“Maybe you need to let your guard down a little more,” Jonas said.

“G-Man, that’s what got me in this condition.” Lifting her gaze to meet his, Alyx added, “And look who’s talking—Mr. Ask Me No Questions So I Don’t Have To Spin Tall Tales.”

“I don’t recall you asking me anything that I couldn’t answer,” Jonas said.

“That’s because I wasn’t interested in classified information,” she countered.

“Why do you think I made all those trips down to Austin?” he asked.

“You said you were working on cases.”

“Over holidays? C’mon, Alyx. We spent every spare minute you had together. Didn’t that give you a clue to how I felt?”

In the reverberating silence Jonas suspected he’d gone too far. Sometimes there was nothing left to do but cut to the important thing. Clasping his hand to the back of her head, he claimed her mouth with his.

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Two characters that lingered in my mind from my last Special Edition novel, A Man to Count On, were Alyx Carmel, the divorce attorney and friend of heroine E. D. Martel, and FBI Special Agent Jonas Hunter, an old school friend of the hero, Judge Dylan Justiss. It was clear from the start that there was chemistry between Alyx and Jonas, but aside from their irresistible physical attraction, it seemed we were dealing with an oil-and-vinegar couple.

The more I thought about this couple the more I saw parallels to Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Both Alyx and Jonas have great professional pride and their perceptions of each other are weakly based on minimal information and experience. As fate would have it, the more they’re resolved not to reexamine those faulty perceptions, the more their paths cross, until they can’t help but be forced into seeing that while they differ on surface issues, they share important qualities and values that, given the chance, could enhance the passion they otherwise bring out in each other.

I hope you enjoy their journey of discovery and love, and as always, thank you for reading.

Warm regards,

Helen

The Last Man She’d Marry
Helen R. Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

HELEN R. MYERS,

is a collector of two-and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep—an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA® Award nominee, winning for Navarrone in 1993.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

A bad day wasn’t the half of it.

Alyx Carmel didn’t speak the words out loud, but the first strains of a current pop tune all but mimicked her as it blared through the audio system of Mesa Rehab-Fitness Center. She clenched her teeth and released the handles of the resistance machine she’d been working on. While the machine swooshed, then thudded to a rest position, she considered hunting down the stereo system, wondering how much it would cost to replace the annoying thing, since she was of a good mind to toss it through the nearest window.

Yes, she was having a bad day, year, life. All that was needed to propel her over the edge was another glass-half-full dose of mind-numbing music and she would challenge any court to hold her responsible for her behavior.

“Come on, Alyx, you have to try a little harder.”

The girlish voice belonged to none other than blond, ponytailed Sharleigh Moss, a California transplant, who retained the tan to look the part, although by her own admission Shar avoided actual sunlight more than an Ann Rice vampire. Alyx had to admit that the instructor knew her equipment, but her obvious hunt for a man to rescue her from the need of a paycheck was as insulting to Alyx as her voice was annoying.

And one more thing, she fumed to herself without generosity: how could anyone operating a business in a geographic location advertised to be as harmonious and spiritual as Sedona, Arizona, let this fuse-busting lady longlegs run a rehab center like some kind of torture chamber?

Increasingly irritated with the trainer-therapist, who had just excused the man with the barely bandaged knee from finishing his quota of leg pumps, Alyx strained to sit up. “No, actually, I don’t have to try harder. I have to protect myself because it’s clear there’s no one else watching out for my well-being but me.”

Her injuries might not be immediately visible, but if she ripped open the neckline of her T-shirt to look like some cover models, everyone in the room would probably gag. With that certainty embittering her, Alyx pushed away Shar’s extended hand and pushed herself to her feet.

“Was that necessary?”

The way she glanced around self-consciously had Alyx wondering. She’s worried about her reputation. Shaking her head in weariness, she managed civility if not warmth. “I’ve been trying to tell you that the regimen you devised for me is too much. I can barely drive to the house at the end of the session, let alone function once I get there.”

“You’ve only been at this for a week. It’s always difficult in the beginning.”

Who cared? Alyx didn’t like to test her limits on anything except her mental prowess. The closest she came to being athletic was an occasional soak in a hot tub. Granted, she had started some yoga in the year before the attack, but that was for stress relief.

“I’m thirty-nine, not nineteen,” she reminded the twenty-something spa employee, “and I’m starting from scratch—just like your other clients.”

“I know you think I’m giving other patients preferential treatment, Alyx. But please consider this—you’re late in getting help. Odds are some damage is already permanent, which makes me the automatic bad guy. The harder I push early on, the greater progress we may achieve before fatigue has you seriously locking those mental brakes.”

“Good grief, you poor saint. I’ll just haul my insensitive self out of here to give you more time with people who are gluttons for punishment.”

As she began to rise, Sharleigh signaled caution with a raised hand.

“Look, I can take the sarcasm. In fact, I prefer it to those who kick or bite me. I’m just trying to impress upon you the great mistake it would be to give up.” Regaining some of her perkiness, Sharleigh tossed her gloss-enhanced ponytail over one shoulder before crossing her arms under her lemon-yellow sports bra. “Come on, help me out. I have a reputation to protect.”

For relief, Alyx visualized a pot of cooked cabbage dumped over the annoying kid’s head. Lukewarm, of course. “You haven’t lived long enough to have one.”

“Pardon me?”

Once upon a time in a courtroom, Alyx could have rendered Shar mute using a minimum of words. But she’d lost her stomach for those kinds of power plays. Rising, she leaned over and replied in a conspiratorial whisper, “I promise to keep it a secret that you wasted your time on me.”

Barely resisting the urge to massage the throbbing ache that ran from shoulder to wrist, Alyx decided her best bet was to head for the lockers and get out of here. A hot shower at the house would keep her from the temptation of popping pills or worse.

