“Just get out of the car, Benson.”

He got out, closed the door and took a couple of steps. But he stalled. Decided there was one thing he had to do. He rounded the hood and opened up the driver’s side door.

Jane glared up at him. “What?”

“Get out of the car.”

She didn’t argue, but got out. She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

If he took a second to think about it, he would have probably realised what a stupid move this was.

But he didn’t think about it. He dropped his bag and kissed her.

Kissed her long and deep.

She leaned into him and his body reacted.

How long had it been since he’d kissed anyone like this?

He didn’t know…didn’t care.

She tasted warm and soft…sweet. Just like he’d known she would.

His arms went around her, pulling her closer, tucking her hips against his. She made the sweetest sound.

But he had to go…

Available in June 2010 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

Peek-a-boo Protector

by Rita Herron

&

Undercover Father

by Ann Voss Peterson

Twin Targets

by Jessica Andersen

&

Desert Ice Daddy

by Dana Marton

A Voice in the Dark

by Jenna Ryan

&

Terms of Surrender

by Kylie Brant

His Secret Life

by Debra Webb

His Secret Life

by

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and movies for inspiration.

You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA, or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

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Chapter One

Colby Agency, 2:00 p.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp collected her purse and prepared to order the car. Picking up her granddaughter at school would definitely be the highlight of this day.

After spending a good portion of the morning at the E.R. with J.T. and Eve, then dealing with that unnerving call from the bastard behind the abduction attempts, Victoria had long passed exhaustion.

She needed Lucas at her side. The government contact that served as a liaison whenever Lucas was on assignment had been unable to reach him or any member of his team. The reason, of course, was classified. Victoria had put off reaching out to Lucas again as long as she dared.

She could no longer presume the threat to her granddaughter was minimal. With that call, the danger had escalated to a new level.

This threat was not linked to Lucas or one of his personal enemies. The past had come back to haunt the Colby Agency once more.

An associate of Errol Leberman, the archnemesis of the Colby name, was behind the threat. Victoria had not recognized the caller’s voice. He had refused to give his name, pushing Victoria into a corner and limiting her options to the single one she had hoped to avoid. Reaching out to Jim.

The past few years her son had taken great strides in settling into a normal, happy life. Jim and his wife, Tasha, were immensely happy and their daughter, Jamie, thrived. This extended vacation to the remotest regions of Africa was the couple’s first getaway. Victoria had not wanted to disturb their escape. Her son so deserved to take a real vacation for the first time in his life. To experience an adventure that was for pure enjoyment and not related to his work.

But the caller and the situation had left Victoria no choice.

As she’d been forced to reach out to Lucas, her people had been attempting to reach Jim all day.

Recent political unrest had concerned Victoria as to their selection of this safari for their getaway. Tasha had great empathy for the country and its many woes. She had chosen the place for that reason. Jim had agreed. Victoria had reminded herself that her son was more than capable of taking care of himself and his wife in any situation. There had been no need to worry.

But that had been before. Before rumors surfaced that Jamie Colby was a target. Before they had been ambushed and three people had lost their lives.

Before the call.

Victoria shuddered as memories of Leberman and the horrors he had used against the Colby name crowded into her thoughts. Anyone associated with him would be every bit as evil and twisted. Worse, they would go to any lengths to accomplish their mission.

The possibility of their success terrified Victoria.

She swallowed back the emotions that constricted her throat. Victoria never allowed anyone or anything to shake her confidence and determination to this degree.

But this absolutely shook her to the core.

Perhaps she was not as strong as she once was.

Her office door opened, snapping her to attention.

“We have Jim on the line,” Ian Michaels announced.

Simon Ruhl came in behind him, closed the door.

A mixture of relief and anticipation seared Victoria’s senses. “Finally.”

They moved to the conference table, where Ian activated the conferencing system. “Jim, Simon and I are in Victoria’s office. Are you in a position to speak at length?”

“For as long as the connection lasts,” Jim granted.

Emotion surged upon hearing her son’s voice. Victoria smiled even as tears welled in her eyes. “Jim, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“What’s wrong? I can hear the worry in your voice, Victoria.”

Victoria had hoped at some point her son would feel comfortable calling her mother. But that hadn’t happened yet. Years of brainwashing and bitterness had made any sort of intimacy on a normal level difficult. Still, their relationship was close, solid.

