Книга - Wilder Days

Wilder Days
Linda Winstead Jones


Del Wilder had always been brash, reckless and more than a little dangerous. And years ago he'd stolen a young woman's heart–then walked away without a backward glance.Now, suddenly, he was back in Victoria Lowell's life, more compelling–and more dangerous–than ever. He was an undercover agent now, and she'd somehow gotten caught up in his desperate escape from a brutal drug cartel.As they ran for their lives, she ached to uncover all this mysterious man's secrets. But what would happen to the passion once again blazing between them when he learned her darkest secret–the truth about the child he had never known was his…?









“You can’t stay here tonight….” Victoria whispered.


“I can,” Del said harshly. “And I will.”

He took one step toward her. One step was all the room she had. With that simple movement, he robbed her of her safety zone, the shield that kept him at a distance. This close, she could feel his heat, see the stubble on his jaw. The faint, intriguing scent of his body drifted to her.

“You’re still angry,” he said, his voice softer now.

“Of course I’m still…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, cupping her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. And then he kissed her.

She’d known it was coming. She’d known, and yet she hadn’t taken her chance to step out of the danger zone and away from this kiss that was going to change everything. Her life. His. Her heart…


Dear Reader,

This month we have something really special on tap for you. The Cinderella Mission, by Catherine Mann, is the first of three FAMILY SECRETS titles, all of them prequels to our upcoming anthology Broken Silence and then a twelve book stand-alone FAMILY SECRETS continuity. These books are cutting edge, combining dark doings, mysterious experiments and overwhelming passion into a mix you won’t be able to resist. Next month, the story continues with Linda Castillo’s The Phoenix Encounter.

Of course, this being Intimate Moments, the excitement doesn’t stop there. Award winner Justine Davis offers up another of her REDSTONE, INCORPORATED tales, One of These Nights. A scientist who’s as handsome as he is brilliant finds himself glad to welcome his sexy bodyguard—and looking forward to exploring just what her job description means. Wilder Days (leading to wilder nights?) is the newest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones. It will have you turning the pages so fast, you’ll lose track of time. Ingrid Weaver begins a new military miniseries, EAGLE SQUADRON, with Eye of the Beholder. There will be at least two follow-ups, so keep your eyes open so you don’t miss them. Evelyn Vaughn, whose miniseries THE CIRCLE was a standout in our former Shadows line, makes her Intimate Moments debut with Buried Secrets, a paranormal tale that’s as passionate as it is spooky. And Aussie writer Melissa James is back with Who Do You Trust? This is a deeply emotional “friends become lovers” reunion romance, one that will captivate you from start to finish.

Enjoy! And come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.






Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor




Wilder Days

Linda Winstead Jones







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




LINDA WINSTEAD JONES


would rather write than do anything else. Since she cannot cook, gave up ironing many years ago and finds cleaning the house a complete waste of time, she has plenty of time to devote to her obsession for writing. Occasionally she’s tried to expand her horizons by taking classes. In the past she’s taken instruction on yoga, French (a dismal failure), Chinese cooking, cake decorating (food-related classes are always a good choice, even for someone who can’t cook), belly dancing (trust me, this was a long time ago) and, of course, creative writing.

She lives in Huntsville, Alabama, with her husband of more years than she’s willing to admit and the youngest of their three sons.

She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own Web site www.lindawinsteadjones.com.


This book is dedicated to

Leslie Wainger and Mary-Theresa Hussey,

who gave me the chance to tell this story.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue




Chapter 1


Vic squirmed a little, trying without success to loosen the duct tape that bound her hands behind her back, her ankles to the rear legs of the metal chair, and her bare legs to Del’s blue-jeans-encased thighs. She straddled Del, and they were both snugly trussed to the chair and to one another, face-to-face. She glanced down as the man who had dragged her from her home that morning very carefully slid beneath the chair. He cradled something small and deadly looking in his large hands. Vic hadn’t thought it possible to be more frightened than she had been since the kidnapping, but the sight of that device made her heart beat a little harder, a little faster.

The second kidnapper, a petite blond woman, handed her partner more duct tape, and he tore off a long strip.

“You said you would let her go when I got here,” Del said between clenched teeth.

The blonde looked up at Del and smiled. “I lied.”

Del tried, as Vic did, to discreetly loosen the duct tape that bound him securely to the chair in this second-floor room of a deserted warehouse. Had the sight of that device scared him, too? He didn’t seem to be particularly frightened. Mainly, he looked annoyed.

“Whatever happened to professional courtesy?” Del asked, sounding as annoyed as he looked. He kept his eyes on the woman, who continued to kneel by the chair.

Vic shuddered. Professional courtesy?

The woman moved aside as her partner slithered from beneath the chair. The fair-haired man rubbed his palms together as he stood. “All done. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re sure you didn’t forget anything?” the woman asked in a low, soothing voice.

“I didn’t forget anything.” The man sounded slightly offended.

“Good.” The blonde’s smile returned. “Let’s go.”

With one last quick wave, they did just that. They left the room, closing the door behind them even though this warehouse somewhere near the interstate had long been abandoned. From what little Vic could see through the uncovered window, they were far from anyone or anything that might be of help. The occasional hum of a large truck passing in the distance was all she could hear. The tops of trees, lush with summer growth, were all she could see through the dirty panes of glass in the single window in this room.

Since they were now alone Vic laid her eyes on Del, and found him staring at her. Eyes dark blue and intense, mouth an unhappy slash, he stared at her as if this was her fault.

“That was a bomb,” she said softly, wondering if something so simple as a raised voice might set it off.

“Yep.”

“We’re sitting on it.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She hadn’t seen Del Wilder for sixteen years, until he’d appeared in the doorway of this very room not a half hour ago. Some things about him hadn’t changed. He still had long black hair, long legs wrapped in faded denim, a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and a wicked mouth. But he was taller, wider in the shoulders, and occasionally she caught a glimpse of a single glittering diamond earring peeking out from those dark strands of hair. The man was thirty-three years old…no, thirty-four…and he still hadn’t managed to completely grow up. Something else to hold against him.

What on earth was he involved in that would lead him, and her, here? Criminal activity, surely. No matter how much she had hated Del Wilder in years past, she’d never thought he might end up some kind of outlaw. Even in her worst moments, she’d thought better of him.

“Well?” she prodded.

“What?”

“Do something!”

He did. He smiled. Had she really once thought that smile irresistibly charming?

“Still painting, I see,” he said, nodding his chin.

Vic couldn’t do anything about the smudge of paint she knew marred her cheek. Yellow, carried there from a spot of paint on her hands just moments before the doorbell rang. “Yes,” she said simply.

Del’s eyes traveled from the paint on her cheek to her mouth, to her throat and slowly down the much-too-open V in the worn and paint-stained men’s dress shirt Vic wore. At the tip of the V his roving eyes stopped and lingered.

“Do you mind?” Vic asked in her frostiest voice, and the gaze drifted up once again to meet hers.

“How did they get you?” he asked in a low voice. “Please tell me you didn’t just open the door and invite them in.”

She didn’t want to remember, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. Almost unconsciously, she twitched her nose. She shifted her gaze to the window for a safer view. “I did have the sense to look through the peephole. They were dressed like delivery men,” she said.

“Two delivery men?” Del asked sharply. “That didn’t strike you as unusual?”

Vic shrugged and pursed her mouth. The last thing she needed was to be chastised by Del Wilder! “The box they were pushing on a dolly was quite large. I thought maybe it was very heavy and was too much for one person.” She looked Del in the eye again. “The box was for me. They…put me in it.”

He nodded, as if he’d already figured that out.

“Who are they?” she asked.

Del took a deep breath and shook his head. “Tripp and Holly Mayron. Drug dealers. Small-time, mostly. Can’t figure out what set them off.”

Competitors, she imagined, since he’d been so incensed at their lack of professional courtesy. Apparently there was no honor among thieves. Or drug dealers.

Vic’s anger faded, just a little. No matter how hard she tried to hate Del Wilder, she couldn’t quite get rid of that one little tender spot she still carried for him. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she said softly.

“I didn’t have any choice.”

Of course he’d had a choice. Not long after their arrival at this warehouse, the female half of the pair of kidnappers—Holly, she now knew—had dialed a number on the cell phone she’d taken from Vic’s entryway table. Until Del had shown up at the door, Vic had thought it was her father they were calling. They’d made Vic say her full name, nothing more, and then Tripp had twisted her arm until she’d cried out. Just once. Holly had told the person on the other end of the phone that he had an hour to get here. If he wasn’t here in sixty-one minutes, Victoria Lynn Archard Lowell would be painfully and decisively dead. Directions to this place had followed and less than an hour later Del had arrived.

“You had a choice,” she whispered.