It was August now, seven months since the attack that fiercely cold January day in Austin, Texas, that had changed her life forever. Contrary to Shar’s opinion, she’d been trying to follow medical advice at home but was beginning to conclude that the pain wasn’t worth the lack of results. Her surgeon had been one of the tops in his field and he’d warned her about that, warned that some of the damage done by Doug Conroe, ex of her deceased client Cassandra Field Conroe, would probably be permanent. With her usual survivalist bravado, Alyx had assured him that she would be fine. After all, she was alive, while poor Cassandra was buried back in Austin, Texas; what’s more, her work didn’t entail anything more physical than carrying briefcases, climbing stairs in high heels, and punching the heck out of a BlackBerry. Considering the hours she billed, she’d told her doctor, she could afford to hire someone to handle everything but her vain commitment to wearing high heels. The doctor refused to be amused, and about ten days ago Alyx had stopped pretending.

She’d walked away from her practice, her home, from everything and almost everyone who had been part of her life. The timing had seemed ordained—her cousin, Parke Preston, an artist whose work graced an increasing number of hotels and restaurants in Sedona and elsewhere in the southwest—had been about to cancel out on an invitation to take a trip to Europe. Parke’s dilemma? She had no one to watch her home and beloved dog, a rescued greyhound named Grace. Although Alyx was no animal hugger, she and Grace were getting along better every day. Alyx wished she could have been as enthusiastic about Parke’s health club.

Once outside in the blazing Arizona sun, Alyx all but stopped in her tracks. The drier summer air had her wanting a bottle of water. She was used to a more humid environment back in Texas, thanks to the Gulf of Mexico frequently wafting moisture up into southern plains. In this higher elevation, man-size-cactus country, the environment was even less friendly to sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt over a sports bra after the sun rose. But it was her outfit of choice to hide her scars.

Maybe it was time to consider an adjustment, she allowed as she snatched her keys out of her bag and slung the straps over her good shoulder. Yet, although her leg cuts were all but healed, she still woke at night from spasms of pain. The doctor had assured her they were psychosomatic, ghost pains, and would ease in time. She was waiting and wondered—if they were wrong about that, what about the rest of her prognosis? At least she’d managed to wean herself off those tempting and addictive pain pills.

Wanting nothing more than to get to the house and take a soothing shower, she slipped on her sunglasses and nodded her thanks to the driver in a car that stopped to let her cross into the aisle where she’d parked Parke’s black SUV. Within minutes, she was at the exit of the strip mall ready to merge with traffic.

As usual, the town was already abuzz with activity, no surprise for such a tourist spot and spiritual haven. While some shops were welcoming early shoppers, many hikers had been well on their way up and down the multitude of trails winding through the valleys and up the cliffs that surrounded the community since before she’d first left the house. The rest—residents and longer-term visitors like herself—strove for patience navigating through all of that. About to zip past a tour bus, Alyx realized she was at the shopping center where Parke had directed her to buy groceries. Ducking back into the right lane, she heard the motorized equivalent of “the finger.” She had managed to press another native’s patience besides Sharleigh’s.

“Sorry, sorry!” Waving and cringing, Alyx turned into the parking lot and found a slot blessedly close to the market. All she had to do was get inside, find the produce section, and sack enough fruits and vegetables to guarantee a two-or three-day break from human contact, she thought. By then, surely she would have regrouped to where she could formulate plan B toward recovery without breaking into a cold sweat.

This time last year such pitiful reasoning would have made her snort “Wimp,” in disdain. Alyx Carmel afraid of the public and shunning mirrors? Alyx Carmel a shrinking violet? Her detractors would choke on their martinis in shock.

What a difference a year made.

She all but sighed in ecstasy upon finding the store virtually empty except for some clerks still restocking shelves. Alyx grabbed a red plastic basket instead of a wagon, and maneuvered around the stack of dried fruit to tug free a plastic bag for bananas. No sooner did she reach for a bundle than a strong, hair-covered masculine hand closed over hers.

Alyx recoiled as though stung by a scorpion. “Excuse me—”

“My fault. Guess we have the same good taste.”

A sleepy-eyed, whiskered man close to her own five foot eight took a shuffling step back and, offering a jocular smile, bowed with courtly charm for her to continue. “After you.”

“I didn’t see you,” Alyx said, disconcerted by her preoccupation. She could have sworn no one had been nearby, couldn’t even use the excuse that her vision had been hampered by sunglasses. She’d removed them the moment she’d nearly had a head-on collision with a soda machine by the entrance of the store.

“That’s what I get for charging around like the place was my own backyard,” the stranger said with a toss of his unkempt mane. “Go ahead, please. I’d rather watch a beautiful woman any day than deal with a shopping list.”

Oh, brother. Even if she hadn’t been in this vulnerable mood and he had been washed, never mind drop-dead gorgeous, Alyx would never fall for such a mediocre line. Casting him a thanks-but-no-thanks look, she grabbed at a decent-looking bunch of bananas on the far side of the display.

“There’s a bruised one on that,” the stranger said, leaning over her shoulder. “The next one behind it is better.”

Stiffening against the invasion of her personal space, Alyx hardened her voice. “But more than I wanted.”

“Hey, no wedding ring? Me, either,” he said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand before her face. “I’m Denny. Put back that crummy bunch and I’ll pick you a better one.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.” Ignoring his offer, she stepped around the man to get to the tomato display. Unfortunately, Denny soon proved himself to be the type not easily dissuaded.

“They’ve got decent coffee at the deli,” he said close on her heels. “Can I buy you a cup?”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Why not? You don’t look dressed to where you have to hurry back to work.”

Internal alarm bells sounded inside her. That was a subtle put-down if she’d ever heard one, and as a divorce attorney, she’d heard plenty—from personal attacks and from stories told by clients, spouses of masters of passive-aggressive behavior. What a cheap way to make a woman grateful for a man’s attention. All it did to Alyx, though, was to remind her of those wounded people she’d tried to help, people who had listened to such drivel for longer than was sane—or safe. Well, this lover boy was about to learn that he had made a poor choice if he was looking for his next doormat.

Giving him her most chilling look, she enunciated, “Let me make this as clear as possible—I. Am. Not. Interested.”

He shed her remark like water off a duck’s back. Beaming back at her, he asked, “Why not? You look like a nice person. I know I’m a nice person.”

“Who told you that, your mother? My hunch is she lied to get you to leave the nest.”

Denny laughed, but something in his gaze sharpened. “You’re tough.”

