An agent will do anything to take down a terrorist.

Even if that means using a woman as his weapon.

To locate a terrorist, Ren McClement must find the criminal’s “dead” wife Natalie. His plan: use the innocent beauty as bait. But when his duplicity leads them into grave danger, Ren reveals his secret to Natalie...and his passion for her. Will furious Natalie be able to forgive his lie? And will they get to the mastermind before he unleashes mass destruction?

Omega Sector: Under Siege

JANIE CROUCH has loved to read romance her whole life. This USA TODAY bestselling author cut her teeth on Mills & Boon novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. She enjoys traveling, long-distance running, movie watching, knitting and adventure/obstacle racing. You can ind out more about her at janiecrouch.com.

Also by Janie Crouch

Daddy Defender

Protector’s Instinct

Cease Fire

Major Crimes

Armed Response

In the Lawman’s Protection

Special Forces Savior

Fully Committed

Armored Attraction

Man of Action

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

In the Lawman’s Protection

Janie Crouch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07927-3

IN THE LAWMAN’S PROTECTION

© 2018 Janie Crouch

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to Mills & Boon.

This is my twentieth book with this great

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

For a dead woman, Natalie Anderson was pretty paranoid about security.

She rested her forehead against the back of the heavy wooden door. The closed, locked and completely bolted, heavy wooden door. And even though she hated herself for it, she reached down to double-check the security of the locks again.

Double-check, ha. Double-checking could be forgiven. This was more like octuple-check. And it wasn’t just this door. It was every door in the house. And every window.

And she was about to start round nine. She had to stop herself. This could go on all night if she let it; she knew that for a fact.

“Get your sticky notes, kiddo,” she muttered to herself. “Work the problem.”

She’d discovered the sticky note trick around year two of being “dead.” That if she put one of the sticky pieces of paper on each window and door after she was one hundred percent certain the locks were in place, she could finally stop checking it again. Didn’t have to worry she’d accidentally missed one. Otherwise it was hours of the same thing over and over, just to be sure.

She grabbed the knockoff sticky papers she’d gotten from a discount store and began her process. She checked every single door—again—then every single window. The little yellow squares all over the place gave her a sense of security.

Although she had to fight the instinct to check them all one more time just to be absolutely sure.

She hadn’t needed sticky notes in a while. Her tiny, threadbare apartment—not even a full studio, just a room and bathroom that was part of a garage—only had two windows and one door. That didn’t take a whole lot of stationery to make her feel safe.

Agreeing to house-sit a gorgeous beach house in Santa Barbara had seemed liked such a great idea two weeks ago. Something different. Beautiful sunsets on the beach. A place where she could get out her paints, ones she’d caved and bought when she couldn’t afford them, even though she hadn’t painted in six years. Yeah, house-sitting had seemed like such a great idea.

Olivia, a waitress friend at the bar where Natalie worked in the evenings, had talked Natalie into it. Olivia was supposed to have been doing the house-sitting, but her mother had had a stroke and she’d had to go out of town.

So here Natalie was, in a million-dollar home with a view of the Pacific, and instead of cracking the doors to hear the sounds of the ocean or getting out her paints, she had every drape pulled tight and every door battened down enough to withstand a siege. Did she really wish she was smelling the motor oil that permeated everything in her apartment on the far east side of town rather than the brisk February California night air?

She turned away from the front door and forced herself to cross to the living room and sit on the couch. Once there the exhaustion nearly overwhelmed her, settling into her bones. Seven hours at her cleaning job today, then another six washing dishes at the bar.

That was her life almost every day. Seven days a week. For nearly the past six years.

None of the jobs paid even minimum wage. But they all paid in cash, and that was what mattered. She hadn’t filled out any tax papers or had to show any ID. Because anyone who tried to pay Natalie Anderson Freihof would find out rather quickly that Mrs. Freihof died six years ago, caught in a freak shootout between law enforcement and some bank robbers.

The irony of that entire situation wasn’t lost on her. Law enforcement had come for the robbers, never knowing there was a much bigger criminal—her husband—trapped right in the lobby with all the other victims. They could’ve made the world a much safer place by leaving the thugs with guns and masks and taking the man in the impeccable three-piece suit into custody. Would’ve saved a lot more lives.

Including Natalie’s.

But she had made it away from Damien, thanks to some idiot bank robbers, gung-ho SWAT members and a freak biological hazard scare at the local hospital, which required the immediate cremation of all corpses that day.

In other words, chaos on multiple levels. But Natalie had taken the chance and run.

Whatever the reason it had all worked out, she wouldn’t question. She was just glad it had. Just glad she had gotten away from the hell she’d been trapped in. If she had to work under the table, doing low-paying junk jobs for the rest of her life, she would do it. At least she was alive.

Most people would probably think staying completely under the radar even after all this time would be overkill, not that she had ever told anyone about her situation. That after a funeral and burial—even if it had been an empty casket—her husband would accept that she was dead. Wouldn’t be searching for her.

But Natalie would put nothing past the methodical bastard that had systematically controlled her life and tortured her for years. Checking to make sure she wasn’t drawing a paycheck years after she’d been declared dead? She could totally see Damien doing something like that. Then casually strolling through the door of her place of employment the next day.

She should probably move to Nebraska or Missouri where the cost of living wasn’t so high or somewhere that wasn’t SoCal so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. Even the rent on her tiny apartment was ridiculous.

But California was the only place he’d ever said he hated. That he never wanted to step foot in again. Natalie had been praying that was true for six years and, so far, it had been. So she would stay here, even if she was tired. Even if fear was her constant companion. Even if half her salary was spent on sticky notes.

Agreeing to house-sit had been a mistake. The view was nice, as was the coffee machine she used to brew her cup in the mornings. And the linens were at least a three times higher thread count than she was used to. But the unfamiliarity of it all just added to her stress.

More windows to check. Longer bus rides to and from work.

The feeling like eyes were on her.

She’d fought that compulsion so often in the early days. The fear that she would get home and Damien would be there. Or that he was watching her from across the street. Ready to take her back into the hell he’d trapped her in for so long.

The feeling that she was being watched had to be just the unfamiliarity. The exhaustion. She needed sleep.

She wished she could convince herself that was the case.

It was so hard to know. In the early days, she’d so often given in to the panic. Let it dictate all her moves. She tried not to do that anymore, tried instead to make logical decisions based on actual circumstances rather than gut feelings.