After sixteen years, why would Del put his life on the line for her? They’d been together for a day or two less than a month, what seemed like a hundred years ago, thrilling and suffering through an intense teenage romance. It hadn’t worked out for them; of course it hadn’t. They came from different worlds, and the only thing that had drawn them together had been chemistry. That’s all. Some freak biological attraction. She’d told herself that a million times in the past sixteen years.

And here he was.

“Lowell, they said your name was,” Del said as he again tried to loosen the duct tape at his back. “Married?”

Her heart hitched. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with Del Wilder, whether they were about to die or not. “Yeah.” Not a lie, exactly, since she had been married.

“Kids?”

Oh, no. She couldn’t handle this. Not now, not ever. “A daughter.”

“Just the one?” His eyes no longer bored into hers, but instead were fixed over her shoulder as he concentrated on loosening the tape at his wrists.

Vic nodded. “What about you?” she asked quickly, hoping to change the subject. “Married? Kids?”

Del shook his head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

Again his eyes came to hers. He didn’t answer. He was getting frustrated, and his frustration showed more and more on his face.

God, he had a fabulous face. Del had once been almost pretty, but the years had transformed his pretty face into something strikingly masculine and fascinating. She knew that face too well. She knew the distinct lines, the shape of the mouth, the blue of the eyes.

He turned his head toward the window and muttered something. She couldn’t decipher it all. There were a few obscenities, and something about shock. Did he think she was going to panic and go into shock? Did he think he would? No, he looked much too calm for that concern.

“I couldn’t see the timer on the…the bomb,” Vic said in a low voice. “Did you?”

Del nodded, once.

“How much time do we have?”

He hesitated. “We’ll be okay.”

She didn’t think so. She didn’t think they were going to be at all okay.

She had once loved Del Wilder so deeply and intensely that he had been her entire world. The love hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the anger, the disappointment, the heartbreak. Vic didn’t let herself expect anything from the people in her life, not anymore. She always ended up disappointed, but these days no one broke her heart. Del had been an important part of her life, long ago, but she didn’t owe him anything.

Or did she? If they were going to die here, did he deserve to know that he had a daughter?



Vic had always looked like an angel: flowing wavy hair caught somewhere between brown and gold, cat’s eyes of green and gold, lush lips just made for smiling and kissing. She wasn’t a girl anymore, she was a woman, nicely filled out and without the little bit of baby fat that had made her cheeks round and pink, years ago. She was leaner in the face today, shapelier everywhere else.

But of course Vic was not an angel and never had been. She was a mere mortal, with flaws all her own. Del took some comfort from the fact that she was currently sweating like a pig.

Where was Shock? He should have been here by now. Something had happened, something had delayed the planned rescue. They were going to have to get out of here themselves.

“Know what I remember about you?” he asked, smiling crookedly at Vic.

“What?” she asked, as if she really didn’t want to know. Smart girl.

“Your flexibility.”

She looked offended. “That’s what you remember?”

“You could twist your legs, turn your body, bend…”

“All right,” she snapped. “I get the picture. Know what I remember about you? I remember that you were nothing but trouble. I remember that you were the most stubborn, arrogant, possessive, egotistical…”

“Vic, this isn’t helping matters any.”

“And your observations have some deeper meaning?”

Again, he smiled. “There’s a knife in my right boot.”

Her anger faded. “There is?”

“I can’t reach it, but maybe you can.”

She nodded, shook her hair back and began to tilt to the side, her face taut with determination.

“Vic, honey,” Del said calmly. “My other right boot.”

She straightened quickly, gave him a sharp glance that told him it was somehow his fault she had moved to her right and not his, and began again.

Vic was the woman he had spent the past sixteen years trying to forget. Some days he actually succeeded. But when he’d heard her name being whispered over the phone, his heart had just about stopped. Maybe because she was his first. First love, first lover, first real experience with pain. It was perfectly natural that he sometimes remembered her fondly.

And surely it was also perfectly natural that as she moved to the side and her shirt shifted, he was distracted by the new expanse of breast that was exposed. A pale, soft-looking swell of flesh that momentarily took his mind off of everything else.

Del did his best to shake off the distraction. Couldn’t the woman wear a bra? If he didn’t know better, he’d think Vic was doing this to him on purpose.

Vic’s shorts were short, the legs that were wrapped around him were smooth and strong. He hated that his hands were tied. More than anything, he wanted to run his palm up her leg, slow and easy.

Her fingers skimmed down his calf as she reached blindly for the sheath and the knife inside his boot.

What was wrong with him? He hadn’t seen her for sixteen years, and their last parting had been ugly, to say the least. She was married, a mother, the woman who had once been the girl who had broken his heart. In the years since he’d left her behind, he’d cursed her, longed for her and almost forgotten her.

And right now he wanted her. Nothing else mattered enough to get in the way of that.

“Almost there,” she whispered, licking her lips as she stretched and moved just a little bit more. She smiled when she finally found and grabbed the handle of the knife. “Got it.” A grin that didn’t last long flitted across her face. It was the first time he’d seen her smile since he’d walked into this room. Of course, she hadn’t had much to smile about today.

Vic straightened cautiously, the knife behind her back.

“If you can just knick the edge of the tape at your wrists,” Del said calmly, “you should be able to rip it apart. Once your hands are loose, we’re home free.”

She nodded and began, her face once again rigid with concentration. Those cat’s eyes were fixed on the center of his forehead as she worked.

“I wish it wasn’t so hot in here,” she said softly. “My palms are slick with sweat.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing great.”

Her eyes met his, briefly, and then she stared at his forehead again as she continued her efforts. “So close,” she whispered beneath her breath. “I just can’t quite…”

She cursed, flinched, and the knife clattered to the floor. Her eyes met his again, and he saw something new. Panic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I tried to catch it, I did, but it just slipped right through my fingers.”

“Did you cut yourself?”

She nodded.

“How bad?”

“Not too bad, I think. It just stings a little.”

He kept his knife sharp. If the blade had brushed past her fingers, the cuts might be deep.

Cuts on Vic’s fingers were the least of their problems, and still that knowledge bothered Del more than it should. If she wasn’t here, he’d knock the chair to its side and try to free himself from that position, but he couldn’t take the chance. What he’d seen on the side of the explosive device that had been taped to the bottom of the chair looked to be a tilt detonator. If the chair tipped over, the bomb would go off. He didn’t mind taking chances with his own life. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—take that risk with Vic’s.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer this time.

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to ease her distress with a smile.

“You keep saying that,” she said, growing visibly frustrated. Her cheeks flushed, her chest rose and fell with deeper, faster breaths. “Nothing is okay!”

While he thought about what came next, he had to calm her down. He had to get her talking about something else, anything else. “A daughter, huh?”

Her eyes widened, her spine straightened. “Yes.”

“What’s she like?” Mothers liked talking about their kids, right? He might have asked about the husband, but in truth he didn’t want to know about Vic’s marriage. He didn’t want to hear her talk about the man who shared her bed.

Vic took a deep breath. “Noelle,” she said. “Her name is Noelle.”

Del nodded. “Nice name. How old is she?”

Vic hesitated. This wasn’t working. Talking about her daughter was not calming Vic in any way. “Fourteen,” she finally whispered.

“Tough age,” Del said, trying to carry the conversation along. “Is she as pretty as you were at fourteen?” he teased.

“Prettier.”

“Not possible.”

Vic’s eyes latched on to his. She took a deep breath, and something in her changed, slowly and subtly. “Noelle is much more beautiful than I ever was. She’s smart, too, and has a real talent for drawing.” Her lips parted and softened. “She hates that, that she inherited a talent from me.”

“She’d rather be like her father?”

Vic shook her head. “No. I sometimes think Noelle wishes she’d sprung from a pod, fully grown and beholden to no one.”

“Sounds like fourteen to me,” Del said, his voice low. His smile faded. “Was she home this morning?”

Vic shook her head. “No, thank God. She’s in Gulf Shores with a friend’s family. They went on vacation and Michelle refused to go without her best friend.” Finally, she smiled again. “You should see her,” she whispered. “She’s so…so much like…” She stopped, her throat worked gently, and she shook her head. “Del…”

In the distance, he heard a muted noise. With a whispering breath, he shushed Vic. “Hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“A car.” He strained as he listened hard. “A car door.”

She began to tremble. “Do you think they came back?”

Del shook his head. “Nope. I think it’s the cavalry. Can you scream, baby?”

Vic shook her head, and Del shouted. “Up here!” Vic jumped, as if her entire body had been shocked. She didn’t scream. “Hurry!” Del shouted again when he heard footsteps pounding on the stairs.

“If it is the cavalry,” Vic whispered, “are they too late? How much time do we have?”

Del smiled. “Enough, I think.”



“You think?” Vic asked.

The door to the room burst open, and Vic almost fainted. Her vision blurred and her head swam. This couldn’t possibly be the cavalry. The man who stood in the doorway was small, very thin. His hair was as long as Del’s, and the fine strands were a dirty dark blond instead of Del’s thick black. His eyes were…buggy, his face was pale. He held a gun in one hand and a knife in the other and he was poised to do battle.