“You don’t want to find out how right you are.”

Giving him what Alyx hoped was her best courtroom ice-queen look, she snatched a bundle of vine-ripe tomatoes in a net bag. “Lettuce and milk,” she muttered to herself. Then she could put this nonsense behind her.

“Aw, now, tell me you aren’t a vegetarian?”

Was there a hidden TV camera catching all of this for some silly reality show? Alyx doubted she was that lucky. Either this character was honing some creepy method-acting muscles, or she had a stalker candidate on her hands. “Sir,” she intoned, “can you not take a hint?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” He shrugged as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’m a true-blue beef lover myself, but I can risk turf-and-surf as a change of pace if it means spending the evening with you.”

As her scalp started prickling, Alyx knew that if she didn’t get out of there, she would be facing a full-fledged panic attack. In desperation she looked for a market employee—naturally, they’d all vanished, either they had gone to different aisles or back into the warehouse for more supplies.

“Okay, Hard Time,” she said, turning on the man with grim determination. “Either go away or I call for the manager.”

“Shoot, he’s my uncle.”

It was all she could do not to gape. Why hadn’t Parke warned her about this great mental and physical lug? It sounded like this self-anointed Casanova was a regular fixture in the store.

Her cousin was the eye candy: coal-black hair inherited from Welsh ancestors, and piercing black eyes that could hint at a great soul, but didn’t apologize for temper when necessary. Truth be known, Alyx had coveted her dramatic coloring when they were kids—her own coloring had been teasingly called Welsh-light—and had emulated Parke more than once during tough cases when the situation warranted the Lone Ranger style of help-or-get-out-of-my-way approach. It had usually worked. She could use a dose of her cousin’s verbal strength now.

“Your uncle? What’s his name?” When Denny failed to answer, Alyx drew a deep breath and called, “Uncle of Denny! You’re needed in Produce!”

Denny’s smile flattened. “That wasn’t funny…or polite.”

“Neither is bothering women who don’t want your brand of special attention.”

She dropped the tomatoes into her basket with less care than they deserved, and strode out of the section; spotting the aisle sign for bread, she veered left. A third of the way down it, she had to sidestep a deliveryman pushing a tiered cart to restock shelves, then she grabbed the first loaf of oat-nut bread she came upon. In the next instant she was gasping with pain as a vise closed around her wounded upper arm and she was swung around.

“No!”

Training as much as instinct had Alyx shoving Denny away from her. Unfortunately, that sent him into the wheel-based tower of fresh bread. She watched in a mixture of fascination and dread as the surprised man triggered an avalanche of plastic trays full of baked goods. Denny ducked and dodged; then, growling with anger, he charged again.

Still swallowing against the pain in her upper arm, Alyx wrapped her good arm around the damaged one and dropped into a tight ball on the linoleum in the hope of escaping further injury. She heard a crash and looked up to see that this time Denny was being fully buried under trays and bread. Had she done that?

“Are you nuts? Hey, mister! Help get him out from under there!”

Blinking, Alyx saw Denny being hoisted by the collar out of the pile of bread and plastic like a scrappy pup, an impressive feat, considering the size of the guy. More amazing was that while her rescuer was taller than Denny, he was leaner—but what a great butt for jeans.

Wait a minute, she thought. I’ve had that response before.

“Get lost,” her hero snarled. “Pull that stunt again and so help me, I will drag your sorry backside through every cactus between here and Agave Ground Zero.”

Jonas?

Alyx stared in growing horror as the man with the silvering blond hair shoved a dazed Denny the rest of the way out of the aisle. By the time he turned to face her, she didn’t need to see his face for confirmation; every angle of him was imprinted in her mind—although her brain was feeling as if she’d just suffered the second concussion of her life.

Passing the slack-jawed deliveryman, Agent Jonas Hunter of the FBI squatted before her. “Are you okay?” he asked, frowning as his gaze swept over her face.

“What are you doing here?” It was a rude response, considering that he’d just rescued her from a guy who had been a serious handful. She should be hugging him with gratitude, but as the pain spasms eased, the one emotion she was aware of was dread, snowballing dread that felt as though it was about to crush her.

“Yeah. Small world.” He nodded at where only he knew she hurt and kept his next words low. “Can we get you to your feet and finish this conversation elsewhere? You look like you need fresh air—or a barf bag.”

Over his shoulder, Alyx saw that the bread guy was unsure as to whether to offer his assistance to her or run. For his sake more than anything, Alyx allowed Jonas to assist her to her feet.

“I appreciate what you did,” she said loud enough for the route salesman to hear.

For his part, Jonas’s gaze stayed on her. “Did he reinjure your shoulder? Do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

That rallied her spirit somewhat. “It would take a battalion of marines to get me to another of those,” she said with a pointed look. “I can live with a little soreness.”

Jonas snorted. “You’d carry your own limb into Emergency and chide the fainting internist for being a weenie.”

“Now who’s being overly dramatic?”

“Then let me point out there isn’t a drop of blood left in your face.”

She took a stabilizing breath. “I was startled. Now I’m fine. Speaking of which, where did my basket go?”

“I’ve got it.” He quickly scooped it up from between the trolley and shelves, then switched it to his other hand to keep it out of her reach. “Is there anything else you need? Why don’t you go sit in your car? I can finish for you. On second thought, let me escort you outside to make sure that guy isn’t waiting around the corner or something.”

He was being as considerate and kind as though they’d had breakfast together this morning and parted with a kiss, when, in fact, they hadn’t seen each other in months—seven to be exact. They also hadn’t parted well. The fault had been hers, but Alyx didn’t want to think about those days again, let alone deal with this. Then she reminded herself that Jonas was being the consummate professional; he wasn’t treating her with any special attention, he would do this for anyone.

She gestured for him to give her the basket. “Really, I can take it from here, but thank you for your kindness.” When he failed to comply, she stepped closer to take hold of one side and tugged gently. Had she been wrong about him? Well, she couldn’t let him prolong this; people were starting to collect at the end of the aisle and stare. “Please, Jonas.”

His frown remained quizzical. “Sorry. I’m still trying to get it—what are you doing here?”