Gut feelings couldn’t be trusted. Her gut had told her that marrying Damien was a wise move, that he would provide her a happily-ever-after.

So she didn’t trust her gut to tell her what to do now. Especially when she knew exhaustion was playing such a large factor in everything happening inside her head.

She hoped.

But she stood up and began checking the locks on all the windows and doors once more, despite the sticky notes. Trusting her gut or not, she knew sleep would not be coming. Not tonight. She couldn’t shake the feeling.

Someone was watching out in the dark.

* * *

REN MCCLEMENT STRETCHED his long legs out in front of him in an attempt to get comfortable inside the Dodge Stratus. He was forty-one years old and one of the highest ranked members of Omega Sector, arguably one of the most prestigious law enforcement groups in the world. Hell, he’d created Omega Sector.

He should not be on a damned stakeout.

Any one of his colleagues would tell him the same thing: that there was other important work he could be doing. Although Ren didn’t have an office at either the Critical Response Division HQ in Colorado or in Washington, DC, where the Covert Operations Division was located, at any given time he was a part of a dozen different operations, almost all of them clandestine. He’d advised two separate presidents on operational strategies in both foreign and domestic events.

And he’d been undercover for months at a time in some of the ugliest hellholes on earth—both geographically and situationally. He’d taken the ops nobody else wanted or could do. Stepped up to and over lines no one else was willing to cross in order to get the job done. Deep-cover operations where the line between who you were and the psychopath you pretended to be got pretty blurred.

He had to be able to live with that.

Ren McClement lived in darkness. Not only lived, embraced it. The dark was home for him. The dark was what allowed him to become whoever he needed to be in order to get the job done. To trick the worst of the worst into trusting him so he could make sure they could never harm anyone else again.

And if he sometimes forgot who he really was—the boy who grew up on a ranch in Montana with loving parents and a fierce need to be outdoors—he just considered that an occupational hazard.

If losing the real Ren meant that the world was a safer place, then so be it. He would sacrifice his past childhood so that future childhoods would endure.

But normally stakeouts weren’t part of his world-saving undertakings. Some grunt with much less experience and responsibility would be tasked to watch the very quiet beach house in Santa Barbara and could report back.

Not that there would be much to report.

This was night number five of watching Natalie Freihof inside this damn almost-mansion. Every night she came home late from the bar she’d been partying at, went inside and didn’t come out until the dawn hours.

He had to admit, she was smart. Conscious of keeping a low profile. She kept her head down as she came in and out, always wearing nondescript jeans and a T-shirt, and caught a bus to get wherever she was going so it was much more difficult to follow her.

She went into one office building just after dawn on Mondays through Thursdays, and an entirely different one Fridays through Sundays. Both offices were in the process of being thoroughly investigated by Omega. He imagined at least one of the businesses in them was being used as a shell company of some kind. A front so Natalie could provide resources for her husband. It was just a matter of time before Omega found out exactly what she was doing with which business.

Then some nights she would go to a bar a few miles away. Once more dressed in the jeans and shirt to go from place to place, which proved again how smart she was. If she needed to run, the clothing would allow her to blend in quickly and easily to almost any crowd. The comfortable athletic shoes would allow her to run.

He had no doubts she changed clothes once she was inside the bar for whatever it was she was doing. Meeting other clients or contacts? Or maybe just having a good time. She tended to stay until well after midnight on the nights she was there.

Evidently the dead Mrs. Freihof didn’t require much sleep. Or partying, wining and dining were more important to her than rest. Either way, every time she left the bar, she was again changed into her nondescript clothes, her head was down and she was back on the bus.

The multi-million-dollar beach-front house was more along the lines of what Ren expected of Damien Freihof’s wife. The deed wasn’t in her name, of course, and the owners were also being investigated, although on the surface even Ren had to admit they looked clean.

The entire thing was smart. Savvy. Natalie had the weary bus commuter look down to a science. If Ren hadn’t known it was all fake—that she lived in the lap of luxury while assisting a monster who had made it his mission in life to kill innocent people—he might have felt sorry for her. Something about the tall, willowy blonde brought out his protective instincts.

But Ren viciously tamped that down. What brought out his protective instincts more? The need to stop a killer before he struck again.

They didn’t have a warrant to get inside the house, but that hadn’t stopped Ren from going in while others were following Natalie to work. He’d been disappointed in what he’d found in the house.

Nothing.

But what had he been expecting? Natalie had successfully convinced the world she was dead for six years. Omega Sector had only discovered she was alive by sheer accident. Their photo-recognition software—part of it programmed to run 24/7 searching for any known associates of Damien Freihof—had tagged her in the background of a newspaper photo. She’d happened to be walking out of a building when a photographer snapped a picture of a group of teenagers receiving a science award.

Ren hardly expected to find anything now that was going to provide irrefutable evidence that she was working with Freihof or providing him assistance. The only thing he’d seen that provided any evidence she’d been there at all had been the small indentation on the very edge of the king-size bed.

Natalie definitely wasn’t rolling toward the middle of the bed, reaching for her husband. Of course, Damien would have to be called her ex-husband since he remarried after Natalie’s “death.”

That poor woman had died in a car accident just a year later. Dead wife number two. When Omega had found out that Natalie was in fact alive, they had exhumed two grave sites. One coffin had contained a body. Natalie’s had not.

Legally, Natalie was no longer officially married to Freihof, due to his second marriage. Omega lawyers had already checked into that to make sure laws about testifying against one’s spouse wouldn’t come into play.

But married to him or not, if Natalie Freihof was helping Damien—which Ren had very little doubt she was—he would take her down.

Five days he’d been watching her, hoping she would slip up or get complacent and lead them to Freihof. The phones at the house were tapped, but she never used them. And if she had a cell phone, it was a burner that she didn’t use at the house. No cell signals ever came from there.

So they were basically at a dead end. A place Ren didn’t like to be and didn’t find himself at very often.

It was time to shake things up. If they didn’t put pressure on ex–Mrs. Freihof, she was never going to do anything reckless. It was time to force her hand.

Ren grabbed his phone and dialed a number. It wasn’t even dawn here yet, and Colorado was only an hour ahead, but Steve Drackett still answered and sounded like he’d been awake for hours. Given that the man had a new baby it was entirely possible.

“Ren. Any change?” The head of the Omega Sector Critical Response Division skipped all formal greetings.

“Nothing. And no sign that she’s going to do anything anytime soon. We need to prod her into action. Watching just isn’t cutting it.”