“There’s a situation,” she explained, annoyed that her voice quavered. “We had hoped to contain the threat without interfering with your vacation, but that has changed now.”

“Tell me,” Jim commanded, his tone fierce, “that my daughter is safe.”

“Jamie is safe,” Victoria hastened to assure him. “She is unharmed and having a grand time being the center of attention. We have the maximum security measures in place. For now, all is under control where her welfare is concerned.”

“There’s been a threat against her,” Jim surmised.

His voice had lost all inflection. When threatened he closed out all emotions, a tactic he’d learned after years of abuse. Agony twisted in Victoria. She would give most anything not to have to do this to him.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Ian is going to bring you up to speed.”

Surprised, Ian shifted his attention to her and Victoria nodded for him to take the reins. She did not trust herself to maintain her composure.

She looked away as Ian launched into the details of the threat to her granddaughter. More of those stinging emotions burned in her eyes. Inside, where no one could see, she trembled.

For the first time in a very long while she was afraid. Uncertain of herself. The past year her agency had worked hard to pull together a reconnaissance division specifically for finding the missing. How could her agency possess such talent and still be vulnerable to this kind of threat?

The answer was all too clear.

Leberman, an evil man with extensive power, had reached out from the grave and done this to her family. The years of torment…the struggle to overcome the misery he’d elicited in her life even now sent dread welling inside her.

The bastard.

“Victoria.”

She blinked, returned her focus to the two men seated at the conference table with her. “Yes?” She mentally scrambled to catch up. Had Ian asked her a question? What had she missed?

“Jim is ready to listen to the recording.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Ian gave Simon a nod. Simon initiated the playback of the recorded call.

Victoria clasped her hands in her lap, held on tightly as the sinister voice filled the room. Ten million dollars was the price for calling off the abduction of Victoria’s granddaughter. But she knew that no amount of money would guarantee Jamie Colby’s safety. The threat had to be neutralized at its core.

When the recording had reached an end, the silence thickened for several moments before Jim spoke.

“His name is Clayton Barker. He operated the mercenary camp where I stayed for two years. Do not underestimate him. If he’s behind this…”

Victoria heard talking in the background. One voice sounded like Tasha’s.

“Jim?” A new kind of tension quivered through Victoria. The background conversation sounded clipped, tense.

“Look,” Jim said, apparently moving away from the conversation in the background since the voices faded. “I’m coming home. I don’t know how long it will take. There’s been some trouble here.”

More of that paralyzing fear streamed through Victoria’s veins. “Related to the recent shift in the political climate?”

“Yes,” Jim confirmed. “We thought we were safe but trouble has moved into this area. We were already preparing to move out before your call was patched through. Tasha and I will head back to Kenya and get on the first flight back home.”

“Can we get a helicopter to your location to facilitate your departure?” Ian suggested.

“Won’t work. The government has shut down all air traffic in the area. We’ll have to try getting out in the jeeps. If that doesn’t work, we’ll do it on foot. I will get there, one way or another.”

“Jim.” Victoria worked at keeping her voice even. “Are you and Tasha safe for now?”

“For now.” His tone was grave.

Adrenaline fired through Victoria and she snatched back her crumbling resolve and courage. “Listen to me, Jim,” she said, her voice stronger than before, “you take care of yourself and your wife. Make your way back here, but don’t take unnecessary risks. All of us are working on this situation. We will find Barker and we will do whatever necessary to stop him. Jamie will be protected. Do not doubt that for a moment. You have my word.”

Her resolve buckled for a minute, but there was no way Victoria Colby-Camp was going to be undone by a degenerate like Barker. She would prevail. She looked from Ian to Simon. She had the best of the best behind her.

“I know you’ll do all you can,” Jim said, “but I can’t risk that it might not be enough. I’m coming back. Nothing here will stop me.”

The call ended with one last plea from Victoria for him to take care.

He needn’t worry, she would not let him down.

Not again.

As much as she understood that her son loved her and that his words were not a reflection of her failure, she knew what his statement meant.

Victoria had done all within her power to keep Jim safe as a child.

And it hadn’t been enough.

Chapter Two

At 4:20 p.m. Victoria’s final appointment for the day arrived. Stuart Norcross settled into a chair flanking her desk.