“It’s about time,” Del snapped. “Get us out of here.”

The little man holstered his gun. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he came toward them with the knife grasped in his hand. “I got lost. Took the wrong exit.” He glared accusingly at Del. “Man, your one looked like a seven. Anyway, I turned around and headed back this way….”

“Shock,” Del snapped, “I hate to interrupt, but there’s a bomb taped to the underside of the chair. How about take a peek and see how much time we have left.”

The man Del called Shock complied, dropping down and sticking his head beneath the chair. The single word that came out of his mouth did nothing to soothe Vic’s nerves.

“I hate bombs,” he said as he returned to an upright position and began to decisively and expertly cut away the duct tape that bound Vic and Del together and to the chair. “Hate ’em.”

“Tilt detonator?” Del asked.

“Yup,” Shock said as he continued to cut.

“How’s our time?”

“Shorter than I’d like.”

As Shock moved behind Vic, he whistled through his teeth. “You’re bleeding,” he said without slowing his chore.

“It’s not too bad,” Vic said, her voice not rising as much as she’d intended.

Shock just made a noise, something between a groan and a hum.

When she was free, Vic thought about standing. And couldn’t. Her legs shook. Her hands trembled. She glanced down at the gashes on her fingers as Shock cut the last of Del’s bonds away. Blood dripped down her palm, across her wrist.

When Del was free, he put his arms around her, assisted her to her feet and led her from the room. Quickly. Shock was right behind, doing his best to hurry them along. Del, one arm securely around Vic’s waist, pulled her so quickly her feet barely touched the ground as they flew down the stairs.

She wasn’t exactly thinking rationally. Halfway down the stairs, she came up short. “My cell phone is still up there.”

“Screw the cell phone,” Del grumbled as he dragged Vic off her feet and down the rest of the stairs.

They ran through the double front doors, into the bright summer sunshine. Vic apparently wasn’t running fast enough to suit Del; he dragged her along. A moment after they left the building, Shock appeared at her other side.

“Let’s go,” he said as he added his arm around her waist.

The two men pulled her along, her feet off the ground, her heart caught in her throat. They had reached the parking lot and were running hard toward the two cars at the far end when the explosion rocked the building behind them. The noise was deafening, the blast of heat unnatural even on this summer day. Shattering glass was loud, a strangely pretty, dangerous sound. Shards landed in the parking lot, just behind them. As she heard the glass land on the asphalt, Vic was glad Del and Shock had grabbed her up and hurried her along. They didn’t look back, not until they reached the cars.

Vic’s heart sank as she studied those cars, a black Jaguar and an electric-blue Dodge Viper. Those two vehicles together surely cost more than her house. Del Wilder, a drug dealer. She couldn’t believe it. “At least they didn’t take your Jag,” Shock said.

Del responded without emotion. “Even Tripp and Holly are too smart for that. They want to disappear and a Jag is definitely not a ride that makes you invisible.”

Vic listened, but her mind was elsewhere. She had almost told Del about Noelle, she had almost confessed to him that they had a child together. That could never happen. Never. If someone would try to get to Del through her, what would they do if they knew he had a daughter?

They watched the building burn.

“Did they get your Glock?” Shock asked.

“Yep,” Del answered.

Shock mumbled an obscenity, then turned to Vic and smiled, presenting a grin that was all teeth and gums. “Name’s Albert Shockley, ma’am,” he said. “But you can call me Shock. A name should suit a person, you know? I don’t know what my mother was thinking when she named me Albert.” He waited a moment. “And you are?”

“Vic,” she said, the name barely passing through her lips.

Shock’s smile faded a little, and he turned a suspicious glance to Del, who continued to watch the spreading fire.

“Vic,” Shock repeated. “Now, that’s just not right. Vic is a name for a fat, smelly guy, not a pretty lady. Gotta be short for something.”

“Victoria,” she whispered.

Del tore his attention away from the burning warehouse and took her hand in his, studying the cuts on her fingers. Again, he cursed.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, trying to draw her hand from his tight grasp.

Del held fast. There was no withdrawing her hand from his, not unless he wanted her to. “Baby,” he growled, “nothing is okay.”




Chapter 2


Vic hadn’t looked him in the eye since they’d left the warehouse parking lot, and the only words she’d spoken had been lifeless directions to her South Huntsville home. He’d bandaged her hand quickly, using the first-aid kit he always had in the trunk, while Shock had checked the Jag inside and out for nasty explosive devices. Shock had found nothing, and they’d gotten out of there while the fire raged. They were gone long before the volunteer fire department could arrive.

Del steered the Jag in and out of shaded portions of the street, driving slowly since there were kids everywhere. They played ball, rode bikes, attempted tricks on skateboards and in-line skates. It was a nice neighborhood. The homes were nothing like the antebellum house in Old Town where Vic had grown up, but nice just the same.

“Here,” she said, pointing to an empty driveway. Del turned sharply and came to an abrupt stop before a midsize, middle-class Colonial home. Two stories, neatly landscaped, nothing special that might reach out and grab a person. It was just…a house.

“Thanks,” Vic said as she opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car. Still, she didn’t look directly at him.

Del cursed beneath his breath. She’d survived the crisis and now she was falling apart. Women did that, or so he’d been told.

He left the car and headed for Vic’s slow-moving form, tempted to put his arm around her as he had when they’d run from the warehouse. She looked like she needed the support, but he didn’t touch her. He stayed close, though, just in case.

She stepped onto the porch and reached out to touch the doorknob. The door easily swung open. Finally, she looked up at him. “They didn’t lock the door.” From the tone of her voice, it was clear she found this the most egregious of the Mayrons’ sins.

“Should anyone be here?”

Vic shook her head.

Del drew the Colt pistol Shock had pressed upon him before they left the warehouse, taking care that the weapon was not visible to anyone passing on the street. “Stay here,” he said softly as he left Vic waiting on the front porch.

His search of the house was quick, efficient and productive in an unexpected way. No one was waiting for Vic’s return. Tripp and Holly, who were not the most brilliant of the criminals he’d run across in his career, had been sloppily confident that there was nothing wrong with their plan. They actually thought that Del would take their warning that they would know if he told anyone where he was going seriously.

After talking to Holly and hearing Vic say her name and then cry out, Del had written a quick note and slipped it to Shock quietly, in case the caller had been telling the truth and he was being watched. He’d suspected all along that threat was false; he knew the other agents in the office too well to suspect that they’d be involved in anything like this. But he couldn’t take the chance that he was right about them all. Not with Vic’s life at stake.

The quick check of her neat home revealed something interesting. The men’s shirt she wore was the only piece of men’s clothing in the house. There was no electric razor in the bathroom, no men’s shoes in the closet…nothing. This was a woman’s house, pure and simple, put together with an easy blending of soft colors and comfortable furniture. The only exception was the daughter’s bedroom, which was decorated in purple and black and adorned with slick posters of bands Del had never heard of. From the looks of the guys in the posters, they weren’t exactly into easy listening.

“All clear,” he said, placing the pistol at his spine as he opened the front door and reached out a hand to assist Vic over the threshold.

She nodded her head, obviously relieved, and stepped inside, releasing his hand as she walked through the foyer. Unconsciously, he was sure, her fingertips trailed across the palm of his hand. “Thanks. Should I…do anything? Call the police?” She turned slowly and tilted her head back, looking him squarely and bravely in the eye. “I won’t,” she said. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

He knew how this looked, what she was thinking. With a few words he could set her straight. He said nothing, telling himself it no longer mattered what Vic thought.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice low.

She just nodded. “Thanks for the ride.” It was a neat, almost polite dismissal.

“Coffee,” Del said, brushing past her. “And I need to use your phone.”

“There’s a café on the corner and they have great coffee,” she said quickly. “And they have a phone, too. I think,” she added in a softer voice.

Del turned before he reached the short hallway that led to the kitchen. “Trying to get rid of me?”

Vic nodded.

“I can’t leave you here alone.” Del leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing outside even as tension coiled inside him. Vic had been less than forthcoming. “I thought maybe I’d wait around until your husband gets home. Is he at work? You can give him a call and…”

“That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice low and quick, her eyes darting away from him. At least she had the good manners to look a little guilty as she lied.

“What’s his name?” Del asked.

“Preston,” Vic whispered. “Preston Lowell.”

“And when will he be home?” How many chances was he going to give her to tell him the truth?

Her face went pale, once again. Her usually luscious lips thinned and tightened. “We’re divorced,” she finally admitted. “He lives in North Carolina.”

Del smiled. “You forgot to mention that earlier.” He turned and headed for the kitchen. “Pack a bag,” he said as he walked away. “We’re getting out of here.”