“I’ve had Brandon Han and Andrea Gordon-Han working on this. They’re both pretty adamant that Natalie may be a victim, not an accomplice.”

Ren glanced at the house again. Quiet. Almost deathly still. “Maybe.” He doubted it. “But either way she’s our best shot.”

“There’s something else you should know. Six of the canisters in law enforcement offices around Atlanta have gone missing.”

Ren’s muttered curse under his breath was foul. Saul Poniard, the traitor inside Omega Sector who had been working with Freihof, had planted biological weapons in law enforcement offices throughout the country. He’d come within seconds of releasing them all and killing tens of thousands of law enforcement personnel two weeks ago.

“I thought we’d gotten all the canisters back into safe hands?”

“Finding them all has been more tricky than we anticipated. These were scheduled for pickup. And they were picked up and signed for, just not by the agents who were supposed to get them.”

Ren cursed again. Six canisters of the biological contaminants was enough to take out half a city.

“The icing on the cake?” Steve continued. “Signed for by a D. Freihof. Bastard didn’t even try to hide it, Ren. And we got an affirmative ID on him from a traffic cam in South Carolina. I’ve got some of my best agents there now.”

Freihof with biological weapons was damn near the scariest thing Ren could imagine.

“We move tomorrow, Steve. We can’t wait any longer. I know it’s a complicated operation, but it’s our best bet.”

“Roger that. You still want Brandon and Andrea to talk to her? Keep you out of the picture? If so, I’ll send them out in a couple of hours. They can be at Natalie’s doorstep by this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Ren could feel all the details of the plan floating around in his mind. “I’ll watch from the surveillance truck. And I’ll have everything ready. If this plays out the way I think it will, Natalie Freihof will be running into my arms soon enough.”

Chapter Two

Natalie was getting home from work at two o’clock in the afternoon rather than two o’clock in the morning. Only seven hours of work rather than fourteen. She smiled wryly as she put the key into the lock of the beach house door. Practically a vacation.

And damn it, she was going to enjoy the beach. This house. Not let it make her feel panicked and trapped like last night. The sun was shining outside and she was going to revel in it. She’d fight the darkness tonight when it arrived.

She dropped the smaller backpack, the one she took with her everywhere, on the ground inside the bedroom door and opened the larger one resting next to it. She hadn’t unpacked any of her clothes here at the beach house, but then again, she didn’t have anything unpacked even when she stayed in her apartment. She’d trained herself to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

And if she was tempted even for a second to let her guard down, to unpack and get comfortable, all she had to do was stretch her arms out over her head and feel the ache in her shoulder from where Damien had dislocated it not once but twice during their marriage.

Or go up on her tippy toes and feel that one ankle couldn’t support her because of how it had broken when she’d fallen down the stairs, courtesy of her husband’s shove.

Burn marks on the inside of her arm. Scars from restraints on her wrists and ankles.

And the fact that she still couldn’t stand the snow.

Snow would haunt her until the day she died.

She ripped off her cleaning uniform of khaki pants and solid navy polo shirt, threw them over the back of the couch and put on a tank top and shorts. Damn it, Damien wasn’t here. Couldn’t hurt her. There was no snow. There was only California sunshine and a view of the beautiful Pacific Ocean. He would not steal this from her like he’d stolen so much. She would sit out on the deck and do nothing.

She was successful at that for all of ten minutes.

The knock on the door had her bolting from her lazy sprawl in the hammock, her heart a hammer against her ribs. She looked at the front door, then at the stairs that led from the deck down to the street below. Should she run?

Her backpack was still inside. If she ran, she would have to leave everything behind. Money. Clothes. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

The knock came again as she fought to decide what to do.

Damien wouldn’t knock. She calmed a little as the words flowed through her. If Damien had found her he would not be knocking politely at the door.

This wasn’t even her house. Chances were it was someone for the owners. Easy to get rid of. She walked inside to the front door, collecting herself.

As soon as she opened the door she knew she’d made a mistake.

Everything about the Asian man and smaller blonde woman, both dressed in carefully cut suits, screamed federal agents. Natalie should’ve chosen to take the stairs at the deck, to get out while she could. Leaving behind everything would’ve been better.

She forced herself to breathe at an even, normal pace. She eased the door more slightly closed, hoping if she needed to slam it and run she’d be able to.

“Can I help you?”

“Natalie?” The woman, four or five inches shorter than Natalie, with hair almost the same color blond, spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie said, avoiding the question. “This isn’t my house. I’m just house-sitting for a friend.”

Oh, crap, Natalie realized she didn’t really know anything about the owners. She had their names written down somewhere on the instructions Olivia had given her, but didn’t remember them offhand.

“But you’re Natalie, right?” the woman asked again softly. The man moved slightly closer to the woman, almost as if he was going to step in front of her to protect her if she needed it. Like Natalie was going to jump out at her kicking and clawing. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.

She had to stay calm. “I think you have me confused with someone else. Like I said, this isn’t my house, but I promise I’m not here illegally.” She inched the door farther closed.

The woman just reached down into her bag and pulled out a photograph, sticking it directly in front of Natalie’s face.

Fear closed around her throat. It was a shot of her and Damien on their wedding day, smiling at one another. Natalie’s hair had been much longer, her cheeks fuller, her smile genuine.

She felt the room begin to spin.

“Whoa, are you okay?” It was the man this time. He pushed the door open and grabbed Natalie’s arm before she could fall. “Just take a breath, all right? We just want to ask some questions.”

Natalie’s knees couldn’t hold her anymore and the guy helped lower her to a sitting position on the floor leaning back against the wall next to the door. Both he and the woman took advantage of Natalie’s moment of weakness to enter the house, closing the door behind them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Natalie said again. “This isn’t my house.”

The two people looked at each other, the man giving the woman a slight nod. Some sort of secret agent code, for sure. Then they both looked back at her, squatting down so they were closer to her, eye to eye.

“I’m Andrea,” the woman said. “And this is my husband, Brandon.”

No last names. No credentials. Natalie didn’t want to push, but at least they weren’t reading her her Miranda rights.

Of course, the afternoon was still young.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” Natalie finally responded. “I appreciate your help, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like I said, this isn’t my house and I had express instructions that I wasn’t to have anyone else here while the owners are away.”

“Just let us help you get over to the couch,” the man, Brandon, said. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”

If that would get them to leave, then great. “Fine.”

She took the hands both of them outstretched and rose. They walked her over to the couch, and she sat back down, feeling the shirt and pants she’d thrown over it rub against her back.