“I know we just spoke on Friday,” he began, “but I’m anxious to see how your investigation is going.”

Victoria picked up the file Mildred had placed on her desk. “Completely understandable, Stuart.” She smiled. “Your wife and son are safe thanks to this man and you’d like to be able to properly show your gratitude.”

“Precisely.” Stuart settled back into his chair, the tension in his regal frame receding marginally.

Stuart Norcross was one of Chicago’s leading entrepreneurs. Despite the struggling economy, Stuart had taken his custom personal chef service nationwide. Having devoted most of his life to building his business, he had only in the past few years taken time for a true personal life. He’d met and married a wonderful woman and they’d had their first child just two years ago.

Victoria checked her notes. “His name is Troy Benson. Jane Sutton, one of our investigators specifically trained for finding the missing, has located Mr. Benson and is preparing for contact. I expect to have feedback no later than tomorrow afternoon.”

“Outstanding.” Stuart smiled, his relief palpable. “I knew I could depend on your agency, Victoria.”

“Thank you, Stuart. We pride ourselves on thorough, efficient work.”

Stuart inclined his head and studied her a moment. “Do you have any idea as to why Mr. Benson left the scene so suddenly?”

One week ago Stuart’s wife, Reese, had visited an old friend in Meriden. Driving back to Chicago late that evening in the pouring rain, their son asleep in his car seat, Reese had braked hard to avoid a dog and lost control of the vehicle. The car had plunged off the road and into a dangerously deep ravine. Thankfully a thicket of small trees had stopped the vehicle before it crashed headlong into the rocks below. Badly injured, Reese had realized that the protection of the trees wouldn’t last but there was nothing she could do. The sound of splintering wood and straining metal had warned that if she and the baby didn’t get out of the car in a hurry, they would surely plunge to the bottom any second.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man appeared. He rescued the baby from his car seat and barely got Reese out of the driver’s seat before the car broke through the trees and pitched to the bottom of the ravine. After checking their injuries and calling for help, the man disappeared during the chaos of the police and rescue personnel’s arrival on the scene.

“Not just yet,” Victoria explained. “We believe the man is using an alias.” At Stuart’s surprised look, she added, “There could be any number of reasons that have nothing to do with criminal activity. A former celebrity.” She flared her hands. “A recluse for purely personal reasons. That’s why we’re going to take a cautious approach from this point forward. Though I understand that you’re very grateful for what Mr. Benson did, it would be in your best interest to know who this man is and what his motives for seclusion are before moving forward with a meeting between the two of you.”

Stuart nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I certainly don’t want to endanger my family by becoming involved with a man with a troubled past.”

“Unfortunately,” Victoria offered, “it goes with the territory, Stuart.” She knew this all too well. “Wealth and power can sometimes prove a magnet for those seeking easy money. Self-protection is essential. If we uncover disturbing details perhaps it would be wisest to show your gratitude anonymously through my investigator.”

“So his name is definitely not Troy Benson? How did you find him?”

“My investigator, Jane, used the description your wife gave of the man who rescued her to start the search. Since the man was thought to be on foot that night, our first assumption would be that he lived nearby. Along that deserted stretch of road, there are only a few scattered communities. The occasional farm, but not much else. We focused on anything within walking distance.”

“Reese vividly recalls catching a glimpse of someone as her car spun out of control,” Stuart confirmed. “She believes he was, indeed, on foot.”

“That being the case,” Victoria went on, “we assumed that the man was likely from somewhere nearby. Jane checked the surrounding communities until she found someone matching the description. He goes by the name Troy Benson and he works at a diner in Plano.”

“If your investigator hasn’t spoken to this man yet, how can she be sure it’s him—other than the description my wife gave, I mean? This Troy Benson could simply be someone who looks like the man who rescued my family. Is she sure it’s him?”

Again, Stuart’s anxiousness was showing. He wanted this man found, but he also wanted to find the hero he had created in his mind. “Reese stated that the man who rescued her cut his left forearm as he pulled her from the damaged car, correct?”

Stuart sat forward a little. “Yes. Yes, she did. Does this Troy Benson have an injury consistent with what my wife recalls?”