He heard Vic’s footsteps behind him, the pad of her tennis shoes soft on the tile floor. “No. That’s not necessary. The bomb blew up, surely those two will think we’re dead. Right?” That last word was tinged with hope.

“For a couple of days,” Del answered. “Eventually they’ll wonder why there’s no mention of the bodies on the news, and they’ll do a little digging. Won’t take them long to find out the building was empty when it blew. You’re not safe here.”

He expected Vic to argue, but his declaration was met with dead silence.

He found the coffee and filters in the most logical place—in the cabinet above the coffeemaker. While Vic watched, he measured out the grounds and got the brew going. When he turned around, he found Vic staring at him so hard he could feel it.

“Why me?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you for sixteen years. It doesn’t make sense that they would kidnap me to get to you.”

He’d had the same thought. Why her? True, the assignment to Birmingham, Alabama, put them in the same geographical area, but still…there had been other women in his life. Women who’d lasted more than a month. But then, Vic hadn’t been a woman sixteen years ago, she’d been a little girl playing with womanly things.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”

She nodded her head and looked away from him.

“How’s the hand?”

She wiggled the tightly bandaged fingers. “Fine.”

An awkward silence filled the air of Vic’s homey, bright kitchen. The coffeemaker gurgled, and outside a bird chirped. The light that broke through the wide window at the breakfast nook bathed Vic in a way that made her look golden, more beautiful than she really was, surely. Del tried to tell himself that he no longer cared for her, that she didn’t grab him somewhere deep inside and hold on.

“They’re going to come back, aren’t they?” Her voice was breathless with fear.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. And they won’t be back tonight, that’s certain. They want to be far, far away when you come up missing or dead. If they decided to come back and swipe your TV or rifle through your jewelry box like common thieves, someone might see them in the area. It’s not a chance they’ll take. You need to get out of here, though, because when they find out you’re not dead they’ll be back. Like I said, we have a little time.”

She nodded. “Noelle’s not supposed to be back for four days.”

“We don’t have that much time. Should we go to Gulf Shores and pick her up?”

Vic’s eyes were condemning, sharp and no longer afraid. “We? No. I’ll go get her myself.”

Del shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.” Dammit, there was no way he’d leave Vic to handle this on her own. He couldn’t.

“Let me?” Vic snapped.

Her defiance was almost amusing. Almost. “You have no idea what you’re up against. I can’t just let you run out of here on your own.”

“What are you going to do, tag along?”

Del sighed, not at all happy with this turn of events. “Yeah.”



Del refused to leave, even when Vic reached the end of her rope and threatened to call the police. He said one night in the house would be all right. The television news had covered the explosion of the abandoned warehouse off of I-65, and while they hadn’t reported anything about discovering bodies inside, there hadn’t been much information at all. The fire had still been too hot for investigators to explore the building.

Maybe right now the kidnappers thought she and Del were dead. That incorrect assumption would not last long.

So come tomorrow morning, she and Del were headed for Gulf Shores to collect Noelle. Then what? Oh, it was not a good idea for those two to be together, not even for a short time. Noelle had Del’s black hair, his blue eyes, his way of finding and embracing trouble. Would he take one look at her and know?

Del finished making his phone calls in the kitchen and walked into the living room where Vic was curled up on the couch. She couldn’t help herself…she was taken aback by how beautiful he was, how unexpectedly tempting. Talk about trouble! Del Wilder was a criminal who had come back into her life with a bang. Literally. He couldn’t stay, and she couldn’t let herself be tempted by what she couldn’t have.

“I’ll hire someone to go with me,” she said, not sounding as confident as she wanted to. “A private investigator, maybe, someone who specializes in personal protection.”

“Still trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.”

He ignored her, smiled and walked to the mantel where a collection of photographs were carefully placed. Vic’s heart almost stopped when he reached out and grabbed an eight-by-ten of Noelle at the age of nine. She’d been taking dance lessons then, and was wearing a ladybug outfit, complete with wings and antennae. Vic’s heart thudded too hard. What if he looked at Noelle and saw the truth?

“Pretty girl,” he said, smiling as he returned the framed photo to its place.

“Yes, she is.”

“So,” Del said, turning to face her. “What happened with Presley?”

“Preston,” she said tersely. “And what happened to my marriage is none of your business.”

“Just curious. Trying to kill a little time.” He shoved his hands in his pocket, the move making him look like a large, tense, restless boy. “Shock will come by in the morning and drop off a bag. I’d like to get out of here pretty early. By ten, anyway.”

“Del…”

“And don’t tell me I’m not going with you,” he interrupted. “You need me, Vic.”

Those were the last words she wanted to hear! “I do not need you.”

She didn’t need anyone to look out for her or Noelle. The only men who had ever tried to shelter and protect her had ended up betraying her, in one way or another. Her father; Preston. Even Del. These days Vic looked out for herself and her daughter. She didn’t need a man to play the hero.

“At least let me see you settled somewhere safe,” Del said, obviously trying to placate her. “I know of a few good places to hide.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Del grinned at her blatant insult. “You got tough while I was gone.”

He couldn’t possibly know what a nerve he’d touched on. “I didn’t have any choice.”



Shock was right on time, for a change, and he came bearing everything Del had asked for. Clothes, ammo, an extra pistol. And a file on Vic and her ex-husband.

Del enjoyed his morning ritual, coffee and a cigarette, and flipped through the file. There wasn’t much.

“Any luck finding Tripp and Holly?”

Shock shook his head. “No, man, they’re staying clear of their regular haunts. They’ll turn up sooner or later. They always do.”

Up until now, the Mayrons had been a minor annoyance, two pesky flies in the ointment. They hadn’t been this determined, violent or organized before. Besides, Tripp Mayron was a major screwup.

“And the other?”

“Most of the good stuff is up here,” Shock said, tapping a fingertip against his temple. “I made a few phone calls last night and dug up the real dirt.”

Del looked down at a photo of Vic, an impersonal and unflattering driver’s license picture. And still, she looked good. “Let’s hear it.”

“Six years ago Preston Lowell, who works for Vic’s old man, was caught with his pants down. Literally. Not a pretty sight, from what I hear. The guy’s apparently got a really tiny little…”

“Shock,” Del growled in warning.

“Old man Archard, his secretary and a new client walked into Preston’s office after hours to get some papers or something, and found naughty Lowell and his new secretary…dictating, right there on the desk.” Shock waggled his eyebrows. “Vic kicked him out and he got transferred to the Raleigh office, a demotion from what I hear. Vic had already been selling some paintings, but once she was on her own she really threw herself into the business. Now she releases several prints a year and makes a decent living doing it.”

Del stared at the grainy photograph. He wasn’t sorry that Vic was currently unattached, but he was incensed that any man would treat her that way. She deserved better.

“By the way, this is the Vic, right?” Shock’s long, thin fingers danced over his heart.

“Shut up, Albert,” Del muttered.

Shock clapped a hand over his heart. “Man, I do you a favor and you call me Albert. What’s gotten into you?”

Del lifted his eyes slowly. “Anything else?”

“Only that no one at Archard Enterprises likes Preston much, and that he’d been fooling around for years. Everybody knew, probably even Vic. Once the old man caught him, though, that was his ass.”

“But he was demoted, not fired?” Del shook his head. “The old man should have kicked his butt and then run him out of town on a rail, but instead he transfers him to Raleigh?”

Shock just grunted, in a familiar kind of acknowledgment.

Del took a long drag on his cigarette. “Okay, the old man is screwed up. I already knew that. But if Lowell had been fooling around for years…why would Vic put up with that?”

“Why don’t you just ask me?”

He and Shock both turned their heads toward the kitchen doorway to find an irate Vic standing there, her hair curling wildly, her thick white robe cinched tight. She stepped toward Del and he tried to close the file. Too late. She saw her own picture.

“Vic, baby…” he began.

“Don’t you Vic, baby me,” she snapped, reaching out and taking the cigarette from his fingers, tossing it into his coffee cup. “And don’t smoke in my house!”

Del glanced down at what was left of his cigarette floating in what was left of his coffee. What a waste. “Like it or not, you’re as much a part of this as I am.”

“Yeah, right.” She crossed her arms over her chest. There was fire in her eyes, color in her cheeks and pink nail polish on her toes. What a woman. “I’m an artist. No matter how unhappy someone might be with a painting I do, they don’t try to blow me up!”

“We have to cover every possibility.”

“No, we don’t,” she said calmly. “Get out of my house before I call the police.” With that, she turned her back on him.

“Nothing’s changed, Vic,” he called after her. “As soon as you’re dressed, we’ll go pick up the kid and find a safe place for you both.”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, then,” he said, growing angry at her stubbornness. “Call the police. Someone there will surely talk. It’ll hit the newspapers, maybe even the noon news. And the next thing you know Tripp and Holly will know we didn’t go up with the warehouse and they’ll be back.”

She spun on him. “It’ll be worth it to see you in jail.”