“Thanks. If you guys don’t mind seeing yourselves out, that would be great.” Natalie would be seeing herself out as soon as they were gone.

Out of the entire state.

“It’s obvious you don’t want to talk to us,” Andrea said, taking a seat in the chair across from Natalie, much to her dismay. “We’d just like you to listen for a few minutes.”

What could she do? Natalie nodded slowly.

“We’re trying to find Damien Freihof,” Brandon said, coming to stand next to his wife, still staying within a protective reach.

Natalie fought not to blanch, not to give anything away, when it was all she could do not to bolt. “I’m sorry. I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”

It was just as flimsy the third time, but it was all she had—hanging on to the possibility that they weren’t exactly sure who she was. Although the wedding picture was pretty damning.

But at least if they were looking for Damien, they hadn’t been sent by him.

“Falsifying a death report is illegal,” Brandon continued, but then stopped with just the slightest touch on his arm by Andrea.

Just a single touch. What would it be like to have someone respect you and care for you so much that the touch of fingertips communicated something both ways? Something Brandon obviously respected.

Natalie had never had that in her entire life.

“It’s imperative that we find Damien Freihof,” Andrea said. “Lives are at stake.”

Natalie just stared. She couldn’t help them even if she wanted to. She’d known better than to keep tabs on Damien—the man was near genius with a computer. He would’ve found out.

She shrugged. “I can’t help you.”

“Maybe we can help you,” Andrea continued. “Keep you safe, if that’s part of your concerns.”

Natalie just shrugged again.

“We’re talking about more than just Brandon and me, of course,” Andrea continued. “An entire team. A very strong group of people who would help you.”

For just a second Natalie wanted to cave, to find out more, to trust someone so she wouldn’t have to live in fear all the time. But she squashed it down. She couldn’t trust anyone. All she could do was run.

Because the truth was, if these people had found her, Damien could, too. She needed to get them out of here.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know I look a lot like that woman in the picture. Quite the doppelgänger.” She gave a laugh that sounded fake even to her own ears. “But that’s not me. I can see how you would think that it is, but it’s just not. I’ve never been married.”

She stood up and walked toward the massive kitchen that was open to the living room, gripping the island to try to steady herself. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve got appointments and stuff scheduled for this afternoon. So I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

What was she going to do if they didn’t leave? Threaten to call the police? Natalie wasn’t capable of that kind of bluff.

“Falsifying your own death is illegal,” Brandon said again. Natalie just stared at him unflinchingly.

Her choice had been between faking her own death or eventually ending up actually dead. She had no doubt the course she’d been on with Damien would’ve led to her eventual death.

So no matter how crappy her life was now, how many jobs she had to work to survive, how many sticky notes she had to put on windows to convince herself she was safe and how accusingly this law enforcement agent looked at her now...she’d definitely made the right choice.

“I’m sure it is, Officer...”

The two looked at each other again, secret agent code with some husband/wife telepathy thrown in. They got up and walked closer to her in the kitchen, where she was filling a cup with water from the tap.

“My name is Brandon Han,” he finally said. “I’m an agent with Omega Sector’s Critical Response Division.”

They were both staring at her as if this would cause some big reaction. Natalie had no idea what they were talking about. She’d never heard of Omega Sector and wasn’t about to ask any questions.

They were cops. They could bring to light the fact that she was still alive, if they hadn’t already. And maybe she might do a year or two in prison for faking her death, but that would be nothing compared to what she would face after she got out.

“Okay, Agent Han. I’m still not who you think I am. I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I’m still going to need to ask you to leave.”

“Omega Sector can protect you,” Agent Han continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We can make sure the slate is wiped clean. No jail time for you for falsifying. If there is something else, we can maybe make a deal for that, too.”

Something else? What the hell else illegal did they think she’d done? Maybe they were talking about taxes or something. That could add up to more jail time.

Which would still be safer than being out on the streets if Damien knew she was alive. God, she had to get out of here. The panic was crawling all over her body, slimy and slick. She couldn’t get rid of it. Just needed to get out of here. Right. Now.

“Please go.” She forced the hoarse words past her throat and nearly buckled in relief when they turned toward the door without further argument. Brandon reached into his pocket and grabbed a card. Natalie took it, although she never planned to even so much as glance at it again.

“Call us if anything changes,” Brandon said as Natalie opened the door and allowed them to walk through. “Anything. At any time. And especially if you happen to see Damien Freihof. And remember, the earlier you get us information, the better it will go for you. Deals for keeping you out of prison are only good when they help both sides.”

“I’m still not your person. Sorry.” She smiled in as friendly a manner as she could manage.

She was closing the door behind them when at the very last second Andrea stopped her with a hand on the door. It was only open a crack and Natalie had stepped behind it so she couldn’t see them. She considered just shutting it until she heard Andrea’s words.

“Damien Freihof got remarried to someone else two years after his wife Natalie died. Because no body for Natalie was ever identified, he was required to file for divorce before he could remarry. So no matter what, according to state laws, his marriage with Natalie is null and void even if she magically reappeared alive somewhere.”

Marriage was null and void. Natalie gripped the door, barely able to contain a sob.

“Call us, Natalie. We want to help.” Andrea took the pressure off the door and it slid shut, leaving Natalie alone. She turned and slid her back all the way down the wood until she reached the ground, tears streaming out of her eyes.

She wasn’t married to Damien anymore. No matter what, she wasn’t married to him.

Until this moment she’d had no idea that had even been a concern, but now she realized it had been a huge one. That if she was discovered alive she’d be returned to her husband. The man who had abused her for years.

But that would never happen because they weren’t married anymore. She took a shuddery breath, pulling that fact deep into her soul. Damien would never be her husband again.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill her if he found her.

She got up off the ground. She had to get going right now.

Because lack of an official piece of paper calling them married was not going to stop Damien from hunting her if he found out she was alive. California was no longer safe.

She needed to run.

Chapter Three

“Did you get what you needed?” Brandon asked as he and Andrea stepped into the surveillance van that was parked farther down the block from the beach house.

Ren shrugged. “I didn’t get a location on Freihof, so not exactly.”

He’d had both audio and partial video of Andrea and Brandon’s discussion with Natalie. The questioning had gone down like he’d expected it would: without any cooperation from her.

“Maybe we should’ve pushed harder,” Brandon said, sitting in the van’s only other seat and pulling his wife onto his lap.