“He does. Jane has him under surveillance and is hoping for an opportunity to lift a latent print. We can have a friend at the bureau, as well as our Chicago PD liaison, run the print through the systems to see if he shows up in any databases.”

“You’ll keep me informed?” Stuart asked, his expression clearly crestfallen.

“Absolutely.”

Victoria’s client stood, sighed. “The waiting game it is, then.”

“It won’t be long,” Victoria assured him. “Trust me, Stuart, Jane will work as quickly as possible.”

When Stuart had taken his leave, Victoria stood for a long moment staring at the door that separated her office from the small private lobby where Mildred greeted clients and took care of Victoria’s calendar.

Waiting was the hardest thing to do.

A person’s whole life was spent waiting on one thing or another. For Christmas to arrive. To find love. For the safe birth of a child…to live without fear.

Waiting was all Victoria could do for now as well.

Chapter Three

Plano, Illinois, 4:30 p.m.

The Sunshine Diner was filled to capacity as usual. Jane selected the only vacant stool at the counter to facilitate a better view of the kitchen’s serving window.

An apron-clad Troy Benson set two plates on the serving window ledge and announced, “Order up.”

With his shirtsleeves pushed up, the bandage on his left arm was visible.

“You ready to order?”

Jane dragged her attention from the window to the waitress who’d stopped on the other side of the counter. “I’ll have the special.” Burger and fries. A girl couldn’t go wrong with the basics.

The waitress, Patsy, scratched the order on her pad, flashed a smile and headed over to post the order on the cook’s wheel in the service window.

Benson glanced at Jane as he tugged her order from the wheel. Jane held his gaze, wanting him to know she wasn’t here for the food. She’d come in and out the past couple of days. She felt certain he realized she was watching him, but he hadn’t gotten nervous just yet.

She’d been cautious with her questioning of the locals. Not wanting to spook him, she’d resisted talking to the waitresses or the busboy in the diner.

Benson drove a beat-up old truck. The license plate was registered to a Troy Benson, originally from Michigan. His driver’s license went back four years. No work or credit record for six years prior to that. Mainly because the man, the real Troy Benson, with that Social Security number had some nine years ago entered a private extended-care facility in Michigan after a tragic automobile accident. Since the facility wasn’t funded by government insurance, there was no reason for any government agency to be suspicious of the use of the Social Security number some five years later. While the real Troy Benson withered away in Michigan, this pretender had started a whole new life in Illinois.

If Jane could get this guy’s prints, it would be reasonably easy to determine if he had a criminal record or if perhaps he was in Witness Protection. There had to be a motive for his having taken an alias and living such a low-profile life. A low-profile life, according to the few people she’d questioned, that he went to great extents to keep very personal.

After work Benson drove his ancient truck to an equally aged farmhouse on Grissom Spring Road. He had no friends, no social life that anyone she’d asked was aware of. He had simply blown into town, driving that old truck, four years ago and had been working at the diner since.

He didn’t look like a short-order cook.

Tall, well-muscled, mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes. Damned good looking. A little glimmer of warmth swirled beneath her belly button. Any woman would have to be in a coma or dead not to notice how handsome he was. But guys who looked like that never took a second look at Jane.

Plain Jane.

Her nickname in grade school had followed her into adulthood. She hadn’t bothered attempting to dispel the unflattering moniker. She liked wearing jeans and T-shirts when she was off duty. Even on duty she stuck with serviceable slacks and conservative blouses along with practical shoes. And she hated makeup and all the hair fuss that most women took great pride in skillfully sporting.

If that, along with her generic brown hair and eyes, made her a plain Jane, then so be it.

“Here ya go.”

Patsy settled a stoneware plate in front of Jane. “Thanks.” Jane considered the burger and fries. “How about some coleslaw?” What she needed was a small enough item touched by the cook that she could take with her. And return it, of course, once she’d lifted the necessary prints. She’d noticed some side orders, coleslaw in particular, were served in bowls small enough to suit her requirement.

“Sure thing.” Patsy strolled back to the window. “Need an order of coleslaw, Troy.”

Benson flicked another of those suspicious glances from the waitress to Jane. Troy disappeared from the window for a moment and returned with a small, single-serving-size stoneware bowl of slaw. Patsy immediately placed the side order in front of Jane.