“Jail?” Shock said. “Man, what did you do?”

Del kept his eyes on Vic. “Nothing. Vic just has some mistaken ideas about what my life has been like. Isn’t that right, baby?”

She turned red. “It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure it out.”

He reached into his back pocket, drew out his ID and flipped it open to display the badge. “DEA,” he said. “Did you figure that one out?”

She stared at the badge from a distance. “Drug Enforcement Administration,” she said softly, obviously surprised. Her brow wrinkled, her lips thinned. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

He shrugged. “I work undercover. The idea is not to tell everyone in the world what I do.”

She looked hurt, as if it pained her to be clumped in with everyone else in the world. Did she think she still meant something to him, that she was special? No, too many years had passed for that.

“Del is the best,” Shock said, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “We’ve been partners for five years,” he added. “There was this one time—”

“Not now,” Del interrupted.

“Sure, man.”

Del stared at an angry Vic. “Pack your bag and let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t…”

“What are you going to do the next time the doorbell rings, Vic? Hide? Take a chance and open the door on God knows what? Tripp and Holly might hire out the dirty work, since you’ve seen their faces. Anyone who comes to your door could be the bad guy, and next time they might decide to take your daughter, too.”

Her face went white.

“You saw them, you can testify against them, and they won’t forget that. We’re leaving in thirty minutes,” he added. “Whether you’re ready or not, whether you want to or not.” His own anger rose. “If I have to toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here, I will. Don’t doubt it, Vic.”

She gave him one last, less-than-warm look before turning her back on him. “I don’t doubt it at all.”



They’d been riding in silence for more than an hour, Del concentrating on the road, Vic staring out the passenger window. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. She couldn’t stand another five hours of this.

“We’re going to have to call a truce,” she said calmly.

“What kind of truce?”

Del was no happier with her than she was with him. She had no need to worry that he might complicate matters where Noelle was concerned. As soon as he could get rid of them both with a clear conscience, he would.

“We’re both going to have to compromise.”

“I’m already compromising,” he muttered. “I’m driving a freakin’ minivan.”

Vic smiled. “We couldn’t get everything in your Jaguar and have room for Noelle in that tiny excuse for a back seat.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure your car will be safe in my garage.”

He just mumbled.

“So,” she continued. “Truce?”

“Sure.”

Del glanced at her and she smiled as if it didn’t hurt. There had been days when she prayed to be able to forget him, but how could she? Noelle was so much like him that sometimes it frightened her. The similarities went beyond coloring and the shape of their mouths. Noelle had Del’s restless spirit, his pride and his ingrained defiance.

“So,” she said, trying for a light conversational tone. “How have you been?”

He laughed, and the sound was unexpectedly heart-warming. Del had never laughed much, but when he did the laughter came from his heart and soul. “Fine. And you?”

“Fine.” Memories she didn’t want came rushing back. “Did you ever learn to dance?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” she whispered.

“Did you ever learn to swim?”

“No.” She found she didn’t want to know how many women had been in Del’s life, so she didn’t even bother to ask if he’d ever been married. She suspected not. Del had never been one for settling down, and since the kidnappers who were after him had needed bait, it had been her they’d kidnapped. After all these years…

“I tried to teach you,” he said, shaking his head. “But you wouldn’t…” He stopped suddenly. Did he remember, too?

It had been too early in the year to swim, the water too cold, and she had held on to Del with everything she had while the water lapped around them, the lights of the pool they’d sneaked into making the night eerie and romantic. Romantic to a silly seventeen-year-old girl, anyway. God, she had loved holding on to him.

“Once we have Noelle with us, where are we going?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. Being in close quarters with Del was bad enough. Bringing back old memories that would do neither of them any good only made matters worse.

Del stared at her, but he didn’t answer for a few long minutes. Finally he said, “Don’t worry. I have everything taken care of.”

Not everything, she imagined. There were too many details Del didn’t know, too many things he couldn’t possibly be prepared for.

How could she prepare him for Noelle? Noelle, who was so much like him, who rebelled at every turn…who would not be happy to see them.

Much as he’d like to think otherwise, Del did not have everything under control.




Chapter 3


“Who the hell are you?”

Del was a little taken aback. This was Vic’s daughter? The teenage girl stood in the main room of a very nice condo on the beach, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. Vic’s pride and joy was dressed entirely in black, from her clunky tennis shoes to the baggy shorts to the oversize T-shirt. There were, at quick count, six earrings in one ear. Only one in the other. And her head…

“Noelle Eve Lowell,” Vic said, sounding horrified. “What have you done to your hair?”

The teenager took audacious eyes off of Del and laid them on her mother. “It rained yesterday. We didn’t have anything to do.” She touched a hand to her hair, which was a very unnatural shade of red and cut too short…on one side. On the other side, soft red strands brushed softly against one cheek.

“It rained,” Vic said, “and you just happened to have hair dye with you? And a pair of scissors, too, I see?”

“We brought them with us just in case.” Noelle shuffled one foot. “Michelle’s hair turned pink and I think I cut it too short on one side. Her mom is really not happy.” Her expression hardened. “Why are you here, Mother, and who is the thug?”

Thug?

“Please tell me you’re not going through a midlife crisis and actually sleeping with this guy.”

“Noelle!”

“And if you are, why did you feel the need to drive all the way down here to, what…introduce us? I really don’t need to be dragged into your midlife crisis, Mother.”

The three of them were alone in the classy, nicely furnished condo. The Severns, Noelle’s friend’s family, were down at the beach. Just as well.

“We’re taking a little vacation,” Del said calmly.

Noelle glared at him. “I’m already on vacation, moron. And I still don’t know who you are.”

He’d dealt with tough customers before, many of them tougher than Vic’s daughter. Maybe. “Del Wilder,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Your mother and I are old friends.”

Behind him, Vic continued to mutter about her daughter’s hair.

“Old friends. How nice.” Instead of extending her hand to shake Del’s, Noelle placed hands on hips and struck a defiant pose. “Why on earth do you want me along on your little vacation? I’m sure to cramp your style.”

Vic had decided that she didn’t want Noelle to know what had happened. Not yet, anyway. Del had to agree. It was sure to be traumatic for a fourteen-year-old to know that someone had just tried to blow up her mother.

“Family vacation,” Del grumbled.

“You’re not family.”

He ignored her. “Fishing, picnics, a cabin by the lake.” He hadn’t told Vic where they were going, but she’d know soon enough. The cabin he’d rented was close enough to Birmingham that he could make a run to the office, if he had to, far enough away from town that they wouldn’t have to worry about being spotted by anyone passing by. No one but Shock knew the location of the hideaway.

“I hate fishing.”

Del had a feeling he and Noelle could stand here all day and never agree on anything. If he told her the sky was blue, she’d come up with some kind of argument. He’d rather face the business end of a gun than deal with an obviously mixed-up fourteen-year-old.

Vic stepped forward, passing close to Del as she approached her daughter. “Pack your things and let’s go,” she said.

Noelle opened her mouth to argue, but Vic didn’t give her a chance.

“Now.”

Noelle sighed, but she turned around and disappeared into a bedroom to do as her mother asked.

Del crept up behind Vic and laid a hand on her shoulder. “She hates me.”

“She’ll get over it.”

He tried to think of something positive to say. The words stuck in his throat, until he finally said, “She’s a pretty girl.”

“Yes,” Vic said softly. “She is.” Beneath his hand, he felt Vic relax. “Don’t take anything she says too seriously. The past couple of years have been tough.”

Del’s thumb rocked against Vic’s shoulder, an easily offered comfort she didn’t brush away. “The divorce?”

Vic nodded. “At first, she didn’t really understand. I think she spent years waiting…waiting for Preston to come home. When she finally realized that he wasn’t coming home, she got angry. She’s still angry, but she’ll be okay.” Vic took a deep, stilling breath. “The tough-girl image is an act, mostly.”

Del nodded. “I understand.” Okay, it was a lie. He didn’t understand. But since he wouldn’t be around long, he didn’t need to, right?

He didn’t like the uncertainty that washed through him. What if he was around for a while? What if even after the Mayrons were caught and Vic was safe, he continued to see her?

Like she’d let him. Vic had made it clear that truce or no truce, he was not welcome in her life.



The spot Del had chosen as their hideout didn’t look like much, but Vic approached the cabin with the hope that the inside would be better.

It wasn’t.

“Oh, my God,” Noelle said as she stepped from the sagging front porch into the main room of the sprawling cabin. “This is a joke, right? We’re not actually going to sleep here.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of roughing it, kid?” Del asked with a wide smile on his face.

“This was all your idea, wasn’t it, Wilder?” Noelle asked, casting a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder.

Del’s grin remained in place.

Noelle began to explore, very quickly discovering that there was no phone and no air-conditioning. She expressed overly exuberant delight upon finding indoor plumbing.