“No.” Ren shook his head, glancing at the feed they had of the front of the house. “We needed to keep the situation open. Make Natalie think that she has options, can still get word to Freihof if she wants to. Maybe run to him and both of them flee the country.”

Whatever she did, they would be watching.

“I don’t think she’s working with him,” Andrea said. “I should’ve brought up the not-married aspect earlier. That was key, I realize now. If I had been able to see her when I said that, I’d be able to tell a lot more about her.”

Andrea was a gifted behavioral analyst. Her abilities to read people’s nonverbal cues were uncanny.

“Do you think she was upset that she’s not legally married to him anymore?”

She gave a small shrug. “I don’t know for sure, since I wasn’t able to see her. But the news definitely affected her. Her knuckles were white in her grip and she stopped pushing on the door because she wanted to hear what I had to say.”

“She could’ve been upset because Freihof hadn’t told her about the divorce. Any wife would be pretty miffed to get that news.”

Andrea nodded. “That’s possible, certainly.”

Ren studied her. “But you don’t think so.”

Brandon curled his arm around his wife in support. Out of everyone in Omega Sector, these two had had the most contact with Damien Freihof. Freihof had written letters to Andrea while in prison, then had come after her once he’d escaped.

“Freihof is obsessive. Controlling,” Brandon said. “Hell, the man once saved Andrea’s life just because he wanted to kill her himself.”

Andrea nodded, leaning into Brandon. “Freihof is a master puppeteer. He’s been collecting people who have some sort of gripe with Omega for months. Inciting them to violence. Getting them to do his dirty work for him. Or at least trying to.”

The number of people connected to Omega who had been hurt or killed by either Freihof or one of his puppets over the last few months had been pretty staggering. Omega was still reeling. It was the reason Ren was on this case personally.

“Agreed.” Ren nodded. “But what does this mean with Natalie? She didn’t even admit to being Natalie Freihof much less give any info on him.”

“There’s something we’re missing,” Andrea said. “Honestly, I’m not sure exactly what it is, but I know it’s important. We don’t have all the information.”

Ren didn’t need all the information to make his move. “It doesn’t matter. Your presence shook her up. She’ll do something now. Hopefully lead us directly to her not-husband husband.”

Andrea tilted her head to the side. Ren could feel her studying him. Gauging his nonverbal behavior. “And if she doesn’t know where he is? If she’s been dead all this time to get away from him?”

“She’s been running three businesses without anyone even knowing she’s alive. She’s either one hell of a businesswoman or she’s doing it for Freihof.”

Andrea shrugged again. “All I’m saying is that we’re missing pieces of information. Important pieces.”

“That’s why I’m going to be ready for anything. She’s going to run. Hopefully trying to get somewhere where she thinks it’s safe to contact Freihof. Where she’s forced to contact Freihof. We’re just going to make sure we control that spot when she does.”

“And if she really doesn’t know where he is? If she’s been trying to stay away from him all this time? Hide from him?”

Highly unlikely, but Ren was willing to consider it. “Then we go to plan B. If she can’t take us to Freihof, then we use Freihof’s obsession to get him to come to her.”

“That may be risking her life,” Andrea said quietly.

“Natalie is a criminal here. Let’s not forget that. She could’ve gone to law enforcement if she wanted to get away from her husband. It’s much more likely that the two of them have been in on this together the whole time. That Freihof is trusting her to run her businesses to get him money.”

“She didn’t recognize Omega Sector at all when we mentioned who we were with,” Brandon said. “Even I could tell that, and I’m not nearly as gifted at reading people. If she’s working with Freihof, he’s keeping huge chunks of information from her.”

Or maybe she was just a much better liar than they were giving her credit for. Trained by Freihof to completely school her nonverbal reactions so they couldn’t read her. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is we’re out of time, especially now that Freihof has those canisters. We shook things up, caught Natalie unaware. That’s good. Now I suspect that tonight or early tomorrow she’s going to make a break for it. We watch carefully and—”

Ren’s words were cut off by Brandon’s muttered curse. He pointed at the screen. “Actually, looks like she’s already on the run.”

The screen showed Natalie, the small backpack she always carried over one shoulder and a larger one over the other, already on the move, coming out her front door.

“Damn it, I wasn’t expecting her to move that fast. Get Lillian Muir on the phone and tell her to get in place down at the bus station.”

Andrea stood and grabbed her phone.

“There weren’t any calls from the house phone or the taps would’ve automatically turned on,” Ren said. “She must have already had an emergency plan in place. Which doesn’t strengthen the case for her being an innocent party.”

“Unless she’s just that scared,” Brandon reasoned.

“Lillian will be at the downtown bus station in fifteen minutes,” Andrea said, disconnecting the call. “It might be cutting it a little close if Natalie goes straight there, but Lillian should make it.”

“Good. Muir is a good choice. If you don’t know her, her size helps her come across as very nonthreatening. Natalie will respond to the suggestion more easily.”

They needed to direct Natalie’s path without making her suspicious.

“Brandon and I want to stop Freihof more than anyone,” Andrea said, staring at him. “Trust me, I can still feel the explosives he strapped around my neck. So I hope you can get what you need from Natalie, Ren. And in a lot of ways I hope you’re right and she is working with Freihof.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Because if not, we’re about to ruin an innocent woman’s life.”

* * *

NATALIE HAD BEEN taking the bus from the Santa Barbara oceanfront to downtown since she started house-sitting two weeks ago. She’d always been cautiously aware of anyone around her.

Now she was downright suspicious.

Were some of these people cops? Were they following her? Did they work for that Omega-whatever that Brandon and Andrea mentioned?

Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her, which she hoped was a good sign. Maybe she had gotten out faster than the cops had expected. She’d grabbed her bug-out bag and left.

That was the point of a bug-out bag, right? So you could bug-out the instant you needed to.

Her bag wasn’t a true survivalist kit, but it had changes of clothes, all her spare cash, some nutrition bars and a bottle-size water filtration system. It even contained a high-end sleeping bag that folded into the size of a bowling ball, but only weighed a pound and a half. She’d balked at the price at the time, but now took comfort in knowing that if she needed to walk or hitchhike out of California, she could. Although her paints would have to go if she did that, which she hated to even consider, hoping to one day get the courage to use them again.

But there was no way she was staying here, even though she was losing her only means of employment. There had to be somewhere she could go where law enforcement wouldn’t find her. She wasn’t a violent criminal. Her picture wasn’t going to show up on some Most Wanted list at the post office.