“Great.” Careful not to touch the little bowl with her fingers, she dug in. She was starved. Though she’d been in the diner earlier this afternoon, she hadn’t ordered anything but coffee until now. As she ate, she covertly kept an eye on Benson. The waitresses were hustling to refill drinks and take orders since the evening crowd was slowly drifting into the diner.

The bustle of the kitchen staff was also obvious beyond the serving window. While the waitresses were preoccupied with their evening rush, Jane pulled a couple of plastic sandwich bags from her purse and picked up the bowl, using one of the bags as a barrier between her fingers and the stoneware. With her movements hidden beneath the counter now, she slipped the empty bowl into the second bag and tucked it into her purse.

With a quick check to ensure that no one was paying attention, she grabbed the side order bowl left by the customer who’d abandoned the stool next to her and placed it by her plate. No need to call attention to the fact that she’d taken the bowl.

Patsy strolled past, slowing long enough to refill Jane’s soda.

Her phone vibrated. With another perusal around the diner, Jane reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out her phone to check the screen. Text message from Ian Michaels. Rendezvous with MW 5:00?

Jane responded with a suggestion of five-fifteen. OK flashed on the screen. The newest member of the Colby Agency’s staff, Merrilee Walters, would come by the Plano Hotel at five-fifteen to pick up whatever Jane had been able to retrieve that might provide Benson’s prints.

Excellent timing. Evidently she’d already been in the area since the office in Chicago was more than an hour away. That a member of the agency staff was standing by, indicated that the client was getting anxious. He wanted the name of the hero who’d rescued his wife and son.

Jane polished off her burger, paid her check, left a generous tip and headed for the rendezvous with Merri. The hotel was only a few blocks from the diner, so Jane had chosen to walk. According to one of the waitresses, the entire diner staff worked until around eight cleaning up and prepping for the next day. Benson wasn’t likely going anywhere before eight.

And if he did, Jane knew where he lived. She was waiting for one thing, approval to approach. That approval would come when the Colby Agency had done all possible to rule out a criminal record.

As Jane rounded the corner at the end of the block, she hesitated. The sun hovered above the trees, still generating enough heat to draw a sweat. The occasional car rolled down the street. A few pedestrians were out and about. Still, that creepy sensation that crawls up the back of one’s neck had camped at the base of her skull.

Jane stopped, turned around.

Nothing.

Her instincts still humming, Jane sped up her pace and made it to the hotel in record time. She surveyed the block in both directions. Nothing or no one appeared out of place. No sign of Merri.

Jane waited out front until her colleague arrived. She parked at the curb and Jane slid into the passenger seat, thankful for the cold air blasting from the air-conditioning vents.

“Any trouble finding the place?” Jane was careful to wait until Merri had turned in her direction before speaking. The newest member of the Colby Agency staff was deaf. She was inordinately skilled at lip-reading.

“Your directions were very clear.” Merri glanced around the street. “Has your target noticed your presence yet?”

“He’s suspicious.” Jane couldn’t help wishing she’d been born with Merri’s bright blue eyes and silky blond hair. Truth was, no one was really ever happy with their appearance. At least that was what she told herself each time she had a “plain” moment. “I think he’s keeping an eye on me.”

“I guess I should make this quick, then,” Merri suggested. “I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

She was right. Jane retrieved the bagged side order bowl and passed it to her colleague. “The waitress may have blurred Benson’s prints, but it was the best I could do for now.”

Merri placed the bag in the console of her sedan. “I’ll get this to Ian this evening. He has a friend from CPD and one from the bureau standing by.”

“Good. Maybe we’ll know something early tomorrow morning.”

“That’s Ian’s goal.”

Before getting out, Jane hesitated. “How’s Victoria?” The last couple of weeks had taken a tremendous toll on the head of the Colby Agency. Her granddaughter’s safety was at stake and the source of the threat was still untraceable. Victoria now knew his identity, but finding him was proving impossible.

Merri’s expression turned grim. “She’s holding up.” She shook her head. “The little girl, she doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Which is good.”

Until now Jane hadn’t noticed the slight distortion in Merri’s speech. Maybe because they hadn’t talked alone like this before. Merri had been deaf for about six years now. Her speech had begun to suffer in the extended period without the resonance of sound to maintain rhythm and modulation.

“Have a safe trip back to the city.”