He was surprised? So much for her first assumption that this was some kind of a romantic ploy of his making. As embarrassment sent a rush of heat into her cheeks, she scowled back at him and yanked. “You didn’t tell me, why should I tell you?” At least the tug succeeded in her taking possession of the basket.

“Stubborn woman.” He glanced at the gawkers, then offered a negligible shrug. “I’m helping a friend. Now you?”

“The same—only it’s a cousin.”

“Weak save.”

“Believe me or not, it makes no difference.”

He looked instantly regretful for his mockery, touched her arm, and nodded to indicate they should start toward the front of the store. “I want to understand,” he said under his breath as he fell in beside her. “I did from the first. You shut me out.”

Oh, no more, please. She so wanted not to have this conversation again. “I was doing you a favor. You had a job to get back to.”

“I would have been willing to take some extra time off.”

He’d never said that. At any rate he didn’t have the luxury, that much she understood. “You don’t have a job, you have a career.” There was a vast difference. Men like Jonas put in their twenty-something years with pride and dogged determination regardless of what was asked of them. Dedication wasn’t easy to walk away from, and after all of the effort and expense invested in developing an agent, the FBI wouldn’t make it easier. What’s more, the grim truth was that they’d had a fling. A few weekends here and there when he could fly down from Washington, D.C., to Austin, Texas. It was hardly what anyone could have called a relationship. Actually, the one gift in all of what had happened—to use the term darkly—was that it had ended before she had to worry that they were, indeed, heading toward some sort of understanding and all that meant.

Her silence had him studying her profile. “You don’t believe me about wanting to help you. What did you think all of those calls and notes were about?”

An almost lifelong survival technique triggered her stubbornness and need to be in control. “Maybe I didn’t want to be anyone’s project.” As they came to the express checkout, she handed the basket over to the checker.

“Ma’am…my apologies.” The store manager came around the counter to bag. His face was flushed, a stark contrast to his crisp white shirt. “Is there anything that I can do? Are you all right?”

Was this Denny’s uncle? Alyx saw no familial resemblance in the meticulously coifed, sandy-haired, anxious man to the big lug who’d accosted her. “I’m fine, thank you.” Wanting only escape, she nodded to the basket. “I’d just like to pay for this and go home.”

With abject humility, the man gestured toward the door. “Allow me to sack those and please—no charge. I’m sorry you were—that you had this experience. Let me reassure you it won’t happen again.”

Alyx wondered how often he had to dig into his own pocket to cover for his sister’s—or brother’s—overgrown delinquent? Feeling bad for him, Alyx said, “I appreciate that, but I don’t need you to comp my purchases.”

“Where’s the guy who assaulted her?” Jonas interjected.

The manager’s eyes darted from entrance to entrance before he cleared his throat. “He’s—uh—being driven home, sir. And I’ve called his—his home. His family will see that he stays there.”

At another time, Alyx would have smiled that Jonas intimidated him. When she’d first laid eyes upon this friend of Judge Dylan Justiss last year, she’d had to struggle to keep her usual cool decorum, too, and for an instant hadn’t been so upset that her client, Deputy DA E. D. Martel, and Dylan were besotted with each other at a most inopportune time. There was something about Jonas’s Hollywood good looks that demanded attention as well…who was it he reminded her of?

Audrey Hepburn’s pining love interest in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—George Peppard. After all this time it had finally come to her.

“Here you are, miss.” Ignoring her debit card, the manager held her bagged items out to her. “Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks.” Painfully aware of all the eyes following her, Alyx exited the store as fast as possible, wanting nothing more than to get to Parke’s black RAV4. The vehicle was a little “outdoorsy” for her, but it represented escape, which was all that mattered.

“Alyx? A moment?”

With her thumb on the ignition key’s computerized lock, she paused. Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face her ex-lover and waited for him to voice whatever he felt this rescue had earned him the right to say. What could it hurt at this point? She might look like a worn-out dishtowel ready for the garbage, but at least there was no media around to extend her embarrassment to the evening news.

Jonas slipped on his sunglasses. Perfect G-man mode, she thought. Seek out secrets, but keep your own.

“No explanation? No nothing?”

His soft-spoken query had an edge to it and she couldn’t blame him one bit for being annoyed that “thank you” wasn’t enough either personally or professionally. But she, too, was known to be a hard read in her personal life and a barracuda for her clients. So, bottom line, she had no inclination to explain herself today, and might never.

“What’s done is done, Jonas. You have your world and I have mine. Let’s leave well enough alone.” Only when she replaced her own glasses did she risk glancing up at him. Despite the filtered lenses, in the bright sunlight, what she saw brought a bit of a shock. He no longer had that Teflon, nothing-sticks, smooth-operator look that she remembered. His face was sunken, more lined and his mouth had a harder twist.

“‘Well enough’?” he snapped, breaking into her thoughts, “Alyx, have you looked in a mirror lately? There may be no blood this time, but you still look one missed depression pill away from suicide.” With a muttered expletive, he walked away.

The sting of his criticism, regardless of its accuracy, made it impossible to resist striking back. “Yeah?” she called to his back. “Well, consider the compliment returned and then some!”

Men. Here she was doing him a favor—whether he knew it or not—but leave it to Testosterone Man that when rejected, he was determined to cut her down to manageable size.

Inside her cousin’s SUV, Alyx tossed the bag onto the passenger’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. Tried, that is. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to grip her wrist and direct it in. That’s when the tears started pouring down her cheeks.

“Crap.”

Desperate for the privacy of Parke’s house, Alyx blindly ripped at tissues from the box in the console and slipped them under the sunglasses to dab at her eyes. Never would she have suspected that seeing Jonas again would have this effect on her. After the attack, it had been a relief when he’d stopped coming to the hospital and had returned to Washington, D.C., better still when he’d stopped phoning and e-mailing.

Why start all that again when he claimed to be here for a friend? He’d certainly left without too much coercion.

Recovering somewhat, Alyx carefully backed out of the parking space, but she kept an eye out for Jonas. When she spotted him a lane away climbing into a red vintage Mustang convertible, her caution turned to skepticism, which sent her eyebrows arching.

