquoise splendor as far as the eye could see. There were shrimp boats out on the water, even the occasional sailboat. And fishing boats, of course.

Any one of the larger fishing craft could have carried the intruder boat, he recognized with frustration. Could someone in a boat have used a rubber dinghy to attempt an island landing, not realizing the place was inhabited?

He turned around and looked toward the house from where he stood by the furrowed sand. Stafford House’s facade was clearly visible even from here, and would have been even more visible from the water.

Nobody could have mistaken Nightshade Island as deserted.

Movement on the second-floor veranda caught his eye. Shannon Cooper stepped out onto the balcony, joined by Lydia. Stepping behind the shelter of a scrubby sea oats stand, Gideon raised his binoculars for a closer, more covert look.

Shannon’s straight, dark hair lifted in the breeze coming off the Gulf, fluttering around her heart-shaped face. Wind flattened her blouse against her body, revealing the shape of her small, round breasts and narrow waist.

Fire licking at his belly, he lowered the binoculars with a grumble of frustration. He’d been isolated on the island too long.

He resumed his walk around the island, trying to think who might want to sneak onto Nightshade Island and for what purpose.

But in the back of his mind, Shannon Cooper still leaned against the railing of the second-floor veranda, her hair floating in the breeze and her dark eyes full of mysteries.

Chapter Three

Gathering clouds hastened twilight, plunging the island into shadows soon after 5:00 p.m. Lydia had insisted Shannon rest before dinner, so she’d gladly taken the chance to shower off the heat of the day and change into fresh clothes.

“No need for formality around here, dear,” Lydia had said with a smile. “We live on an island. Who’s to care if we look a bit shabby?”

When Shannon ventured downstairs at six, she found Gideon alone in the kitchen, slicing onions. He glanced at her as she perched on one of the breakfast bar stools. “Settled in?”

“Yes, thank you.” She tried to discern what he was preparing from the ingredients—sliced onions, red bell peppers and pieces of corn. “Stir fry?”

“Crab boil,” he corrected.

“Where are the crabs?”

He slanted another look at her. “That’s your job. There’s a bucket outside and you can see the beach from here—”

“Don’t let him tease you, Shannon.” Lydia entered through the nearest French door, carrying a handful of zinnia cuttings. She arranged the colorful flowers in a clear vase and filled the bottom with water. “The crabs and shrimp are in the cooler. A nice man delivered them to us this morning.” She set the flowers in the middle of the small dining table just beyond the kitchen. “Aren’t these lovely?”

“Beautiful,” Shannon agreed. “I caught a glimpse of the garden from my window. It’s amazing.”

Lydia smiled with pleasure as she washed her hands. “My husband loved to garden, so we made a habit of bringing in soil to fill the raised beds every spring.” She looked with sad fondness at Gideon. “Dear Gideon helped me this year. It makes me a little weepy, I confess, to think that I won’t be tending the garden next year.”

“You’ll be able to have a garden where you’re moving, won’t you?” Shannon asked.

Lydia retrieved a large pot from one of the lower cabinets and set it on the counter next to Gideon. “Yes. My sister-in-law tells me the backyard of my bungalow is perfect for gardening.” She sighed. “It won’t be the same, but I imagine it will be lovely anyway.” She went back into the garden again.

“I made her sad,” Shannon said with regret.

“Everything makes her sad these days,” Gideon said shortly.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Well,” he said quietly, “how about we start with what you’re really doing here?”

His question caught her off guard. “What?”

“I did some checking into Cooper Security. You’re not the kind of outfit that hires out to help a rich widow pack up her house.”

“What I’m here to do is a little more complicated than that.”

He shot her a skeptical look. “Three months ago, Cooper Security helped put a high-ranking State Department official back in jail. And now I’m supposed to believe you’re just here to archive General Ross’s papers and collections? Really?”

“We do a lot of different kinds of jobs at Cooper Security,” she protested.

Lydia returned to the kitchen, carrying a large bucket of blue crabs and jumbo Gulf shrimp. “Hope you’re not allergic, Shannon. I suppose I should have asked before I planned the dinner tonight.”

“Not allergic,” she assured her hostess. “And my stomach is growling already!”

Within an hour, the pile of vegetables and seafood on the counter had transformed into a rustic dinner for three. It was messy and delicious, and by the time she helped clear the remains of their meal from the table, Shannon was stuffed and getting sleepy.