Merri nodded. “Ian will be in touch.”

Jane watched Merri drive away. After living her entire life in the South, Merri was certainly getting her bearings in what she teasingly called Yankee territory.

Fishing for her keys in her purse, Jane walked toward the car she’d rented for this assignment. By the time she drove back to the diner, the dinner crowd would have thickened. Taking up a surveillance post nearby would be fairly simple.

She wasn’t cleared to approach Benson yet, but keeping an eye on him in case he decided to cut and run was essential. Norcross was insistent on learning as much information as possible on Benson.

She slid behind the wheel and drove the few blocks to the diner. Parking down the block and on the other side of the street, she watched the customers filter in and out. Even with the windows down, the July heat was sweltering.

From time to time she got out and walked a short distance, just to stretch her legs and get some air flowing beneath her blouse.

More than two hours passed before the waitresses started to, one by one, head out the front entrance. The brightly colored neon sign that announced the diner was open for business went dark. Benson came out the back door a couple of times pulling a trash container. Another employee hustled out to help him dump the containers. The second time, Benson paused before going back inside. He surveyed the street, his gaze settling on Jane’s car.

Oh yeah, he was well aware that he was being watched.

If he had something to hide, he might very well ditch his comfy life.

Jane watched him swagger back to the rear entrance. His suspicious glances piqued her curiosity. “What are you hiding, Mr. Benson?”

Pretty soon the lights went out inside the establishment and the kitchen staff trickled out the rear entrance. Benson waved good-night to his coworkers and headed for his old blue truck. He climbed inside and backed out of his parking slot. He hesitated at the street, probably checking out her position again before driving away.

Jane gave him a few seconds’ head start before executing a U-turn and following. He’d already made the turn that led deep into the woods when she reached the turnoff to Grissom Spring Road. His farmhouse sat a couple of miles into the woods. At one time the farm had been pastureland and cultivated acreage, but for the past fifteen or so years the woods had closed in, leaving a small yard around the old house.

There were no streetlights on the old road, making the path dark beneath the canopy of ancient trees. Jane’s weapon was in the rental car’s console. But before she got out of the car, it would be in her purse. She was no fool. Being armed, especially on an assignment like this, was the only way to go.

She passed Benson’s place and almost braked, but checked the urge at the last moment. His truck wasn’t in the driveway.

What the hell?

When she’d rolled past his property far enough to be unseen, she braked to a stop and shoved the gearshift into Park. How had she lost him? There were only a couple of turns between town and his place, other than driveways leading to residences and those were few and far between.

“Damn it.”

She reached for the gearshift. Turn around and pick a spot to wait him out. If he didn’t show up in a reasonable length of time, she’d have no choice but to hunt him down.

“Get out of the car.”

Jane’s breath caught at the shouted command. She turned to stare out the window. Troy Benson stood at her door, the business end of a large handgun aimed at her face.

“Get out,” he repeated.

So much for waiting until she heard from Ian.

Jane didn’t really mind having to bump up her schedule. The only part that really bothered her was the fact that his gun was seriously larger than hers.

Chapter Four

“Hands up.” Troy Benson backed up a step as the driver’s side door opened.

The woman slowly raised her hands as she dropped her feet to the ground and pushed out of the vehicle. “I don’t know what this is about, mister, but I’m lost. All I need are some directions on how to get to town.”

He would just bet she needed directions. “You have some ID?”

She nodded. “In my bag.”

He motioned to his right with his weapon. “Step away from the car.”

When she’d sidestepped, not taking her eyes off him, to the middle of the road, he reached, equally careful not to take his eyes off her, for the purse sitting on the console inside the vehicle. He closed the door and jerked his head toward the place he called home for now. “This way.”

She didn’t argue, which surprised him. It shouldn’t have. The woman wasn’t lost. She had been watching him all afternoon. She’d come into the diner earlier that day.

Leading the way, she walked along the gravel road, then made the left into the dirt driveway leading to the house. Midway down the drive, she hesitated.

“Look.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t want any trouble. I just need to find my aunt’s house. She called and I haven’t seen her since I was a kid and I don’t have a clue where she lives except that it’s—”

“Keep moving,” he ordered, cutting her off. She could just save all that babble. Whatever she was up to, he would soon know.