“The government must be paying well these days if that’s what was allowed from the rental counters,” she muttered.

Accelerating, she made it to the exit and turned right onto the main road. Parke’s house was another few miles west and a bit down from the plateau where the municipal airport was located. At the next traffic light, she eased the SUV left to the turning lane, and it was as she was waiting for the light that she spotted the Mustang two cars behind her.

What on earth did he think he was doing?

Agitated, the second the green arrow lit, Alyx hit the gas pedal. Okay, she told herself as emotions turned her insides into a cruller, calm down; there were another few turns on this road. He would go down one of those. Surely he wasn’t trying to find out where she was staying after she’d made it clear she had no interest in picking up where they’d left off?

But parallel to the airport turnoff, she pulled over to the side of the road—and Jonas pulled in right behind her. “Of course,” she seethed, “because we both know you aren’t headed there. You said yourself that you hate to fly!” And he sure wasn’t going to buy onto one of those tourist sightseeing trips in a First World War biplane that soared over the skyline day in and day out, circling the hot-air balloons and gorgeous rock formations.

Having had enough, Alyx thrust open the door. It cost her, but gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder, she stood tall and strode back to his purring sports car.

Behind his sunglasses, Jonas’s face remained impassive, and he didn’t indicate for a second that he intended to get out of the car. “What’s the problem now?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

Looking off into space, he released the steering wheel to give the palms-up, I-don’t-get-it gesture.

“Why are you following me?” she enunciated, hating him for making her spell it out.

“I’m not.”

“This is taking things too far, Jonas. Please go away. I don’t want to have to notify the police.”

Drawing his sunglasses down his nose, he stared at her, a steely glint flashing in his narrowed eyes. “Get over yourself, Alyx. I’m going to work.”

“What?” She followed his nod toward the airport. “This is a joke, right? The airport? You happen to have told me that you hate to fly.”

“I hate going commercial. I have a private pilot’s license, and—sorry to burst your conspiracy theory—I’m helping a friend with his tour service while his broken leg heals.”

“I see. Then I apologize for…I apologize.” Wishing she could start this day over, or better yet, evaporate into thin air, Alyx returned to Parke’s Toyota. Once again her stomach threatened to add to her humiliation and, glancing in the rearview mirror to assure herself that the way was clear, she hit the accelerator and tore away without a last glance at Jonas.

Had to get your drop of blood, didn’t you?

Jonas sat still until the black SUV vanished from sight. It bothered him that he hadn’t hesitated to embarrass Alyx, but it bothered him more how much he wanted to follow her, to find out if she was telling the truth about the cousin and where the house was. And he’d thought he’d conquered that weakness. When she’d shut him out earlier this year, he’d had his regrets. He could also admit his ego had been bruised, but shortly after arriving back in Washington, D.C., he’d convinced himself that he’d been lucky because then the grandfather of garbage trucks hit the fan, and his personal life got knocked into a different time zone.

Now, with all kinds of opportunity to rethink matters, it was ironic that she should show up. However, he couldn’t let that be a trip-switch to acting like a drooling college kid again. His professional clock was ticking and he needed a clear head to make some decisions before the alarm triggered.

As his gaze dropped to his watch, Jonas snapped out of his brooding. He was already minutes late for his first appointment of the day and suspected Zane’s phone was seconds away from ringing back at the house as panicking receptionist Miranda attempted to save herself from taking a waiting customer’s flack. However, as he continued through the airport entrance, Alyx’s face reappeared before him.

He shouldn’t have said she looked bad. It would take a mud bath to hide Alyx Carmel’s captivating features, and such an event would certainly accent her other outstanding assets, namely her luscious figure.

“Down, boy,” he muttered under his breath.

Under no circumstances could he afford to reawaken his libido; he’d mandated a starvation diet for it. The rule was simple: no paycheck, no playtime. Not that Alyx would consider going out with him again.

“‘What’s done is done.’”

Quoting her, his words sounded more like a puzzle than a vow. But as he pulled up to the Sedona Sites ticket office, he couldn’t ignore a tightening in his abdomen that had nothing to do with any concern about Zane’s beloved aircraft’s air-worthiness and had everything to do with another truth.

Alyx was too close for comfort even for someone with his discipline and willpower.

Chapter Two

As soon as Alyx entered Parke’s hillside house, her cousin’s greyhound, Grace, drew herself erect from the tile floor in the center of the entryway and stared at her with mournful eyes.

Alyx stopped for a moment to eye the sad creature, as gorgeous a living sculpture as those her owner produced from rock, metal and clay. “C’mon, Gracie, I was as fast as I could be. You have no idea what I went through this morning.”

Grace—a racing dog adopted to save her from euthanasia—looked away as though Alyx had insulted her intelligence.

“Okay, your majesty, I know your ancestors wouldn’t even let me touch them unless I had a title, and I’m sorry that my absence left you worried about being abandoned again—not that you’ll admit it to lowly me. But if you’ll give me a moment to pour myself a glass of chardonnay, I’ll soak your teeth-cleaning bone in a ladle of your mom’s chicken stew. How about that?”

Not waiting for an answer, Alyx eased off her sunglasses and visor and set them and her purse onto the hallway table on her way to the kitchen. Depositing her two bags from the grocery on a counter, she returned to the door of the garage to toe off her sneakers, massaging her shoulder along the way. She felt worse than when she’d entered the fitness center, but right now she had commitments to deal with.

As promised, she got out the pot of chicken stew that was for Grace’s dinner and dropped the chew bone in there for a minute while pouring herself the cold wine from a bottle in the refrigerator. After a sip, she sighed and offered the dog the bone.

“There you go. Now behave and don’t start wailing and otherwise telling me about your rough morning. Mine was worse and I need to make a couple of calls without sound effects.”

Wiping her wet hand on a damp paper towel, she took another soothing taste of the wine. Then Alyx flipped open her cell phone and located E. D. Martel’s number in the directory. Martel-Justiss now, she thought with a fatalistic sigh. Her client-turned-dear-friend had not only married Judge Dylan Justiss, but had recently given birth to a third child, Dylan’s first, and his namesake. Alyx felt like an amoeba compared to that woman and her courage.