“I believe I’m going to call it a night, my dears,” Lydia announced a little later, as the clock crept toward eight-thirty. “I have a Dick Francis novel waiting for me. He’s left the hero in quite a pickle, and we must get him safely out.” She waved her hand as Shannon showed signs of following her up the steps. “No need to retire at such an ungodly early hour. Stay and enjoy yourself. Poor Gideon must make do with just my company so much of the time. I’m sure he’d enjoy having someone new to talk to.”

Lydia disappeared upstairs, apparently oblivious to the two wary, suspicious people she left staring at each other across the kitchen table.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“You want me to leave?”

His scrutiny set her nerves on edge, but she wasn’t about to admit her unease to him. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He walked over to the counter. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Her earlier sleepiness had fled once Lydia left her alone with Gideon. The last thing her jangling nerves needed was more stimulation.

He returned from the kitchen empty-handed and waved toward the sofa in the front room. “Shall we?”

She wished he would smile. She’d liked the way he looked when he smiled, liked the surprising dimples and the humorous gleam in his blue eyes. Much more tempting, yes, but much easier on her nervous system.

But when he sat across from her perch on the sofa, pulling the large armchair closer, she felt as if she’d just taken a seat in the witness box.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about Lydia Ross or the general. Or me,” he added with a quirk of his eyebrows. “But Mrs. Ross and I aren’t looking to get in the middle of anything your outfit may be investigating. So if there’s some hidden agenda here, pack your things and I’ll take you back to the mainland first thing in the morning.”

She bristled at his tone. “I am here to help Mrs. Ross. Period. I don’t have any agenda other than that.” She cocked her head. “Considering it was your boat that was sabotaged and your island that was breached by intruders, I’d say you’re the one with an issue, not me.”

Irritation lined his eyes. “Fair enough.”

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” She stood. “Good night.”

He stood, unfolding himself to his full height, forcing her to look up. “Good night, Ms. Cooper.”

She climbed the stairs to her second-floor bedroom. Shutting herself in the happy blue room, she sat on the springy mattress and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with annoyance and her dark eyes snapped with anger.

But at whom was she really angry?

She’d told Gideon she had no hidden agenda, but the truth was, she’d been wondering ever since Jesse gave her the assignment what his interest in Lydia Ross could be. Gideon was right; Cooper Security didn’t handle personal archive security cases as a rule. Big companies with art or other collections that needed high security, maybe. But Jesse normally assigned his best-trained operatives to such cases, well aware that the valuables might be of interest to people willing to break dozens of laws to get their hands on them. General Ross’s collection didn’t seem to be anywhere near so valuable.

In fact, as Lydia Ross had explained during dinner, what most needed to be readied for safe transport were the general’s private papers. Because of his high position in the U.S. Army at the time of his retirement, West Point and other institutions had expressed interest in housing some of the collection. Lydia had hired Cooper Security to help her sort through the papers to see if any needed extra preservation steps taken.

In that sense, Jesse had made a good choice in sending Shannon. She’d had special training in archival preservation, plus a master’s degree in library science. She’d ended up primarily using her computer science degree in her work at Cooper Security, but she was capable of giving Lydia Ross good advice about preserving and cataloging her husband’s work.

The last of daylight seeped away, shadows swallowing her room. And still she didn’t move, either to dress for bed or turn on her light.

If there’s some hidden agenda here...

She opened her cell phone, relieved to find a decent signal, and placed a call home.

Jesse answered on the first ring. “You’re just now getting to the island?”

“No,” she said, kicking herself. Jesse had told her to call when she reached the island, but in the confusion of the boat trouble and the island intruders, she hadn’t given her brother a second thought. “We just had a crazy afternoon.”

“Something happen?”

Normally, she’d be tempted to keep the drama of the afternoon to herself, knowing her brother’s tendency to worry too much about her safety. But Gideon’s suspicion had sparked a few questions of her own. “Actually, we had a little excitement today,” she said aloud, telling him about the fuel tank sabotage and the arrival of unwelcome visitors to the island.

“Really.” Jesse sounded more interested than surprised.

“You knew there would be trouble,” she accused.

“I didn’t know it. Not for certain.”

“What am I really doing here, Jesse?”

“Exactly the job I gave you,” he said sternly. “You help Mrs. Ross with the papers and her husband’s collections. You keep your nose to the grindstone and stay out of trouble.”

“That’s it? You really think that’s going to appease me?”

“Call me if anything else happens out of the ordinary. And get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.” Jesse hung up before she could protest his paternal condescension.

She growled as she hung up the phone. Jesse wasn’t the only one of her brothers and sisters who treated her as if she were still a child, but he was definitely the worst.