But she wanted to get as far away from here as possible. She would start heading to the East Coast—Boston or New York or Atlanta—somewhere where she could get lost in the crowd.

Flying was out since that required an ID, but she was hoping to get a jump on her escape by catching the first bus out. Hopefully it would take a day or two before the agents came back—and Natalie had no doubts they’d be back—and discovered she was gone.

Fifteen minutes after she left the beach house she was stepping off the bus in downtown Santa Barbara. The bus station, pretty tiny and nondescript, was another quarter mile down the main drag, far enough away from the tourist section to not be an eyesore.

The station was really just a large room with a series of benches and hard plastic chairs, and a small office where the ticket seller sat behind a glassed-in counter. The room was empty and the man working behind the counter was reading a magazine.

The first thing she needed to decide was where she wanted to go. But honestly, she didn’t care. She would just see what was available.

“Can I help you?” the guy asked without looking up from his magazine as Natalie stepped up to the counter.

The door opened behind him. “Hey, George. Need you out here.”

George turned from Natalie. “What? Who are—”

“The main office is on the line and some bigwig asked for you by name.” The dark-haired woman in her midthirties, wearing the same uniform as George, walked into the small office and squeezed his shoulders, obviously urging him to stand. “Dude, just go. Rick’s got the call on hold in his office. He sent me in here to relieve you.”

George just looked confused. “But who are—”

The woman glanced over at Natalie and rolled her eyes with a look that screamed, Men. Am I right? “George, honey, I don’t know who it is. But I’m thinking promotion, so just go.”

George stood. “Yeah, okay. A promotion would be good. Um, you’re okay here?”

The woman rolled her eyes again before shooing him out. “No need to mansplain it. Lily’s got it handled.” Once George was out the back door, Lily turned back around to Natalie. “Okay! What can I do for you now that we’ve got the dead weight out of the room?” She winked at Natalie again.

Despite the panic crushing down on her, Natalie had to smile at the pocket-size woman who’d handled George so deftly.

“I need a ticket.”

“That I can do. Where’re you headed and when do you want to go there? We’ve got some great sales coming up next week if you want to go north.”

“No, next week won’t work. I know it will cost me more, but I need to go today.”

Lily smiled. “No problem. Where to?”

“What are my options?”

“We have daily buses that go to Los Angeles, San Francisco and Las Vegas. From any of those you can get to just about anywhere. Where are you ultimately trying to get to?”

Natalie shifted back and forth, finding it difficult to look the friendly woman in the eye. “East Coast. Honestly, anywhere. But I was thinking Atlanta or maybe Philadelphia. I just need to get out of here today.”

“I see. Well, do you prefer Atlanta over Philadelphia?”

Atlanta would be less cold and didn’t tend to get snow. “Sure. Atlanta. But just...it’s important that I leave as soon as possible.”

Lily nodded, a little more solemn. “Okay, hon. Let me see what I can find.”

Natalie waited as Lily began typing. After a few moments, a frown marred her forehead and a minute after that she began to grumble.

“Is there a problem?” Natalie finally asked.

“There’s a California drivers’ strike affecting buses from both LA and San Francisco. So neither of those are available for the next few days.”

“Okay. What about Vegas?”

Lily nodded. “I’m checking that now.”

The woman’s fingers flew along the keyboard. Her grimace didn’t reassure Natalie. “Completely full until Saturday. I’m so sorry, honey. What about flights? I know our municipal airport isn’t much, but they have some flights. Or renting a car?”

Natalie could feel the panic clawing up inside her again. Neither of those would work; both required identification that would put her in the system, making note of where she started and where she ended.

To her utter dismay she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. God, she could not lose it in the middle of this tiny busy station. She just needed to get out. She would hitchhike or walk.

“No, that won’t work. Thanks for your help,” she muttered, trying to wipe her eyes before the tears fell.

She was almost to the door when Lily called out. “Hang on there a second, hon, do you have any problems with trains?”

Natalie stopped and turned slowly. “Trains?”

Lily motioned for her to come back to the window and she did. “Look, you can’t mention this to anyone here, and we need to handle it before George gets back from his big promotion or whatever.”

“The bus station sells train tickets?”

She shook her head. “No, but we have access to information and ticketing about flights and trains in case of emergencies. Normally I wouldn’t even mention it, but since you need to leave today and can’t get out on a bus...”

“I didn’t even know there were trains around here.”

“Yeah, this one is a little weird. It’s actually a freight train, but it has one passenger car. Sells up to twelve seats that can recline for sleeping. It’s no frills...you have to bring food or grab some at the scheduled stops. One shared bathroom. But it’s not too bad. My cousin took it a couple months ago—she’s afraid of flying—and enjoyed it. Goes from here to Saint Louis. Takes four days.”

A train. Natalie had never even thought of that possibility.

“What would I need to get a ticket?”

“Just cash or a credit card, just like a bus ticket.” Lily quoted the price, which wasn’t much more than a bus. “It only runs on Wednesdays, so you’re pretty lucky. But if you’re really trying to get out of here today, it sounds like it’s your best bet. As long as you don’t mind not having many people to talk to.”

“Actually, that sounds kind of perfect. I just need some time to myself.”

Lily grinned. “Every woman does at one time or another, sweetie.”

Within five minutes Lily had printed her a ticket and given her directions to the train station. Natalie had to walk quickly to grab a sandwich and snacks at the grocery store and make it to the south side of town in time for departure. She was pretty nervous when she arrived at the train yard, hoping she hadn’t made a huge mistake. But an employee pointed her in the right direction and a few minutes later she was climbing into the passenger car with just five minutes to spare.

She could barely believe her luck. It was perfect. Wide seats in groups of four—two each facing each other—with a table in the middle. They would be much more comfortable than the cramped constraints of a bus. Plus large windows where she’d be able to see as they crossed the country. There were three groups of seats, and Natalie’s ticket was for one of the empty groups. Even better. Maybe no one else would get on.

There were only three other passengers. Across the aisle was an older woman reading a book and a younger man in a hoodie with headphones on sitting across from her. Natalie shifted so she could see the seats behind her.

Her breath caught in her throat at the man sitting in the seat. He looked up from the papers and computer on the table in front of him to glance out the window as a whistle blew, giving Natalie a view of his carved jaw and strong chin. His brown hair was thick and full, a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it.