At the sound of E.D.’s voice, she drawled, “How’s the mother of the judiciary’s next sage?”

“Hey—I’ve been wanting to call you, but have tried to respect your space. How’s it going?” Eva Danielle’s tone reverberated with genuine delight. “I expected you to live up to your warning that you’d be out of touch and resigned myself to weeks of worry.”

That was one of the many things that made her want to keep E.D. in her life. She might not be comfortable with Alyx’s decisions, but she did her best to honor them. “I appreciate that,” she told her. “And I’d intended to stay incommunicado, but you know life—make a plan and watch it get a slap shot into the stratosphere.”

“Interesting image. You aren’t dating a hockey player, are you?”

“Very funny,” Alyx replied. “You know I’m not in any shape even to think of such a thing.”

“You’re a stunner, Alyx. You were before and you still are. My heart aches for what happened to you, and for your suffering. Just know I want to help in any way I can.”

Well, then, Alyx thought, here was the perfect opening. She challenged, “Are you aware that Jonas is here?”

“What? Of course not! Good grief—how did that happen? You mean there there? Sedona?”

“Our paths crossed and I have no idea how that happened.” Alyx filled her in on their stressful and unexpected meeting. “I’m sorry to confess that at first I thought maybe you and your deceptively sweet husband had something to do with this,” she said at the conclusion of her recount.

E.D. didn’t waste a second making a few points. “Did you not threaten to leave without telling me a word for fear of that concern? Why then would I break my word to you?”

“Because you have a soft spot for him and he’s one of your husband’s most trusted friends.”

“All true to a point. However, there are boundaries and exceptions to things like that and you know it. Neither of us believes in unconditional love, and a confidence is a confidence.” E.D. uttered a groan. “I’m sorry you were caught off guard, Alyx, but unless you told someone else, this has to be one of those inexplicable mysteries.”

“Destiny? You know my opinion of that.”

“Yes, but your perspective is especially vulnerable to emotional influences right now,” E.D. said, her tone soothing. “You’re still recovering from trauma.”

It amazed Alyx that her litigator friend had ever won any case; she was a softy through and through. Smiling despite herself, she asked, “How’s Judge Junior?”

E.D. chuckled. “He’s like his daddy, too good to be true.”

“The next sound you hear may be me snoring.”

“Oh, Alyx. I do wish you’d put some body butter on that thick hide of yours and let yourself see what miracles are out there.”

“Try to resist suggesting that I adopt, let alone get pregnant.”

“I can’t deny I’ve thought about how good that would be for you.”

Alyx glanced over at Grace and rolled her eyes. “Lose my phone number. Now!”

E.D. chuckled. “Who else are you going to call to snoop for you?”

She knew that was a joke, but as usual her mind went into overdrive and she immediately thought of P.I.s’ phone numbers, only to reject the idea. Jonas would spot the guy in minutes. None of that would happen—crazy she wasn’t, even if she was tempted—but it reminded her of how, as a child, she’d been constantly rebuked for “living too much in her head,” as her teachers and mother had put it. For once she had to agree with them.

“How are the older kids?” she asked, again hoping to veer their conversation away from her.

“Well, as I hold my breath, Dani is pulling a four-point-zero average at college, Mac hasn’t suffered a bad asthma attack in a couple of months, and the baby screams with delight the moment either of them walk through the door. They can’t help but drop that entire humiliated-teen act pretending Dylan and I are too old for more children.”

“Be careful or one of the TV networks will be courting you to be the next big thing—unreality.”

“I only shared because you asked.”

The gentle rebuke was nothing less than Alyx deserved. “Sorry. I really am happy for you.” More like relieved that Dani had straightened out and ceased her declared war on her mother and Dylan. Alyx couldn’t imagine herself in such a relationship minefield again, loving as her friend’s seemed to have become. “You know my dilemma. My work only shows me the failures in relationships—manufactured or medical—so what you’re describing sounds like fiction on the cable channels or the Internet dating sites.”

“A few years ago, I would have high-fived you on that. You just keep getting well.”

“I want to.” Her wording surprised her. Until a few days ago, she couldn’t even swear to that. “Um…then you haven’t had contact with Jonas?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, come to think of it…he hadn’t answered Dylan’s last few calls or e-mails.”

“He’s pretty cryptic about why he’s here, too. He says it’s to help a friend who runs a sky-tour business. I had no idea that he was a pilot.”

“That makes two of us.”

Could that be? Alyx thought, frowning. “But I thought for sure—”

“Until my situation, I didn’t know anyone in Dylan’s circle.”

Alyx barely won over the impulse to take another sip of her wine. She’d believed the two men so close and had suspected this incident was common knowledge by now between husband and wife. On the other hand, she appreciated that she could count on E.D. to keep confidences, as Dylan obviously did.

“There you go thinking again,” E.D. said, breaking into her thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I’m nowhere close to my best form and this has…well, it’s thrown me.”

“Understandable. Now quit beating around the bush and talk to me.”

Alyx didn’t think she had a choice—she had to get feedback from someone—and gave E.D. a summary of her experiences so far. “Now tell me that I’m overreacting,” she said at the end.

“For good reason, considering what you’ve endured. No one, particularly Jonas, can fault you for feeling anything else but terror at that fool’s flagrant advances or for being gun-shy at seeing someone you believed should be on the other side of the continent.”

“Yes, but afterward I pushed Jonas away. That’s one person I should have trusted—forget the personal stuff.” Groaning as her mind churned with hindsight regret, she massaged her aching neck. “It’s just that he appeared out of nowhere. Why would he be in the grocery store if he was due at work?”

“Well, my guess is that he saw you on the road—or thought he did—followed you into the market, realized it was you, and was trying to figure out why and what he felt about that. Then the incident occurred and the decision was a moot point.”

“More stuff that happens in contrived sitcoms, not in real life.”

“Tell that to the woman in Belgium who was putting away leftovers for a gentleman friend and found the bodies of his supposedly estranged wife and her son in his cellar freezer.”