As she climbed the rickety steps to his porch, he considered the idea that he should have left already. He had known this was coming. What a damned fool he was. This town didn’t mean anything to him. The job damned sure didn’t. Still, he hated like hell to pick up and leave. He’d gotten close to a couple of people, as close as he dared anyway.

Stupid. Way stupid.

Anyone close to him was a target. He knew better. But four years had allowed him to lose his edge…to believe it was over.

It would never be over.

The only thing he could do to protect those around him was to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

At the front door she stopped and faced him defiantly. “Okay, I’m not going in there with you.” She stared him straight in the eye. “You’ll just have to shoot me here, I guess.”

The lady was tall and slim, but not at all helpless or frail looking. In fact, she looked damned determined and fearless for a woman lost on a deserted road.

Troy reached past her and pushed the door open. “I don’t know who you are—” he held his aim steady on her chest “—but I do know who you aren’t. You aren’t lost and you definitely aren’t looking for your aunt’s house. Now get inside.”

A pulse-pounding moment passed with her staring defiantly at him. No way was she some lost stranger. The lady was way too steady, way too in control. Evidently she thought he was as stupid as his recent actions had shown him to be.

“Fine.” She executed an about-face and stamped inside. “But I’m warning you, my aunt’s expecting me. She’ll call the police if I don’t show up soon. I left her a message saying I was in the area.”

Brave, determined and smart. He kicked the door closed behind him. “Sit.” He gestured to the sofa.

When she’d taken a seat, he plopped her purse onto the back of the closest chair and dug through it. He tossed the usual female items into the chair’s seat. Brush. PDA. Lip balm. He opened her wallet. Jane R. Sutton. Chicago. Twenty-nine. No other forms of ID, no credit cards. One bank check card. A picture of her with an older woman.

“That’s my aunt,” she piped up. “Like I said, she’s expecting me.”

He tossed the purse onto the seat with the other stuff, then walked around to sit on the coffee table directly in front of her. That her eyes didn’t flare with fear and she didn’t draw away with the same confirmed his suspicions.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you—”

“The truth, Ms. Sutton—if that’s even your real name,” he fired back. “I want the truth now.”

She shook her head. Dropped her hands into her lap and shrugged. “You’ve got problems, mister. Have you seen a shrink about your paranoid delusions?”

He ignored her question. “Who sent you?”

“My mother,” she retorted. “She thinks her sister needs help after her surgery. I’m supposed to stay with her a couple of weeks.”

She was good. He’d give her that. “Just stop,” he warned. “I’m not playing that game with you.”

“What game?”

That she could look so innocent only fueled his fury. “I tell you what, Ms. Sutton. I’ll tie you up in the basement.” He stood. “And when you’re ready to tell me the truth, we’ll try this again.”

There was the widening of eyes he’d anticipated several minutes ago. She did not want to be tied up.

“Wait.” She leaned forward a bit. “I’ll tell you the truth. Just don’t put me in the basement.”

He resumed his seat on the coffee table. “Why are you watching me?”

She heaved a big breath. “I’m from the Trib. My boss wanted me to get the story on how you rescued Stuart Norcross’s wife and son. It’s a big story. Maybe you don’t realize, but Norcross is—”

“I know who he is.” Troy’s fury simmered. He should have left the woman and child before the cops arrived. But the woman had been so shaken, her injuries possibly life-threatening, he had been afraid to leave her alone with the child until help arrived.

So much for the good Samaritan bit.

“Then you know that any event, large or small, in his life is big news.” She chewed her bottom lip a second. “I need the story. That’s all I came for, I swear.” She glanced at the gun. “I won’t say anything about your lack of social etiquette.”

Troy searched Jane Sutton’s face, then her eyes, looking for the lie. It was entirely possible that one of the cops had leaked his description to a reporter friend, especially one as determined and persuasive as this one. She could be telling the truth. But her demeanor, her lack of fear of the weapon in his hand, indicated otherwise. If she was a reporter, she had a background in something else. Yes, Stuart Norcross was a big deal in the social and business pages, but this story wasn’t big enough to merit staring down a gun barrel to get.

“If you get your story, you’ll leave me alone?” he ventured. “That’s all you came here for?”

She nodded. “The readers love hero stories. Especially the ones about ordinary guys who come to the rescue. They’ll eat it up.”