It wasn’t her fault she was born last of the six. It wasn’t her fault their mother had decided her career had to come before motherhood or marriage. She hadn’t asked her siblings to make her their pampered, protected little pet.

She pushed herself off the bed and crossed to the window. It had rained a little during dinner, enough that the window sparkled with tiny diamonds of raindrops clinging to the glass. Moonlight peeked from behind thinning clouds, casting a cool blue glow across the night scene.

Through the blur of water, the thick stands of trees east of the house looked like a dark watercolor painting, all soft edges and mysterious shadows, punctuated here and there by the glow of lightning bugs flitting between the trees. It took a few seconds to realize that the light came not from flying bugs but from someone moving through the trees about two hundred yards away from the house.

Curious, she went out onto the balcony for a closer look. It was definitely a light, moving slowly through the trees. Was it Gideon doing another tour of the island for the night?

One way to find out, she thought, heading for the stairs.

When she reached the main floor, it was dark. Gideon was no longer inside Stafford House, so the light in the woods must have been him.

She started to turn back toward the stairs when a niggling sensation at the back of her neck made her reverse course. She went instead to the side veranda that looked out across the trees to the east, hoping for a better view of the light she’d seen from her bedroom window. She had to unlock the dead bolt to step out onto the veranda. The door creaked as she opened it, the loud sound setting her nerves on edge.

Wincing, she eased out onto the wooden porch, wondering if the sounds she was making were loud enough to wake Lydia in her upstairs suite. She stepped gingerly toward the railing, trying to make as little noise as possible from here on.

A damp breeze blew in from the Gulf of Mexico, lifting her hair away from her face. Wishing she’d put her hair in a ponytail before she came downstairs, she finger-combed her hair out of her eyes to keep the swirling strands from blocking her view of the trees.

She stared for a long time, straining for any sign of the lights she’d seen earlier, but the woods were dark and quiet. She released a soft breath and started to turn back to the house when she spotted it.

A light, swinging back and forth with a rocking rhythm, as if held by someone moving slowly, steadily through the woods.

Was it Gideon?

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

She moved around the veranda slowly until she was facing the back garden, where just beyond, a single-story house on stilts rose over the garden, perched on the highest point of land on the island. Like the Rosses’ house, Gideon’s residence also had a widow’s walk around the top gable, though when Shannon had first spotted the house earlier during Lydia’s guided tour of the house and gardens, she’d noticed the widow’s walk on the caretaker’s house looked new, as if it were a recent addition.

There were no lights on in the caretaker’s house. No sign of movement inside. Maybe her first guess had been right. Maybe Gideon was taking a quick tour around the island to make sure everything was safe and secure for the night.

She returned to the door she’d left open, stopping just long enough to take another quick look at the woods.

Her heart skipped a beat. For there wasn’t just one light flitting around through the woods anymore.

There were three.

If Gideon was out there somewhere in the dark, he wasn’t alone. But was he in danger himself? Or was he collaborating with someone to do harm to Lydia Ross?

Shannon slipped back into the house, her heart racing, and tried to figure out what to do next. Gideon Stone might be surly and unpleasant, but he seemed to aim his bad attitude primarily at her. To Lydia, he seemed genuinely affectionate, and clearly Lydia returned the feelings. In lieu of evidence to the contrary, she decided to give Gideon the benefit of the doubt.

The question was, did he know there were people out there? And if not, what should she do, go bang on his door until he answered?

It was as good a plan as any, she decided, heading back around the house to the garden. A gravel path wound through the garden, past brightly colored coleus and merry daisies, beyond a small stone basin of water where, Lydia had told her earlier, birds regularly gathered for communal baths during the oppressive heat of summer afternoons.

At the end of the garden, the path to the caretaker’s house went from neat gravel to an uneven walkway crowded on either side by scrubby grass that grew halfheartedly in the sandy soil. She stumbled a few times before she made it to the front porch. Seeing no sign of a doorbell, she rapped loudly on the door, grimacing as the sound echoed in the night.

There was no answer. Shannon knocked again, with no better result.

“Come on, Gideon!” she growled softly at the unyielding door.

But he didn’t come.

Her pulse thundering in her ears, she hurried back along the crooked path, retracing her steps through the garden and ending up back on the veranda again. She circled the house once more to the place she started.

How much time had she just wasted trying to fetch Gideon? How much farther had the lights in the trees encroached?