She knew she was staring but couldn’t quite help herself. There was a ruggedness about his face that drew her. He looked away from the window, catching her ogling, his green eyes pinning hers. Before she could look away with embarrassment, he nodded slightly, then resumed the reading of his papers.

At that moment the train gave a little jerk as it started forward. Natalie took her seat and watched out the window as she left Santa Barbara behind.

No one knew she was here. No one knew where she was going.

Then why did she feel like she was in more danger than ever?

Chapter Four

Lillian Muir deserved an Oscar. Ren had watched as the woman quite deftly handled George even though Natalie had beat her to the bus station by a couple of minutes. If Lillian hadn’t been able to get George out of the office she would’ve never been able to lie to Natalie about all the buses and get her on this train.

Score one for Omega Sector. And given how Lillian Muir didn’t usually do undercover—she was a kick-ass SWAT team member who could kill any given person a dozen different ways with her tiny bare hands—she truly had been amazing. The perfect blend of friendly and business that had sold Natalie on this venture.

A venture that wouldn’t have even been an option without the funding of Joe Matarazzo, another member of Omega Sector who also happened to be a multimillionaire. Joe wanted Freihof caught and behind bars so he and his pregnant wife could live in peace without worrying that they were next in line for a madman to attack. Funding this little field trip had been a no-brainer for Joe.

They’d been on the train nearly thirty-six hours. Natalie had kept to herself all of that time, mostly just staring out the window. The other two people in the car were both Omega personnel. The older woman, Madeline, was a retired agent who now worked as an analyst. The younger guy was Philip Carnell, not Ren’s first choice, but he was someone who wanted Freihof off the streets pretty badly after getting stabbed a few weeks ago by one of the villain’s cronies.

Natalie hadn’t spoken to either of them. And, after looking at Ren that one time as the train left Santa Barbara, hadn’t interacted with him, either. Not that he’d expected her to be the life of the party.

The train had stopped once at its scheduled point, east of Las Vegas. Everyone had gotten out and bought food and any supplies they needed. Agents had been following Natalie discreetly in case she bolted, but she’d actually been the first one back on the train.

They hadn’t gotten very far before Philip, still dressed in a hoodie, swung casually across the aisle and sat right next to Natalie. Ren leaned a little toward them so he could see what was happening more clearly. She had already stiffened and was leaning away from Philip, not looking at him at all.

Exactly what they had been hoping for when they’d come up with the plan of Philip turning on the obnoxious.

“Hey, you want some of my sandwich?” He was barely understandable over his chewing.

“No, thank you.” Natalie didn’t look away from the window. “I bought food at the stop.”

Philip just leaned in closer and waved the sub sandwich in front of her face. “Are you sure? It’s really good.”

“No, I just want to be left alone.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Philip whined, slurring his words a little as though he’d been drinking. “It’s getting dark. There’s nothing to look at out the window. Why don’t you talk to me instead? I’m tired of sitting by that old lady. Tell me a little about yourself.”

Ren could see Natalie growing stiffer with every word. She didn’t respond to Philip, just kept staring out the window.

“All I want to do is chat,” he continued. “We’ve got a long way to Saint Louis. Just talk to me.”

She finally glanced at him before immediately moving her gaze back to the window. “I’m not interested in talking. I just want to be left alone.”

“Really?” Philip sneered. “You think you’re too good to talk to me, is that it? Well, that’s okay, I can just stay here and get close to you. How about that?”

Natalie’s spine was ramrod straight as Philip drew closer. She was all but pressed up against the window, but Ren caught a glimpse of one little fist tightening into a ball. He wondered what she would do if he wasn’t about to intervene for the sake of the mission. He almost wanted to find out.

“Just leave me alone.”

“I’m not talking about anything crazy, baby, unless you’re interested in a little alone time in the bathroom or something like that.” Philip leaned even closer.

That was Ren’s cue.

He stood and crossed over to their seats. “Look, I think the lady has made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Natalie peeked up at him, concern flashing in her blue eyes. Philip just kept staring at her. “Step back, man. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Considering how small this train car is and that you’re a little drunk and pretty loud, I think it does have to do with me.”

Philip snickered. “Fine. We’ll be quiet. Won’t we, sweetheart?”

He reached toward Natalie and she flinched. Ren found it took much less acting than he’d thought to reach over and grab Philip’s wrist and yank it backward away from her.

“Dude!”

Without effort, Ren bent Philip’s arm into a position that wouldn’t take more than a flick of his wrist to break it. “I’m pretty sure the lady doesn’t want you to touch her.” Color had leached from her face. “Is that right, ma’am?”

She nodded.

Ren released Philip’s arm, and slapped him on the shoulder almost good-naturedly. “Why don’t we just get one of the train officials to come back here and sort out the seating arrangement?”

If possible, Natalie’s face lost even more color. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m just not interested in talking to anyone.”

Ren looked at Philip. “Why don’t you just go on back to your assigned seat? Like she said, she’s not here for conversation.”

“I don’t think it’s fair that you both get your own sets of seats and I have to share with the old lady,” Philip whined.

Ren glanced over at Natalie, who was still looking like she wanted to find some way to jump off the moving train, then back to Philip, who was doing a pretty damned good job of staying on script.

“Why don’t you take my seat for a while? That way you’ll have your own set and can spread out and get comfortable.” His eyes flickered to Natalie. “I’ll sit here if that’s okay since I have work to do and am not looking for any conversation. Would that be okay?”

She looked back and forth between him and Philip. She didn’t like it, he could tell. But when her eyes rested on Philip it was in distaste. When they rested on him it was in...fear.

Either he was projecting his intent in some way he wasn’t aware of, or Natalie was very astute. Regardless, he was going to need to handle her with the utmost care if he was going to get her to trust him.

“Um...” She bit on her lip.

Ren gave her a friendly smile. “I understand. Just hang on a second and let me make a call up to the conductor.” There was a phone near the front of the car that allowed passengers to make calls to the train officials if needed. Train officials that were all, for the most part, Omega Sector agents for this journey. “We can get this sorted out so you don’t have to worry.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, it’s fine. If you don’t mind giving up your seat, it would be fine with me if you sit here.”

Ren raised an eyebrow at Philip. “Okay with you?”

Philip looked over at Natalie and shrugged. “Your loss.” Then got up and sauntered over to Ren’s seats.

Philip winked at Ren as he followed him and grabbed his stuff. Ren gave the younger man a little nod. So far, everything was going as planned. Hopefully Ren’s gesture of help would soften Natalie slightly toward him.