“What?” Grimacing, Alyx saw that Grace was tilting her head at the door. Alyx quickly crossed to it, tested the lock, and peered through the security hole. “Don’t add to my imagination, please. It’s in overdrive as it is.”

“Sorry. Tell me what else he said. He had to have asked questions. Dylan said he was pretty crushed when you sent him away, and I can’t imagine the shock this was for you to see him in a place where you expect to know only your cousin.”

Yes, a shock, but also a relief because he had rescued her, Alyx thought with growing guilt. “He wanted an explanation as to why I shut him out. I never gave him one. Did he tell Dylan that?”

“Dylan shared that he sounded frustrated, even hurt a few times, but aside from that, I don’t know. He may have committed Dylan to a promise of secrecy, too. You know I won’t challenge that without good cause. I feel Dylan would have shared with me if he could.”

That said a good deal about his character. Again. As for her own track record with men, Alyx didn’t think there was the equivalent of an honorable Dylan among them—unless Jonas could be the exception to the rule? That was probably wishful thinking on her part. Her father had been a dictator, just a grade above bully, and her relationships with men had given her a master’s degree in understanding that her primary attraction for most beaus courting her as she grew up were her money, pedigree and contacts. While Jonas hadn’t seemed a cookie-cutter replica, their time together had been too short to notice if there was any lasting there there.

“You’re being ultraquiet,” E.D. said.

“I’m remembering moments with Jonas.”

“Do you need me to call 911 for a tow to get your mind out of the gutter?” E.D. asked, a smile creeping into her voice.

“Those days are over.”

“Alyx, don’t talk like that. You’re way too young to let even this nightmare deny you the kind of relationship and love I believe is out there for you.”

Wanting the comfort of her privacy, Alyx turned professionally cool. “You’ll forget I called?”

E.D. made a soft sound of regret. “I really am glad you did. Please. Ring me again. I’m sorry I was of no help, but I am trying…and wanting you to heal.”

Hesitating, Alyx stared back at Grace, who’d abandoned the front door to stand before her. No doubt she found her tone discomforting, or wanted her mistress, or would like the front door open to just escape. “You were more help than you know,” she told E.D., managing to sound almost tender. “I’m sorry for being such a—anyway, give that luscious baby a kiss for me.”

“How sweet. I’ll give him two. Call me anytime.”

Once Alyx heard E.D. disconnect, she shut off her phone, immediately diving into introspection. Contrary to what she’d said, she hadn’t really learned anything she didn’t already know, and she’d been trained by the best to be skeptical of support or flattery.

You learned that she and Dylan thought Jonas had been sincerely disappointed in being rejected.

It was hopeless—and perfect. Confirmation that she was a hard-hearted, cold witch. Hurrah, she thought grimly. She hadn’t lost her edge one iota, bad news for the Realtor who wanted to sell her Austin house, but terrific for her Texas clients, who wanted blood from estranged spouses; they, at least, would be popping corks when they heard that reassuring news.

Seeing Grace shift on her plainly stiff legs, Alyx put a quick end to the self-deprecation. “Gracie, if I look half that bad when I wrangle myself off the machines at the health club, you have permission to bite me if I accidentally bump into you or stroke you too hard. Now what do you say we get your stiff-joint medicine? That’s about all I know for wrecks like us, until your mommy checks in to suggest something more.”

At the sound of Mommy Grace started whining.

“Oh, jeez.” Alyx leaned over to gently stroke the dog. “I’m sorry, Grace. I’m sorry. I know I’m no replacement by a long shot, but I’m trying—I’ll try to do better, okay?”

The greyhound stepped closer to rest against her and sighed.

It was too ridiculous to be believable, but Alyx closed her eyes. History had shown her that there were few perfect moments in life, yet this sure felt like one of them. Hoping she could mimic that heartfelt sound, Alyx sighed, too.

Chapter Three

Jonas repressed a surge of humiliation as he dialed Dylan Justiss’s private cell phone number, but he managed to hold on until he heard his old friend’s rebuke.

“About time.”

“Figured you’d deleted me from your address book by now,” Jonas replied with equal aplomb. His, however, was mostly bravado.

“You know better than that.”

“Yeah, sure. Listen, I’m sorry for the unanswered calls.”

“What ignored calls?”

That had Jonas’s mouth corners curling downward. He knew that Dylan was both letting him off the hook and making sure Jonas understood that he’d slipped badly with their friendship. At the time, he’d felt there was no recourse, and yet, as days slipped into weeks, and weeks into months, he knew he deserved whatever Dylan wanted to say.

“I’m sure there’s an appropriate quote about pride to mouth right now, but I can’t remember it, and you don’t deserve to suffer through it.”

“Stuff the eloquence, Hunter. You were never good at it.”

That won a choked laugh from Jonas. “That might finally be sinking in. Thanks for sticking in there.”

“Well, you know how we analytical types are, I needed to know the answer to the riddle. What happened and how are you?”

“You haven’t talked to E.D. this afternoon?” Jonas countered.

“Should I have?”

“I thought maybe…never mind.”

“Don’t start that. What’s up?”

Jonas drew a deep breath. He was sure Alyx had run straight home and had called E.D. to vent. Didn’t all women do that? His ex sure had. Claudia would call her mother and then everyone else in the family tree down to second cousins—another reason to avoid getting involved with southern belles. For their part, Alyx and E.D. had grown particularly close during E.D.’s divorce, and Alyx had said that while the svelte, blond DA had a disgusting weakness for Dylan, she was one of the few people she could trust with a secret. He’d still had his doubts.

“I ran into Alyx,” he muttered.

“Is that so? Alyx is out of town, maybe out of state from what I can discern from E.D.’s cryptic comments.”

“Sedona, Arizona, to be exact.”

“Has the divorce rate suddenly skyrocketed there?”

He had to know that she wasn’t yet able to resume her usual work schedule. “I don’t know what’s going on, all I know is that it’s just too suspicious to have both of us decide to take leave from our jobs in separate parts of the country and end up in the same place.”

“What’s your reason?”

“My original flight instructor busted his leg. These days he runs an air-tours business and asked if I could cover for him for a few weeks. He’s ex-FBI, too. Back in my mustang days, his was, more or less, the last push I needed to go with the Bureau.”