She stayed in the shadows of the eaves, peering through the darkness until she spotted the lights again. They were stationary for the moment, glowing through the trees, flickering only when the breeze made the low-lying palmetto bushes and high-growing sea grasses dance back and forth.

Whoever was out there had stopped moving toward the house.

She wished she had a pair of binoculars like the ones Gideon had used earlier in the day. She should have packed a pair for herself, but she hadn’t been planning on trying to spot intruders at night when she packed for the trip.

Slowly, she eased backward until her spine flattened against the French doors. Like it or not, she had to rouse Lydia and let her know something was happening outside. She would, at the very least, know how to sound the horn on the lighthouse, and maybe the noise would drive their intruders away again.

She eased open the doors and slipped inside, turning for one last look at the woods. Only the faintest creak of the floor beneath her feet gave her any warning at all.

A hand clapped over her mouth. A hard-muscled arm snaked around her stomach, pulling her flush with a hard, hot body.

She raised her foot to stamp on her captor’s instep, Cooper Security training kicking in before she had time to think.

Her captor sidestepped quickly, and her foot slammed on the ground, making her ankle tingle with pain.

“Don’t do it again,” warned a voice like steel in her ear.

The arms loosened, and she jerked away, turning around to face her captor. “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

Gideon Stone’s eyes glittered like blue diamonds in the low lights, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was gazing past her, toward the woods in the east, his expression hard.

“You see the lights?” she asked softly.

“I do.”

“Do you think the intruders are back?”

He nodded.

“Pretty brazen,” she murmured.

“How many lights did you see?”

“Just three.”

“Can’t be sure that’s all that’s out there, though,” he said thoughtfully, turning his gaze away from the door long enough to look down at her. “What were you going to do if I hadn’t grabbed you?”

“Get Lydia up and see if we could sound the foghorn again.”

“Let’s not do that yet,” he said softly, curling his palm over her arm and easing her away from the doorway. His hand was big and warm, sending unexpected sensations rippling through her flesh. “You stay here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, sound the horn. The switch is located in the kitchen pantry, second shelf, at the back.”

She nodded, too breathless to speak.

He locked the French doors again, then pulled his Walther from a hip holster and checked the clip with practiced ease. He chambered a round and looked down at her. “Fifteen minutes.”

He disappeared into the shadows, heading toward the back of the house. She heard the faint snick of the back door dead bolt turning and felt her way through the dark until she reached the French doors. She tried the locks until she found the one he’d left open. She locked it behind him and leaned against the door, her heart racing.

Pushing the stem of her watch, she lit up the face so she could see the hands. Nine thirty-eight. At nine fifty, if Gideon didn’t come back, she would sound the lighthouse horn.

And meanwhile, she had a GLOCK and knew how to use it. She hurried up the steps to the top floor, feeling her way rather than risk turning on the lights and possibly alerting the intruders.

Retrieving her GLOCK from her duffel bag, she headed back into the hallway and collided with another warm body.

She leaped back, flattening to the wall, already tugging the GLOCK from the holster.

“Shannon?”

She sagged against the wall. “Mrs. Ross.”

Shannon heard a soft click and a flashlight flickered to life, illuminating Lydia’s kind face and revealing the lethal gleam of a rifle gripped in her free hand. “What’s going on, dear?” The older woman’s tone was as gentle as ever, but the thread of steel beneath her words made Shannon smile despite her own nervous tension.

She brought Lydia up to speed and checked her watch. “In six minutes, if Gideon’s not back here, we’re supposed to sound the horn.”

Lydia nodded. “If the horn continues sounding for more than five minutes, Terrebonne Fire and Rescue knows to send a boat to check on us.”

“Can they hear the sound from that far away?” Shannon had heard the horn well enough from the boat earlier that day, but the Lorelei had been a long way from the shore by that time.

“It can be heard all the way to Bayou La Batre on a clear day.” Lydia nodded at the GLOCK. “Do you know how to use that?”

Shannon cocked her eyebrow at Lydia and nodded at the Remington. “Do you know how to use that?”

Lydia smiled. “Touché.” She turned off the flashlight.

They went downstairs together, easing through the dim shadows to the French doors on the eastern side of the house. Shannon peered through the clear glass. “I don’t see the lights anymore.”

“How much longer?” Lydia asked.

Shannon checked her watch. “Two minutes.”

“Do you see any sign of Gideon?”

“No. He went out through the garden door.”

“Perhaps we should make our way to the foghorn switch.” Lydia hooked her free hand in Shannon’s elbow, guiding her toward the kitchen. Shannon heard a pantry door creak open and a soft tapping sound. A light mounted inside the pantry snapped on, illuminating cans, bottles, boxes and, at the back of the second shelf, as Gideon had promised, a simple electrical toggle switch.