A few moments later he had his papers and laptop in hand and moved to the set of seats facing Natalie. He chose the seat near the aisle so both of them could stretch their legs without hitting each other.

She gave him a soft smile. Looking at her like this for the first time—not a photograph of her or through a recording device—Ren was almost struck dumb by her beauty. Straight blond hair that was in a braid that fell over her shoulder, wide crystal-blue eyes.

Lips so full and pouty they made him forget for a moment that she was most likely working with a man who had killed multiple innocent people and planned to continue.

No matter how angelic she looked—whatever air of innocence and fragility she gave off—Ren could not forget she was the enemy.

He smiled at her. “I promise, no talking.”

She gave a little laugh. “You don’t have a sandwich you’re going to wave in my face, do you?”

“No, left all my sandwich weapons at home.”

“Ah, hope we’re not ambushed, then, or else you won’t be much help.” She gestured toward his computer. “I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks again for the rescue.”

She turned back to the window but Ren could see her checking him out in the reflection. And once it got dark she didn’t have the excuse to stare out it anymore. She just sat there for a long time, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you not get cell coverage on your phone out here?” he finally asked. He could understand if she didn’t want to contact Freihof, but surely there was something more interesting to do than just stare at her hands.

Her eyes flew to his. “I’m sorry?”

“People are on their phones all the time. It’s unusual to see someone without one these days. I thought maybe yours just doesn’t have coverage.”

She shifted a little in her seat. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. No coverage.”

“No games or anything? E-reader?”

She shifted again, looking away. “My phone...isn’t working right. So, not having coverage doesn’t matter. And it’s not much use for anything else.”

He gave her his friendliest smile. “Going to be a long trip without anything to do. Or maybe you just prefer paper books?”

That got him a real smile. “Actually, I love paper books. But I didn’t have a chance to buy any before I left.”

“Sudden trip or are you like me, a last-minute packer?”

She relaxed just the slightest bit. “A little of both, I guess. Wasn’t planning on taking the train, but the bus was full.”

Ren nodded. “Yeah, the strike. What a mess.” He shut his computer, watching to see if she would tense and turn away, pleased when she didn’t. “I suppose you’re going to mock me now.”

Those blue eyes flew to his. “I am? Why?”

“Because of my fear of flying. I just can’t stand the thought of being in an airplane. Therefore, my life involves a lot of buses, driving or, in this case, trains.”

“What do you do?”

“I have a sheep and dairy farm in Montana.”

Damn it, where the hell had that come from? A small auto parts store owner in Saint Louis. That was supposed to be his cover, something nondescript and not very memorable.

Why the hell had he told her the truth? He did have a sheep and dairy farm in Montana. His parents and brother lived and worked there. Ren had been itching to get back there himself.

But he definitely had not been planning to tell his suspect about it.

“Oh, wow, like cows and sheep?” She sounded a little excited before laughing harshly at herself. “Of course cows and sheep. I’m an idiot.”

“Nah, don’t say that. But yes, cows and sheep. We sell wool to some boutique stores out in California and across the country.”

Damn it, more truth. But he was committed to it now, so he’d have to stick with it.

“That’s pretty interesting. I’ve always loved animals, but...”

Only when it became obvious she wasn’t going to finish did he prompt her. “But what?” he asked gently.

She looked back out to the blackened window for the longest time. “But having a pet or being around them just never worked out for me.”

“Did you know that during WWI President Woodrow Wilson had a flock of sheep trim the White House lawn?”

She laughed, then looked surprised by the sound. “You’re making that up.”

“I’m not, Scout’s honor.” She liked animals? That he could give her. “My family got into sheep and dairy farming because my mother loved animals and couldn’t stand the thought of slaughter. So sheep and dairy cows it became.”

He told her some more entertaining stories about growing up with his brother on the farm, about getting chased around by chickens when he was a toddler and how his brother, Will, had thought that black sheep were dirty and tried to wash one when he was young.

And damned if he hadn’t used Will’s real name. A pretty common name, but still.

By the time he’d finished she almost looked like a completely different person. Her face was more relaxed, unguarded. Her long legs were tucked up under her as she’d turned to the side to listen to him, head against her seat, playing with the braid over one shoulder.

Every time he’d stopped telling a story, tried to get the conversation turned back to her, she’d asked another question about his life. Some downright insightful.

Had his father considered becoming a large-animal vet at one time? Yes, until he’d realized he wanted to own his animals and farm.

Did his mother ever knit them anything from a particular sheep they’d loved? Yes. Ren still had a sweater she’d made him from a sheep he’d once carried home after it had broken its leg.

Had he and his brother both reached a point where they’d felt trapped by the farm and wanted to get away?

That one wasn’t as easy to answer. Yes, Ren had left just after high school, deciding he’d preferred the excitement of joining the army than staying there any longer. The army had fast realized his ability to pick up new skills quickly, as well as his natural strength and intelligence. They’d fast-tracked him into special forces.

Ren had loved the army but had gotten out after six years when he was approached to start a special law enforcement task group that would be made up of the best agents and ex-soldiers the country had to offer. He’d birthed Omega Sector. And had been fighting bad guys ever since.

Like the bad guy sitting across from him now, with alabaster skin, her blue eyes drooping. She would’ve fooled him, he had to admit. If he hadn’t already known what she was capable of, he wouldn’t have believed it.

So yeah, he’d left the farm because it had made him feel trapped. Like nothing ever happened there. But he was beginning to realize how wrong that was. Maybe shootouts and arrests didn’t happen there, but life did.

Light did.

He’d been living in the darkness so long that light was starting to seem damn more appealing.

“You going to go to sleep there, Peaches?”

One eyebrow cocked. “Peaches?”

He shrugged. “Your skin. Just looks smooth, like peaches and cream. My mom used to make it for us.” Damn it, the truth. Again.

“Yeah, I’m a little tired. My name’s Natalie, by the way.”

He smiled. “I’m Warren Thompson, but generally go by Ren. Get some rest. I’ll make sure no one attacks you with a sandwich. We’ve got a long way to go.”

Plus, it would make it much easier for him to do what he was about to do if she was already out.

Her nod was full of trust, and just for a second guilt ate at Ren. It didn’t get any better when she tucked herself into a tighter ball on her seat a few minutes later, one small hand curled under her chin.

He forced the feelings away. He wasn’t dragging her into the darkness; she already lived there.

He just hoped he’d be able to find his way back to the light when this was all over. After what he had to do. Because the light had never seemed so far away.

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