While Noelle disappeared down the hallway to choose the bedroom that would be her own, Vic faced Del.

“I’m sure we’ll be okay here,” she said, steeling herself to send Del away. “Thanks. When all’s clear, I guess you’ll let me know. Right?” Her heart caught in her throat as she looked up at him; her mouth went dry. He had to get out of here. What if one morning he looked at Noelle and just knew? Then what?

She didn’t like the way he looked at her, his smile fading, his eyes going dark. “Who said I was going anywhere?”

“You can’t…”

“I can,” he interrupted. “And I will.”

He took one step toward her. One step was all the room she had. With that simple move he robbed her of her safety zone, her personal space, the shield that kept him at a distance. This close she could feel his heat, see the stubble on his jaw. The faint, intriguing scent of his body drifted to her.

“You’re still angry,” he said softly.

“Of course I’m still…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, cupping her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. “I should have told you what I do as soon as I had the chance. It’s just that when I realized what you thought, it hurt a little.”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

He nodded, once. “Fair enough.”

“You…you investigated me,” she said in an accusatory tone of voice.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

Del hesitated. “I can’t assume anything, Vic. I need to find out why they went after you. There are other ways to get to me. I can’t figure out how they connected us. It’s been such a long time.” He moved a little bit closer.

“So investigating me was just…part of the job.”

“No.” His head dipped. “I wanted to know.”

“You wanted to know what?”

“Everything.” With every heartbeat he moved closer.

Vic licked her lips. “There’s not much to know. My life is…pretty dull. At least…”

Del kissed her. She’d known it was coming, had passed and ignored her chance to step out of the danger zone and away from this kiss that was going to complicate everything. Her life. His. Her heart.

She loved the way Del kissed, his lips gentle and firm, his body molding to hers and his arms wrapping around her. He gave everything he had to this kiss, the way he had always given everything of himself to whatever he did. The movement of his mouth over hers rocked her to her core, made her forget everything else.

His tongue swept over her bottom lip, and she couldn’t contain the catch in her throat that gave away her response. One caressing hand was in her hair, the other stayed firmly at her spine. Every now and then his fingers rocked, comforting and much too arousing.

There was comfort in a kiss. She had forgotten that. She had also forgotten what it was like to be swept away by physical sensation. To feel as if she were melting, as if her knees might buckle at any moment. Her lips parted more widely, as unconsciously she invited more. And more.

“This,” a cold voice called from too nearby, “is totally disgusting.”

The kiss ended abruptly and Del backed up a step just as Vic did. To his credit, he looked almost as shaken as she felt.

“Gross,” Noelle muttered. “Why on earth did you two kidnap me from a perfectly decent vacation to make me watch this disgusting display of lewd middle-aged behavior?”

Del recovered quickly. “You’re our chaperon, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” Noelle said coldly, her eyes pinned on Del. “We’re not going to bond or anything, so you might as well save your time and energy.”

“No kiddo, huh?”

“No kiddo.”

“How about I call you ladybug, instead?”

Noelle made a guttural noise that very clearly spoke of her distaste, before spinning around and heading for the kitchen.

Del smiled down at Vic. “I think she’s beginning to like me.”

Vic shook her head. “I’m sorry. She’s really not always so…awful.”

And no matter how much a kiss made her think otherwise, she knew Del would not be around long enough to get to see Noelle’s better side.



Going to bed early was preferable to watching the two lovebirds. How incredibly gross.

Noelle kicked back on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling, her headphones and the music in her ears drowning out any sounds that might drift through her closed door.

This was bad. Really bad. Yeah, her mom did date now and then, but never guys like Wilder. She spent more time with her friends than with guys, especially Wanda Freeman. Wanda had even fixed her best friend Vic up a few times, but that had always been a disaster. There were men from Grandpa’s company, dweebs like that stiff James Moss, or that guy who smiled all the time, Ryan what’s-his-name. She had never worried about those guys because they never kissed her mom like that, or went to a crappy shack in the woods on vacation or called her kiddo and Ladybug. She snorted. Wilder obviously thought if he played nice with the kid it would make a difference to the mother. Fat chance.

If only her Dad knew about Wilder, he’d do something. He’d come in and run that thug off and realize that the three of them belonged together again. It had been such a long time…she barely remembered what it was like to have a father and a mother. Her dad steered clear of her because her mother was always there, and that was obviously uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t his fault that he rarely came around, or that when he did he didn’t stay long. It wasn’t his fault that he never smiled anymore, or that he was always so anxious to leave.

Yeah, if he knew, he’d do something. Noelle smiled. Something drastic. How cool would that be?



He wanted her. More than was right, much more than he should. Hell, he wasn’t eighteen anymore. He didn’t lose control of his emotions or his libido.

But he wanted Vic so much it hurt.

She stepped onto the porch to join him. The screen door squealed, the planks on the porch squeaked as she stepped across them. He felt each sharp sound as if it fluttered through his body. This was not good.

“She’s asleep?” he asked.

Vic nodded as she sat in the rocking chair beside him. “Out like a light,” she whispered, as if her voice might disturb the night. And what a night it was. The moon was full and the air had taken on a comfortable cool hint as it washed across the nearby lake and through the trees. The air smelled clean and fresh, the moonlight lit the rustic front porch and the woods before them. And it lit Vic in a way that made her look even more beautiful than she usually did. That in itself was a miracle.

He could not afford to get sloppy and sentimental over a woman. He tried to tell himself that what he felt was just a residual of what they’d had long ago, the faint echo of what an eighteen-year-old had thought was love.

And still, he wanted her.

“How long will you be here?” Vic asked, her voice soft and easy.

“As long as it takes.”

“That’s not—”

“Necessary?” Del interrupted. “No, I guess it’s not. But what am I supposed to do, Vic?” Anger made his voice too caustic. “Leave you here?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Not this time.”

Vic rocked, silent for a long moment. “Surely no one will find us out here. I’m sure Noelle and I will be fine on our own.”

Was she so anxious to get rid of him? Apparently so. “Let’s get one thing straight, Vic. I’m not leaving here until we have the Mayrons in custody. If I do have to leave, Shock will be here. No one else. I don’t trust anyone but Shock.” With you. He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t reveal that much of himself, to Vic or to anyone else.

Vic sighed, and he felt it. “If it was just me, I’d argue with you,” she said. “But I won’t take risks with Noelle. If there’s even a remote chance those people will find us here…” She turned her head and looked at him, square on for the first time since he’d kissed her. “I’ll do anything to keep Noelle safe,” she said. “Anything.”

He’d use that, if he had to. If she tried to kick him out again he’d appeal to her motherly devotion and protective instincts. “Good. Then we agree that I’m staying.”

Again Vic sighed, and then she nodded her head.

That taken care of, his mind took a more personal bent. While he was making sure Vic was safe, he had to get her out of his head. He wasn’t sure exactly how to do that. Concentrate on her faults and convince himself he was much better off without her? Remember the past and how much it had hurt?

Or sleep with her and get this obsession out of his system, once and for all?

More than once she’d tried to push him away, but she kissed as if she was interested. Very interested.

“Are you…seeing anybody?” he asked.

He felt her eyes on him but continued to stare out at the night. “No. Not at the moment.”

Del nodded. Good.

“You?” she asked.

“Not at the moment.”

He couldn’t tell if her soft hum was one of approval or not. Maybe. Maybe.

“I always figured you’d be married by now. Have a few kids,” she said.

So, she did think about him. “Nope. No time, I guess.”

“You really should. Noelle is the best part of my life.”

Del turned his head and looked at Vic, studied her moonlit profile. He wisely contained his first response— You’ve got to be kidding. “I’ll bet you’re a great mother.”

She smiled gently. “There was a time I thought maybe I was. The past couple of years I’ve had my doubts. I wonder if maybe Noelle wouldn’t be happier if I’d done something different.”

“We all rebel at that age, at least a little.”

“I guess,” she agreed in a low whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have forgiven Preston, for Noelle’s sake. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “You deserve better than that, Vic. Much better.”

She laid her eyes on him and smiled, gentle and confident and…every bit as stirred up as he was.

He didn’t play games, not anymore. He didn’t dance around delicate issues because he was shy or discreet. He’d never had either of those attributes.

“Vic, where am I sleeping tonight?”

Even in the moonlight, it seemed her face went pale. “You can have the bed,” she said. “I’ll take the couch.”

Not exactly the response he’d been hoping for. There were two bedrooms. Noelle was sleeping in one. The other had a queen-size bed and its own personal bathroom. And then there was the sofa in the main room. “I’ll take the couch,” he said.

“It’s too short for you,” Vic protested.

“It folds out into a bed.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, he’d sleep on the couch tonight, and maybe even tomorrow night, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be there long.



Vic tossed in the bed, unable to get comfortable. Her nightgown twisted around her legs, frustrating her even more. The mattress was too soft, then too hard. The air in the confining room was too hot, then not hot at all. But deep down she knew it wasn’t the bed or the temperature that kept her awake. It was Del.