Shannon checked her watch. The second hand passed twelve. “Now,” she said, her stomach aching with tension.

Lydia flipped the switch. Shannon braced for the moan of the foghorn.

But nothing happened.

Chapter Four

Three years of Marine Special Operations missions in Afghanistan. Four more years of duty in Iraq, clearing Baath Party holdouts and al-Qaeda in Iraq fighters out of war-weary villages hungry for peace and stability. He’d done a final three years on super-secret reconnaissance missions in Kaziristan and almost paid with his life.

Gideon had seen his share of impossible missions and no-escape situations. Being surrounded by at least three unknown subjects wasn’t the most terrifying situation he’d ever dealt with. Not by a long shot.

But if he had his choice, he’d rather be elsewhere.

Time ticked inexorably away as his quarry circled him in the thick stand of pines and hardwoods that grew in abundance in the center of the island. He didn’t want to give away his position by lighting the dial of his watch to check the time, but he was certain most of the fifteen minutes he’d given Shannon to wait before acting had already passed.

What would the men moving through the trees around him do once the lighthouse foghorn sounded?

He hadn’t gotten very close to the intruders before they extinguished their lights, making recon substantially more difficult. Whoever they were, they were damn good at moving quietly through the dark, making him wonder for a while if they were wearing night-vision goggles. He gave himself a mental kick for not having a pair of his own, although in his defense, he’d thought he’d left his night-combat days far behind him.

He spotted one of the intruders again, finally. Male, based on his shape and size. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt, dark trousers, a black hood and a balaclava, as they all had been. He wasn’t visibly armed, though Gideon couldn’t be sure he wasn’t packing a concealed weapon. No sign of night-vision goggles, he saw to his relief.

Time ticked, and still no horn. Surely fifteen minutes had passed.

The sound of movement nearby set his nerves on edge. He hunkered lower, sheltered by a fallen pine tree that had gone down during the last tropical storm of the previous season. The leaves were brown and prickly but offered acceptable shelter.

He spotted movement to his right. A second man glided through the trees in near silence. “It’s done,” the newcomer said in a flat, Midwestern accent that sounded strangely familiar. Gideon frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard that voice before.

“Good.” The first man’s voice was pitched a step or two lower, the authority in his voice unmistakable. He seemed to be the leader.

“There’s still Stone to deal with,” Midwest said. “And the women.”

“An old lady and a little stick of a girl. Still decent odds.”

Gideon arched his eyebrows at the man’s description of Shannon Cooper, remembering the way her windblown clothes had hugged her tempting curves and delightful valleys.

A third man circled around, moving with more speed than stealth. Through the pine fronds sheltering his hiding place, Gideon saw the leader wheel around aggressively as he reached them. Even though the third man was the largest of the three by far, he took a faltering step back as the leader hissed his displeasure.

“Stupid idiot, what part of silent force don’t you understand?”

“No sign of Stone,” the big man said in a growling bass. “I thought you said he would be trouble.”

“He will,” the leader said. “He’s already on guard, thanks to the misstep earlier,” the leaders said. “If we give him more time to shore up his defenses, we may not get a second chance. He thought he won today. He thinks he has time.”

“Arrogant son of a bitch,” Midwest muttered.

Gideon frowned. That remark sounded personal.

The men moved forward toward the house, away from Gideon’s hiding place. With their backs to him, he took a chance to check his watch. Five past ten, and still no horn.

Where was Shannon?

* * *

“G IDEON ’ S NOT GOING to be happy that I’m letting you wander out here while there are intruders about,” Shannon whispered to Lydia as she followed the older woman through the high sea grass behind the caretaker’s cottage.

“He asked you to sound the horn,” Lydia said sensibly. “We need to find out why the switch didn’t work. And because you don’t know how the contraption works and I do...”

They’d already checked the electrical connection to the house and found that the circuit appeared to be intact. “The problem must be on the lighthouse end,” Lydia had told her solemnly. “The lines between the lighthouse and here run underground,” she added, showing Shannon where the cable ran down into the sandy soil. “We have to go to the lighthouse to see if someone has disabled the horn on that end.”

Shannon hadn’t protested Lydia’s pronouncement at first, her mind on Gideon somewhere out in the woods, outnumbered at least three to one. But the farther they walked from the house, the more vulnerable she felt.