“And show up at the hero’s door wanting autographs and photo ops,” he countered.

She shook her head this time. “Oh, I would never leak your location. You have my word on that.”

He needed a new strategy. “Where are your press credentials?”

Her right hand moved to the pocket of her slacks.

“Wait. Stand up.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion.

“Stand up,” he repeated.

Another of those beleaguered sighs accompanied her push up from the sofa.

“Hands back up,” he ordered.

She rolled her eyes but obeyed.

He reached into her pocket. She tensed, drew in a sharp breath. Their gazes locked. “Just making sure you don’t have any pepper spray tucked in here.”

A curt nod had him forcing his fingers deeper into her pocket until he’d found what he was looking for. He pulled out a press badge for the Chicago Tribune. After turning the badge over a couple of times, he said, “Looks real enough.” He held on to her phone as he resumed his seat.

“So.” She sat down on the sofa again. “Do I get the story?”

He thought about the question a moment, settled on his strategy. “Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lowering his weapon, he stood and rounded the coffee table. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He didn’t have to look back to know she was following him to the door. Good, that would make getting her out of his house a little easier.

“Wait.” She stalled halfway across the room. “You said you knew what I meant about the story being big.”

“I said,” he reiterated, “I knew who Norcross was. Anyone who reads the papers would. I know his wife and child were in an accident—that was in the papers, too. But I don’t know anything about the guy who rescued them. If you thought that was me, you made a mistake.”

Jane Sutton held up both hands stop sign fashion, then waved them back and forth as if to erase his statements. “No way. Mrs. Norcross described you.” She glanced at his left arm. “All the way down to the cut on your arm. You got that injury dragging her out of the wrecked car.”

He folded his arms over his chest as if that would hide the truth she spoke. “According to the papers, the accident was pretty bad.”

“That’s right. You should know.” She matched his stance. “You were there.”

“I would imagine that Mrs. Norcross was panicked and confused. Probably scared to death. Worried about her child. Who knows what the guy who rescued her really looked like? Could’ve been anyone around here. Folks in this town don’t go around bragging about doing the right thing. Or—” he sent her a pointed look “—nosing around for rewards.”

Her gaze narrowed. “So if you didn’t cut your arm in the rescue, what happened?”

“I’m a short-order cook, lady. I get burned all the time. The diner’s equipment is old. Things don’t always work right and I have to tear ‘em apart to find the problem.” He held up his arm. “I cut my arm working on the grill’s wiring.”

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Benson.”

“Believe what you like, Ms. Sutton.” He opened the door. “Give your aunt my best.”

“What about my phone and purse?” Her lips pinched in frustration. “And my press credentials?”

He handed her the phone and press badge, then jerked his head toward the chair. “Take your stuff. And go.”

She stalked across the room, shoved her things back into her purse. When she’d slung the strap over her shoulder she glared at him. “For a hero, you’re a really rude guy.”

“I’m no hero, Ms. Sutton.” He studied her profile as she hesitated at the door but refused to look at him. “I’m just a short-order cook trying to get by.”

Jane Sutton hesitated one more beat before walking out the open door. She stormed up the drive and to the road. Once she’d made the turn toward where they had left her car he lost sight of her in the dusk.

He hadn’t seen the last of the lady.

The other thing he was completely certain of was that he had to get on the road.

What had he been thinking hanging around after that accident?

The paramedics had asked him questions. The two cops had gotten a good look at him before he’d found an opportunity to slip into the woods. Mrs. Norcross had obviously remembered the details far too clearly.

Troy was glad she and her son were okay. No way could he have walked away after witnessing her car going off the road.

If he’d opted to forgo his run that night.

If it hadn’t rained so hard so suddenly.

If she hadn’t chosen that particular route that particular night.

But she had. And he’d had no choice but to do the right thing.

Now he was left with no choice once more.

If the press, assuming Jane Sutton actually worked for the Chicago Tribune, was on to his identity, it wouldn’t be long until others learned those details as well.

Troy Benson was finished.

He would have to pick a new name.

A new address.

New job.

But first he had to kill Troy Benson.

That was the hardest part. Finding a way to end a life without getting caught or leaving too many lingering suspicions.

He could do it.

He’d done it before.

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