Where am I sleeping tonight? Why had he asked her that question? It could have been taken more than one way, but there had been nothing innocent about the tone of his deep voice, nothing innocent about the look in his eye as he’d asked that loaded question.

She’d been tempted, momentarily, to answer With me. But she hadn’t and she wouldn’t.

For good reason. Del had lied to her, he’d almost gotten her killed, and he thought he could come riding in here on his white horse and take over. She didn’t need him to protect her. She didn’t need any man to protect her.

More than all that, there was the issue of Noelle. If Del knew she was his daughter he’d never be out of their lives. He’d bring danger with him, the threat from criminals like the ones who’d kidnapped and almost killed her.

And then there was the danger to her heart, and Noelle’s. Preston’s leaving had hurt Noelle and the poor girl was still suffering. She didn’t need another man coming into her life, becoming a part of it and then walking away. And that’s what Del would do, in the end. Walk away. Maybe she could survive the hurt to herself, but to put Noelle through that again? She couldn’t.

Del could never know Noelle was his daughter. And Vic couldn’t get involved with him and continue to lie. It was too hard. So no matter what she wanted, no matter how tempted she was…

Hot once again, she threw off her covers and sat up. She hadn’t been with or wanted a man in years. She was alone, and had been long before the divorce. Alone, but never lonely. She didn’t mind that there was no man in her life. All she needed was her painting and her daughter. Life was simple that way. Simple was good. But Del made her feel lonely, as if she was missing something important. Something beautiful.

On bare feet, Vic slipped out of her room and down the hallway. Passing Noelle’s door, she heard her daughter’s deep, even breathing. As she neared the main room, she heard Del’s deeper, decidedly masculine breaths.

Just a peek, that’s all she wanted.

She stopped at the entrance to the main room and leaned against the wall. Del was sprawled across the sofa bed, which was indeed too small for him. He filled it, his feet hanging off the end, his out-flung arms and legs taking up the length and breadth of the mattress.

And that hair… She had always loved his long hair. It was beautiful and it suited him. Wild. Unconventional. He was definitely not the kind of man her father had envisioned for her.

He was definitely not the kind of man she needed in her life now. If she let him get too close, he would only complicate matters. But, oh, as she watched him sleep she wished again that when he’d asked Where am I sleeping tonight? she’d answered With me.

With a shake of her head she turned and silently returned to her bed. Stupid, she chided silently as she walked away. If she knew one truth, it was that Del Wilder was not for her and never would be.




Chapter 4


Del heard the steps, too cautious in the hallway. Noelle, he saw as he cracked one eye and caught sight of a young girl’s legs topped in yet another pair of black shorts. Her toenails, he noticed, were painted a dark red. At least she had a color scheme going for herself.

It wasn’t even seven in the morning, yet, and here she was, creeping through the cabin as if she had all sorts of nefarious plans. He had no doubt that nefarious was Noelle’s middle name.

The keys to Vic’s van were close, there on the coffee table he’d moved to the wall so the couch could be opened into an uncomfortable bed. He wondered if Noelle would be so bold, and pretended to sleep.

She came close but didn’t go for the keys. Instead she snagged his cell phone from an end table on the other side of a fat chair and headed stealthily for the kitchen.

When she was out of sight, Del left the sofa bed with just as much stealth and followed. He’d slept in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, too warm for summer but all he had. He grabbed a T-shirt from the chair he’d tossed it over last night and pulled the garment on as he walked.

Who was Noelle calling? A boyfriend? Her friend Michelle? He wasn’t worried about her giving anyone directions to the place, attempting what she was sure to see as rescue. She’d slept most of the way to the cabin, dozing through the many twists and turns he’d taken to get here.

He was just about ready to jump out and give the girl a scare—no more than she deserved—when Noelle’s soft voice stopped him.

“Dad?”

Something in his heart clenched. This was no tough teenager with a bad attitude; it was just a little girl who sounded uncertain and a bit afraid. Del leaned against the wall, out of sight, and waited.

“I…I know you’re getting ready to go to work,” she said quickly. “But—”

Preston must’ve interrupted, because Noelle went breathlessly silent once again.

“Mom has a boyfriend,” she said, her voice too fast. Was she afraid her father would interrupt again? “A real loser.”

Del relaxed against the wall. Loser?

“I can’t stay here. They practically kidnapped me and forced me to go on vacation.” She sighed. “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny. We’re, like, in the woods, and I think they expect me to go fishing or something.” She was silent for a short minute or two. “It’s just gross.”

Finally, she got to the point of her call. “Can’t I come live with you?”

The tone of her voice was so tender, so fragile, Del had the feeling—no, he knew—that Noelle had asked this question before.

“Just for the rest of summer vacation, maybe,” she said in a lower voice. “Or…a couple of weeks.”

She was definitely breathing now, too hard, as if struggling to stop the tears of rejection.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Maybe I’ll see you then. ’Bye.”

At the moment, Del really wanted to get his hands on Preston Lowell. What a jerk. What a complete and total jackass.

He pushed away from the wall and stepped into the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head, closing his eyes as he yawned to give Noelle a chance to wipe away the tears on her face.

“’Morning, kiddo,” he said as he dropped his arms.

She opened her mouth to argue.

“Noelle,” he corrected himself quickly. “Good morning, Noelle. Did you get up to make me breakfast?”

To look at her, you wouldn’t know she’d been crying just a few seconds ago. Tears were gone, eyes were dry and flinty. The cell phone had been quickly and expertly slipped up the long, baggy sleeve of her black shirt. “No.”

“Then maybe I’ll make you breakfast,” he said, heading for the refrigerator.

“Don’t bother.” She looked angry, as if she wanted to take all her frustration out on him. But she didn’t leave.

“You didn’t eat much last night,” he said. “You must be hungry.”

Noelle’s short cherry-red hair stood on end, and her face…she tried so hard to be tough as nails, unforgiving and obstinate. But there was still a touch of the child in her mouth and her eyes.

“What are you making?” she finally asked.

Shock had equipped the place well, and last night Del had searched all the cabinets, taking stock of their supplies. “Pancakes?”

“Okay.” Noelle slipped out of the room for a moment, while Del took the pancake mix and a bowl from the cabinet. When she returned and took a seat at the round table on the opposite side of the room, he could see that she no longer hid the cell phone up her sleeve. If she hadn’t already been jerked around once this morning, he’d let her know she’d been caught. Best to let her think she’d gotten away with swiping the phone, for now. He imagined conversation of any kind would be unwelcome at the moment, so he whipped up the batter without saying a word. As he dropped the first dollop of pancake batter onto the preheated griddle, Noelle shifted in her chair.

“You’re wasting your time, you know,” she said.

“Making pancakes?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Setting your sights on my mother,” she clarified with a sharp glance.

“What makes you think I’ve set my sights on your mother?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I saw you kiss her. You kidnapped me and dragged me to the middle of nowhere for a family vacation. What is it, Grandpa’s money? Hate to disappoint you, but he has it all. Mom pretty much told him to take a hike, years ago, so we don’t exactly share the wealth. If you want to get your hands on the Archard fortune, you’ll have to date Grandpa.”

Del flipped pancakes. One kiss did not a sight-setting make, but it was a simpler explanation than the truth. Still, it had been a great kiss, and if he had his way… “Maybe I like her,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.”

“She has lots of boyfriends,” Noelle said sharply. “All of them better than you.”

With his back to the girl, Del smiled widely. “Is that a fact? How could they possibly be better than me?”

“They have jobs, they wear suits. They cut their hair.”

“I have a job, I own a suit and what’s wrong with my hair?”

He headed to the table with a plate full of small pancakes. Without being asked, Noelle jumped up and went to the refrigerator for syrup and juice. “Nothing,” she said as she returned to the table. “If you actually enjoy looking like a reject from the seventies.”

Del gave her a big grin as he moved a stack of pancakes to his plate.

Annoyed that her plan wasn’t working, Noelle lifted her chin and tried another tactic. “Besides, you don’t want to get involved with my mother. She’s psycho.”

“Psycho?”

Noelle piled her own plate high. “Yep.”

“Can you give me some examples?”

Noelle pursed her lips. “She freaks whenever I mention dating. I can only go out if it’s a special occasion, a double date, and even then I have to go with someone she knows and approves of.”

Del shook his head. “You’re right. Psycho.”

His sarcasm didn’t get past her. “I was born on Christmas Eve and she named me Noelle Eve. Noelle Lowell, can you believe that? Everyone makes it rhyme. But I guess I should consider myself lucky. What if I’d been born on Easter, or Valentine’s Day, or…Thanksgiving?”

“Little Turkey Lowell.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Noelle is a very pretty name,” Del said. “Now, eat your pancakes.”