Gideon had told her to stay put, and while she wasn’t the sort of woman who needed a man to make her decisions for her, she knew the odds were against a natural explanation for the switch malfunction. More likely, someone had sabotaged the switch at the lighthouse.

Would that someone be guarding his handiwork? Were they walking into a trap?

She kept her hand on the butt of her GLOCK as she walked through the sand, her calves beginning to ache from the extra exertion. Up ahead, Nightshade Island Lighthouse glowed as pale as alabaster in the blue moonlight peeking through scudding clouds overhead.

“There are two places where the connection could have been disrupted,” Lydia whispered as they neared the base of the lighthouse. “Here, where it comes out of the building and goes through a circuit box. And then there’s also a connection up in the lighthouse itself.”

Using a small penlight Shannon had grabbed from her duffel bag, they examined the connector. “It looks all right,” Shannon murmured.

“That leaves the direct connection to the horn at the top,” Lydia said, gazing up at the tall lighthouse. “There’s a spiral staircase inside that leads to the service room and then up to the lantern room at the top, where the beacon is located. The beacon no longer works, but Gideon had an electrician from the mainland rig the horn. It’s located on the catwalk outside the service room.” Bathed with moonlight, her face creased with regret. “I’m afraid I can’t manage all those stairs with my arthritic knees. You’ll have to check it.”

“How will I know if it’s connected?”

“I’m not sure, but I suspect if it’s been tampered with, you’ll know.”

“You’ll have to stand guard,” Shannon said, hating the idea of leaving Lydia alone. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

She opened the faded wood door of the lighthouse, her nerves twitching as her footsteps on the stone floor echoed up the tall structure. With her penlight, she traced the curve of the spiral staircase. At the top, there seemed to be a large, enclosed platform. That must be the service room.

She started up the steps, keeping her gaze directed upward. The steps were rusted but seemed sound enough, though the creaks and groans of metal echoed through the stone tower as she climbed.

She was breathing hard and her legs were shaking by the time she reached the service room, although she suspected fear, more than exertion, was the source of her weakness. She leaned against the damp stone wall and flashed her penlight around, taking in the small space.

There was little left of whatever had been inside the service room when the place was a working lighthouse. A rickety table, missing one leg and lying in a lopsided heap against one wall, took up half the space. Fortunately, it didn’t block the door that led out to the narrow catwalk circling the lighthouse. Light seeped in through a cracked and dirty window. From elsewhere—either the broken window or the narrow space beneath the door—a draft blew in, cool and fragrant with the sea.

Heart racing, Shannon opened the door and crept out onto the metal catwalk. With the Gulf of Mexico spreading around the island as far as the eye could see, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t standing on a rusted metal platform thirty feet in the air. She’d never considered herself afraid of heights, but that perception was about to be tested.

The foghorns were a pair of long metal horns that jutted out from a flat platform about ten feet to Shannon’s left. Walking closer to the horns, she saw that whatever mechanism created their sound was back in the service room after all. She started to head back inside but paused, reorienting herself until she faced east, toward the wooded part of the island where Gideon had disappeared.

Suddenly, the air split with the booming moan of the foghorn, the sound rattling the catwalk beneath her feet. Shannon stumbled to her hands and knees, the penlight bouncing off the metal slats of the catwalk and tumbling over the side. The whole lighthouse seemed to vibrate with the horn’s basso profundo, as if the structure was about to collapse in on itself and sink into the sandy earth below.

Shannon crawled to the door of the service room, dizzy from the loud vibrations of the horn. It took a second, therefore, to realize what she was seeing in front of her.

The door to the service room, which she had most certainly left open when she went out onto the catwalk, was now closed.

* * *

T HE FOGHORN ’ S PLAINTIVE moan finally filled the air, sending birds rising from their treetop perches and soaring into the air in a cloud of dark silhouettes against the moonlit sky.

Ahead of Gideon, the three men froze only a hundred yards from Stafford House. Gideon crouched low, keeping an eye on them from behind the cover of a palmetto bush. He squeezed himself into a tighter ball as the men started moving quickly toward him, away from the house.

“I thought you said it was handled,” the leader spat at Midwest.

“It was!”

“If that horn doesn’t stop in five minutes, there’ll be a rescue crew from the mainland,” the big man growled. “I talked to a guy at the marina this afternoon when we regrouped.”

“We can’t get back there and stop it in five minutes,” Midwest complained.

“Then we need to abort,” the leader said firmly. “Again.”

They passed Gideon’s hiding place, moving at a fast march through the woods. A fourth dark shape glided out of the woods to join them on the fast trek back to the shoreline. They weren’t even trying for stealth now.