“Good grief, are you saying he crashed and you’re now in those hot-air contraptions?”

“Much better. I’m flying his First World War facsimile biplanes.”

Dylan uttered something indistinguishable. “You’re worse than certifiable. I hope you at least know that?”

“They’re the modern Waco rendition. It’s a little eccentric, I’ll admit, but not as bad as you think. No acrobatics involved, just smooth, wide turns and gentle landings. Everything to assist adventurous tourists in procuring the optimum photographs to bring them back for another visit.”

“The question is, can you bring yourself back to earth in one piece? I know a little about the terrain over there. It could get pretty wild trying to find a suitable landing spot on short notice.”

The topography was a challenge; nevertheless, the highways were excellent and certainly not as heavy with traffic as in metropolitan areas. This was an experience Jonas was glad not to have missed out on.

“And you can take that much time from the job?”

“I have plenty of time built up,” Jonas replied evasively. “Look, are you sure E.D. didn’t say something about Alyx?”

“Nothing beyond the concern about her, about both of you.” After a few seconds Dylan added, “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I guess I’m still somewhat—I’m getting too old to play games.”

“She wasn’t playing games with you,” Dylan ground out. “Good God, what’s the correct way to behave after coming upon a butchering and almost dying yourself?”

Jonas had gone through all of this dialogue already, had witnessed her being wheeled out to the ambulance and had tried to be supportive and patient, giving Alyx all the time she needed to recover physically and get her balance psychologically. They’d been in the early days of a hot and heavy affair when they’d been thrown into that meat chopper of a bad situation. Regardless of all his attempts to be there for her, even when necessity had demanded he return to Washington, D.C., she’d been the one to sever ties, not him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But better than what she did.”

“What’s really got you all bent out of shape now?” Dylan asked. “Get a bad MRI or CAT-scan report after an assignment?”

“Not quite like that. But I guess I’m still trying to find grace under pressure while I work out what’s increasingly an uncertain professional future.” No one liked to share bad news and this wasn’t the moment to elaborate on his. Who knew—right now it was looking like a relief that things weren’t going to turn out as he’d first hoped. “I’ll let you know the details when I get back to D.C.”

“I’ve still got several minutes before my next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, but…”

After another uncomfortable silence, Dylan said, “Whatever you want to do. Jonas, listen…I’m sorry that I came down a little hard on you—”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, from the little E.D. shared, Alyx deserves support and protection. That’s where I was coming from.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t hesitate to call. I mean it. And take care.”

“I will. And I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Jonas knew Dylan would keep his word and want an update soon. That did nothing to improve his mood for the rest of the evening. Jonas had survived a divorce, managed to keep a decent relationship with his now fifteen-year-old son, and had been holding his breath for an anticipated promotion. When Alyx Carmel had entered his world like a tsunami, he’d been blindsided. He’d never been attracted to female renditions of himself—professional and driven. In fact, he’d avoided dating anyone inside the Bureau or even within coagencies. Yet five minutes after he’d entered her office last year to support Dylan and E.D. during E.D.’s rough divorce, Alyx had him under a spell he had yet to break free of.

He couldn’t sleep without being pulled into some intoxicating dream about her. Last night’s had been a fuse-buster, a reminder of their first night together.

“Why did you agree to join me for dinner?” Jonas asked as they sat across a candlelit table from one another. “You know I’m only here for a brief stay.”

“You offered me a drink,” Alyx replied. “The invitation to dinner was mine.”

So it was—a thank-you for helping Dylan help E.D. It struck Jonas, as he’d eyed the steak and lobster plate a waiter suddenly placed before him, that he was tangled in his own web. He’d come after Alyx unabashedly only to find himself snared, and yet the time between ordering and drinking a half glass of shiraz had been one of the most provocative yet awkward times he’d spent with a date. He would ask her a question about herself and if she answered, it was with a single word, “yes” or “no,” then asked nothing in return. He’d never felt so inept. Every clever word, his gift for disarming and charming, was a total flop.

It was those smoky gray eyes; they reduced him to ash pudding one minute, then invited a lava-hot heat wave without so much as a blink in the next. He felt as though he was trying to gauge traffic in thick fog. No, it was her scent; he’d fought intoxication for the better part of two hours and had yet to identify it, although he held the office record for guessing what female staffers and agents were wearing. Leave it to this unique woman to refuse to share someone else’s creation.

“Okay, seriously,” he said at last. “Why did you invite me?”

“Perhaps for the same reason you invited me.”

He had to put down his glass. Could she possibly mean it? He’d been fantasizing about a couple of hours of no-strings-attached sex. Someone as cool, confident and professional as her couldn’t possibly—then, for a second, he saw the diamond-bright shimmer of amusement in her eyes before she lowered a romantic sweep of velvety lashes with the elegant shyness of a geisha.

At the risk of knocking over her glass, he reached across the table to gently lift her chin to search her eyes.

“Why the surprise?” she murmured with a slight arch of one eyebrow. “Wait—don’t tell me. You’re one of those males who beat a hasty retreat the second you sense conquest?”

For all of his admitted experimental youth, Jonas hoped he’d never been that much of a jerk. “It’s been a struggle, but I’ve almost managed to evolve a step above the penned farm animal.”

“Then eat up, Agent Hunter. We can’t have you losing your strength.”

Things grew decidedly more amiable after that and, in the end, the night was unforgettable. She drove him to her stunning brick home and immediately asked him if she should open another bottle of wine.

“Would you care for any?” he countered.

“Maybe later.”

“Exactly my thought.”

He took that response as a welcome and initiated a kiss; within seconds Alyx took it—and him—to a different realm. Almost immediately he sensed that he was in deeper waters than he’d expected or intended, but her touch, her taste made her too much of a temptation to resist. When she led him to her bedroom, there was no question about not following. She turned her back to him and murmured, “Unzip me?”

He first touched a kiss to the side of her neck. “I think you’re my fantasy come true,” he murmured.

“You’re off the clock, G-man. Stop thinking so much.”

Surrendering, he’d done just that, dropped back onto her bed and let her take him to a place he’d never been before.

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