She did, digging in and dismissing their conversation.

His breakfast finished, Del walked into the living room and collected his cigarettes from the end table. When he returned to the kitchen, Noelle had finished eating and sat there with her eyes on the window and the view beyond. She was, no doubt, thinking about her father and his refusal of her request. Poor kid.

When she saw the cigarettes in his hand, her eyes lit up. “Can I have one?” she asked.

“No.”

Again, she stuck her tongue out at him. “Selfish.”

“I just don’t want your mother to, you know, kill me.” He lit up, and Noelle rolled her eyes. “Besides,” he added, “these things are not good for you.”

“And they’re good for you?”

“Think of me as a bad example.”

Noelle pushed her chair back and gave him a glare that said she wished she could do murder, here and now. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I already do.”



Vic dabbed at the canvas on the easel before her. The light here on the front porch was great, the scene before her was magnificent, but she couldn’t make herself concentrate on painting. Usually painting saved her, took her mind off of anything and everything. Not today. Del Wilder was stronger—pulled more effectively at her heart—than this vocation she’d lost herself in for most of the past fifteen years.

Even if the screen door hadn’t squeaked, she would have known that Del was behind her. He charged the air with his very presence, he set every nerve in her body on alert.

“The kid’s taking a nap,” he said, his voice low. “She didn’t like my suggestion that we take a hike this afternoon, and when I mentioned fishing instead, she told me to…” He took a deep breath. “Well, I think it’s impossible, and even if it was possible it would definitely be unpleasant.”

Vic set down her brush and turned to face Del. “I’m sorry. She knows better….”

“Don’t sweat it.” He flashed her a wide smile. “She’s a good kid. Not at all like you were at that age, all sugar and very little spice, but still a good kid. Likes to stir up trouble, doesn’t she?”

Vic found herself returning Del’s smile. “Oh, yeah.”

It would be so simple, right now, to say, “She’s so much like you.” But she didn’t. Her mind was made up. Del was here, for a little while, but he wasn’t staying. And he wouldn’t have the opportunity to break Noelle’s heart. Vic still wasn’t sure about her own.

He walked closer, took her hand and stared down at the bandages on her fingers. “How are they?”

“Fine.”

His head cocked up, his eyes met hers. “Really?”

Vic could only nod as Del lifted her hand and kissed the palm. Quickly. Sweetly. And that simple contact sent shivers through her body.

“I understand you’re dating,” he said as he dropped her hand.

The surprise must’ve shown on her face because Del’s smile grew wider. “Lots of guys,” he continued. “Who wear suits and cut their hair and have jobs.”

“Noelle.”

The twinkle in Del’s eyes was the answer. “So, if I asked you to take a nice long walk in the woods, would I be stepping on some man’s toes?”

“I’m not dating,” Vic said, ignoring his offer of a walk in the woods. “I mean, I have, but…not lately.”

“Why not?” She tried to return to her easel, but Del’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Still in love with Presto?”

“No!” she said, too sharply. “God, no.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, smart, sexy. I can’t imagine why there aren’t guys crawling all over you.”

Vic shuddered, just a little.

“Vic?” Del’s voice was low, comforting.

She steeled herself and turned, tipping her face up to look him squarely in the eye. “Okay, you tell me why you never got married and I’ll tell you why I don’t date.”

She meant to scare him away, but her ploy didn’t work. His hand came up to touch her cheek, his eyes went dark. “Why didn’t I get married? There are a few answers to that one.” His fingers traced her jaw. “The job, for one. The job is consuming, at times, and it’s never easy. Takes a special woman to handle what comes with it.”

“Other law enforcement officers, even those who work undercover, they get married.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to make it work.”

“So that’s why—”

“That’s one reason,” he interrupted.

Vic nodded. She should stop this, here and now. The last thing she needed was to be Del’s confidante, to know and cherish his secrets. She said nothing to silence him.

“Kids,” he said, smiling gently. “You get married, the next thing you know there are babies everywhere you look.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I like them fine, as long as they’re someone else’s,” he teased. “I figure if I ever have kids they’ll be just like me. Payback is hell.”

It was the perfect time to tell him…maybe not.

“I suppose the truth is, the right woman just never came along.” His smile faded. “I never met anybody who made me feel…”

She waited for him to finish. The way you did. The way you do. Like this.

But a moment later the lilt was back in his voice, and he finished. “Like shackling myself.”

“Not looking for an old ball and chain,” she teased, grateful he hadn’t gotten more personal. This was tough enough.

Del shook his head. “No, thank you, ma’am. Your turn.”

Vic took a deep breath. “I did date a few times, after the divorce. Years after the divorce, to be honest. Marriage to Preston was less than wonderful. Why would I ever want another man in my life?”

Del’s blue eyes darkened. “Did he hurt you? I swear, if he did I’ll take him apart.”

“He never hurt me, physically. He just…broke promises. Lied. Made me feel like I was always, always wrong, no matter what I did.”

One of Del’s fingers brushed through her hair, a small gesture of comfort. She liked it. “He’s just one man, Vic. We’re not all like that.”

She shook her head, not looking to argue, just wanting to get this over with. “I know that, but still… When I did date, I was always looking for the lie. What does this man really want? Why is he really here? I never dated any one guy more than three times.”

“You drove them away before they could hurt you.”

She ignored that dead-on conclusion. “My father still tries to play matchmaker now and then. That’s the worst, I think. It makes me feel like a little girl trying to live up to Daddy’s expectations. The other attempts at dating weren’t much better. Some of the men I never saw again, a couple actually became friends. But…” She stumbled, and her voice wouldn’t come out right. This was not a discussion she could have with Del, of all people. She didn’t want to be hurt again, and he had hurt her more than anyone else ever had or could. And he didn’t have a clue.

“Vic,” Del whispered, his lips moving toward hers. “Do you want to know why I’m here?”

She swallowed hard. “Because those kidnappers…”

He shook his head. “I could put an army of men on you and Noelle to keep you safe. I could hire a dozen bodyguards while I go out there and find Tripp and Holly myself. It’s what I do,” he added gently. “I like action, not baby-sitting.”

“You can go…”

“I can’t,” he interrupted. “I can’t go. Do you want to know why?”

Yes. More than anything. Tell me. “No.” After all, it was safer that way, and Vic Lowell was nothing if not safe.

Her response did not deter him. He kissed her. He stirred her up, with a gentle kiss and a tender hand at her back and a silent invitation she ignored.

Somehow she ended up with her back against the wall of the rough cabin, her legs slightly spread, Del resting between them as he kissed her. And she kissed him back.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They weren’t kids anymore. Hormones could be controlled. Desire could be tamed. Squashed down. Dismissed as what it really was—physical attraction.

So why couldn’t she dismiss this?

Del backed away. A trickle of sweat ran down his face, down his neck. She felt a drop of perspiration tickle her spine.

“You always did drive me crazy,” he said, giving her a crooked smile before turning his back on her and walking away.



Del lay on the torturous sofa bed, wide-awake even though it was almost two in the morning. He had to get out of here, the sooner the better. Like he’d told Vic this afternoon, anyone could keep an eye on her and Noelle until Tripp and Holly were caught. Anybody. Well, he wouldn’t trust them to just anyone, but there were a large number of qualified bodyguards out there, available at a snap of the fingers.

So why was he still here?

After the kiss, things had turned awkward. Even after all this time, he knew Vic too well. She wanted him, but she didn’t like the fact, and she was doing her best to deny it. In a way he knew how she felt. He hadn’t been this confused in sixteen years, since Vic had stood there on the front porch of her big house and told him it was over. He hadn’t seen it coming, and the blow had blindsided him. Nothing blindsided him anymore. His life was black and white, good guys and bad guys, right and wrong.

Physically, he wanted Vic. Emotionally, he was still drawn to her in a way he could not explain. Nothing good could come of a relationship that went beyond bodyguard and woman in trouble. If they slept together, this was bound to end ugly.

And still he wanted her.

The reason for his confusion walked into the room, dressed in blue and moving without making a sound, like a tantalizing vision out of a dream.

“You can’t sleep, either?” Vic asked as she came near the bed.

Didn’t she know better? She knew he wanted her. Needed her. She had to know that the reason he was here when he could be hunting Tripp and Holly…was because he didn’t trust anyone else in the world to watch over her.

“No,” he said simply. “Can’t sleep.”

She started to sit down in the chair at the opposite wall, but with the crook of a single finger, Del invited her to sit on the side of his bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she headed over his way, blue robe dancing as she walked, curling hair wild and inviting. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, and that would just be the beginning.

Vic hesitated a moment, standing beside him, and then she sat. The thin, crooked mattress gave under her weight, and Del let himself roll toward her.

“What you said about getting someone else to watch us,” she whispered, her eyes on a moonlit window and the darkness beyond. “I think maybe that would be a good idea.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to be here, Del,” she argued. “You’d rather be…”





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