As they moved farther away from Gideon’s hiding place, he was torn between following and heading back to Stafford House to make sure Shannon and Mrs. Ross were okay.

He couldn’t be sure there were only four men on the island. There could be a whole other intruder force holding Lydia and Shannon captive at this very moment.

He watched only long enough to see the four men pile into the Zodiac. The engine started with a low roar and then they were dark shapes moving across the moonlit Gulf.

With his heart in his throat, he started running toward the house.

* * *

G ROPING TO HER feet, Shannon pressed herself flat against the stone wall of the lighthouse, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut against another rush of dizziness. She tried the handle of the service room door and discovered, to her profound relief, that it was unlocked.

She pushed it open and stumbled inside. The sound of the horns was still loud, but the stone walls muted it enough that her ears stopped ringing and her head quit spinning. She dropped her hands away from her ears and peered into the gloom of the service room, wishing she had the penlight back.

There was enough light from the moon outside, pouring through the service room door, to see the path to the spiral stairway. From there, she could hold on to the rail and feel her way down to the bottom.

She paused at the top of the staircase, looking back into the murky bowels of the small room. She had a strange sense, all of a sudden, that she wasn’t alone.

“Hello?” she whispered. She couldn’t hear herself over the low keening of the foghorn.

Her eyes strained to see into the deepest shadows of the small room, and for a second, she fancied she saw a hint of movement. Fight-or-flight instincts kicking in, she started down the spiral staircase with more speed than was probably wise. Nevertheless, she made it down to the bottom with only one terrifying stumble and burst out of the lighthouse at a fast clip.

Lydia was waiting for her, her hands over her ears. “You did it,” she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the horn.

“I didn’t touch the horns,” Shannon replied as they hurried back through the sea grass to the caretaker’s house. “They just came on while I was on the catwalk—literally knocked me to my knees.”

“Let’s go inside.” Lydia grabbed her hand and pulled her to the stairs leading up to a wooden deck at the back of the caretaker’s house. The door was unlocked, offering no barrier to their entry.

“Better!” Lydia said with a sigh of relief, shutting the door, and much of the noise, behind them. “I wonder how the horn fixed itself?”

“Perhaps the connector up in the service room is loose, and wind blowing through the cracked window knocked it back into place?”

“Perhaps.” Lydia shrugged, leading Shannon through the darkened house as if she had the entire layout memorized. Perhaps she did. The house had been in her family for years, no matter who lived in it now.

It was hard to make out much in the gloom. Shannon got the impression of large furniture in sparing doses, which seemed to fit what she knew of Gideon Stone. He needed big things because he was a big man, but he probably didn’t care much for clutter taking up the remaining space.

“This house used to be my son’s. He would live here on the rare occasions he was home on leave.”

The son who had died saving Gideon Stone’s life, Shannon thought, wondering how Gideon felt, living here in a place that had once belonged to his friend. “You must miss him terribly.”

“We all do.” Lydia’s hand caught hers briefly. “We knew it was a possibility—a soldier’s family doesn’t send their loved one to war without knowing the potential costs. But we never really believed it would happen to us. We couldn’t let ourselves think about it, or we’d go insane.”

Shannon had seen two brothers go off to war. Several of her cousins had served their country as well. She’d been fortunate not to lose any of them, although she’d mourned with her sister Megan after the death of Megan’s husband, Vince, in what they’d thought at the time was a combat death.

Thoughts of Vince’s death led her mind straight to Gideon, who was still out there in the woods somewhere, surrounded by at least three men whose motives for being on this island were suspect in the extreme. “Do you think we should go back to the house?” she asked Lydia. “If Gideon doesn’t find us there, what will he think?”

“Nothing good,” Lydia admitted. For the first time since the ordeal began, Lydia sounded like a woman in her late sixties. “I am almost afraid to hope he’s survived unscathed,” she said in a weak voice. “I’m afraid I have become more accustomed to loss these days than not.”

Shannon put her arm around the older woman. “I don’t know Gideon very well, but if there’s one thing I’m pretty sure about, it’s that he’s a big, tough guy who knows how to take care of himself. They don’t call marines Devil Dogs for nothing, right?”

Lydia managed a smile. “My husband was appalled that Ford—our son—joined the Marine Corps. Edward was a soldier, through and through. Only the army was good enough for him.”

“One of my cousins was in the navy, and two of his younger brothers were marines. He thinks they’re lower than pig snot.” At Lydia’s surprised laugh, Shannon chuckled a little herself. “Not that he really thinks that—Sam and Luke are both the best, and J.D. knows it. But families are like that, I guess. Got to keep everyone in the right pecking order.”

“I wish we’d given Ford a brother or sister. Perhaps it would be easier—” Lydia stopped and shook her head. “I don’t suppose anything would make it easier.”

Shannon started to respond, but a faint scrape outside the door stopped her in mid-breath. She tugged Lydia behind her and pulled her GLOCK, edging her way forward.

There was no peephole in the front door, only a narrow pane of glass about five and a half feet above the ground, clearly placed there by a tall man, because she had to rise on tiptoes to see anything.

A large, shadowy figure climbed the last porch step and scooted out of sight, moving quickly and smoothly.

“Someone’s outside,” she whispered to Lydia.

“Is it Gideon?”

“I can’t tell,” she whispered back. “You need to find someplace to hide, Lydia.”

“My Remington and I will stay right here,” Lydia retorted. She cocked the rifle for emphasis, making Shannon grin in spite of the terror rising like bile in her throat.

A faint rattle of the door handle set her into motion. She slid sideways to flatten herself against the wall by the door.

Like all Cooper Security employees, including clerks and interns, Shannon had undergone rigorous self-defense and crisis management courses before she’d been allowed to work for the company. One of the things she’d been taught was how to disarm an armed intruder.

Considering how much her family babied her, Shannon had despaired of ever having reason to use that particular skill. But now that the opportunity was upon her, she was beginning to appreciate just what her family had been trying to protect her from.

Tension as thick as any she’d ever known. Rage at being forced to even think about drawing a weapon on a fellow human being. And the gnawing, sickening fear that she was going to have to pull the trigger and take someone’s life.

But she had no time to dwell on any of those emotions, for the front door creaked open and the large figure pushed inside, immediately swinging his gun arm in a sweeping motion.

Shannon caught his arm as it swung toward her, bringing it downward with a sharp pull while she kept her body safely out of range. She banged her knee hard against the back of the intruder’s knee, knocking him off balance. They both hit the floor in a tangle, the intruder landing atop her with a low groan, pinning her to the hard pine.

The intruder’s left hand found her weapon hand, anchoring it in place against the floor before she could bring up the GLOCK. His right hand swept up her body, pausing for a moment at the curve of her breast, his touch firm and shockingly intimate. She tried to bring her knee up between his legs, but the intruder trapped her leg between his knees, blocking her ploy. His hand fell away from her breast.

Suddenly, light filled the room, so bright she had to squint against the painful contraction of her pupils. She peered up at her captor, her body going from hot to cold to hot again in a span of seconds, making her shiver.

“You’re not much for staying put, are you?” Gideon asked, gazing back at her with amusement in his intensely blue eyes.

Chapter Five

“Are you certain you didn’t touch anything in the service room that might have repaired the connection to the foghorn?” Gideon asked from his lookout spot on the widow’s walk. Lydia had gone to her bedroom to rest, although he doubted she’d be able to sleep much after all the excitement of the evening. But Shannon had insisted on staying with him on watch from his perch atop Stafford House.

Despite the continuing danger and his lack of a foolproof plan to combat it, Gideon’s mind kept returning again and again to the feel of Shannon’s firm, softly rounded breast against his palm. He had never had quite so much trouble focusing on an imminent threat before. He didn’t like feeling out of control.

“I didn’t touch anything. I barely walked into the service room before I went out on the catwalk,” Shannon insisted. “I didn’t know what I was looking for, and I thought the connector might be on the outside, where the horns are.”

She stood at the opposite end of the front railing from him, her voice carrying lightly on the night breeze. She looked alert and businesslike, her GLOCK in its holster on her hip, the snap unfastened for easy retrieval. If she was tired from her earlier exertions, it didn’t show. Must be nice, he thought wearily, to be young.

“That must have been loud, having it go off right by you.”

“Scared the hell out of me,” she admitted with a sheepish grin. “And going out on that catwalk already had me on edge. Literally.”

He followed her troubled gaze to the lighthouse, not sure whether he should feel angry that she and his boss had ventured out into the night against his express orders or glad that she’d managed, however accidentally, to sound the alarm just in time.

“They knew the horn was a signal to Terrebonne Fire and Rescue,” he murmured. “They’ve done their homework.”

Shannon moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold. He clenched his fists on the balcony railing, quelling the urge to pull her close and warm her with the fire burning low in his own belly. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his. “In your house?”

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