Текст книги "Midnight Secrets "

Автор книги: Lisa Marie Rice

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He nodded. “There’s something else you need to know, honey.”

The endearment just slipped out of him. Isabel didn’t think he even noticed. But she did. It didn’t feel like one of those words players used as a placeholder for a name. Joe knew her name. That honey had come out of his subconscious.

She watched his eyes. They were dark brown, with striations of a slightly lighter brown and they seemed to absorb the light. They were eyes that saw everything and betrayed a keen intelligence.

“What do I need to know?”

He studied her face for a moment longer and Isabel became uneasy. This was bad news coming and she’d had a lifetime’s worth of bad news lately.

“I got an email about you today.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach. All the wind went out of her. Her mouth fell open. “You got an email about me?” The bottom dropped out of her world. Nothing made any sense anymore. “What—what did it say?”

Was it a journalist looking for dirt? Was someone trying to ruin what was left of her life? But whoever had sent the email had sent it to Joe. Not to her. After the Massacre, Isabel had received all kinds of hate mail. There’d also been lots of condolence emails but also tons of political hate mail, to the effect that her godless family had gotten its just reward. Trolls crawling out of the woodwork to tear her down at her lowest point. She changed her email address and that was when she decided to move to Portland and change her name.

She’d known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if the hate mail continued, it was going kill her. She’d been half-dead and this wall of hatred, of vitriol was going to finish her off.

So she braced herself for whatever Joe was going to say. Somehow someone had latched on to the fact that Joe was being kind to her. And they wanted to destroy that. Leave her as alone as before.

She was ready for anything. For Joe to say that the email called her a whore, a bitch, a girl-child of privilege. That she wasn’t fit for decent folk.

That had been the baseline of the emails she’d received. An avalanche of them, happy that her father would never be president.

She held her breath.

“The email was simple,” he said. “It said protect Isabel.”

Her heart stuttered and her breath blew out in a whoosh. “It said what?”

“Protect Isabel. Two words. And we were unable to find the source. Not even Felicity was able to find the source and Felicity is the atom bomb of IT. Someone seriously does not want to be found. But that someone also wants me to protect you. To keep you from harm.”

Isabel watched his eyes and saw the truth of what he was saying. “I don’t understand. I can’t understand. There’s no one left in the world who cares what happens to me.”

Joe’s face turned even grimmer as he took her chin and turned her head to fully face him. “That’s not true, Isabel. Not anymore. I care what happens to you.”

And he kissed her.

* * *

Fuck fuck fuck!

The bitch made him! Kearns stumbled his way back to his vehicle at a fast walk, still half-blinded. Luckily, training kicked in.

He knew how to walk without calling attention to himself. He knew exactly how to go in a mile-eating stride that looked normal but was about 30 percent faster than a normal walk. He knew how to unobtrusively avoid sources of light. He knew how to obscure his face when the odd car drove by this late at night in this residential neighborhood.

He knew it all. He’d been trained to observe strict surveillance rules. He knew how it was done. He’d worked for the CIA’s National Clandestine Service for five years before being cashiered for some stupid anti-corruption rule. They’d trained him well. But the government didn’t pay well. What did they care if he accepted money on the side? It had nothing to do with his mission. The discharge still burned.

No one had ever made him before. Ever. Kearns was furious with himself that he’d been made by a freaking untrained girl. A cook, for fuck’s sake. A woman who’d had a nervous breakdown. He’d read the psych eval. Someone in her state was barely aware of her surroundings and here she’d caught him.

But goddamn. What betrayed him was that she was a freaking looker. He had a weakness for the ladies. Isabel Delvaux was a little on the scrawny side but fuck. Big eyes, big pouty mouth. Surprisingly large boobs for a thin chick. A guy’d have to be dead not to notice. Kearns wasn’t dead. Not even close. And his cock worked just fine.

He had a low-level contract to keep an eye on the Delvaux woman who’d changed her name and moved to Portland. It was boring work because the chick never did anything. And the pay wasn’t good because it was goddamned scut work. Nothing a half-assed snot-nosed newbie couldn’t hack.

Watching a clueless woman was demeaning work. Kearns had taken it only because he was working his way up this new hierarchy he’d sensed was doing big-time stuff. Big-time stuff meant big-time money and he needed it. He’d blown the money from his last big contract in Vegas. He was flat-out broke and he wanted in on whatever it was that was happening. He’d put out the word that he was available and he’d gotten a bite within forty-eight hours.

He hadn’t expected to watch a chick day after day, doing nothing but taking slow walks in the mornings and cooking and reading in the afternoons, from what he could see.

Another guy followed her at times, walked slowly with her at others. Her next-door neighbor. Kearns checked the name, and when he checked in military databases the hairs rose on the back of his neck when he saw the guy was a former SEAL. Those guys didn’t fuck around and Kearns was no match for him in a fight unless he took him from behind.

And even then. The guy had been wounded—he had scars and he’d walked with a cane for a few days then threw it away. Wounded or not, though, he had that situational awareness the specops guys were born with and then had the gift pounded into them.

You didn’t take SEALs by surprise.

He stopped day surveillance when he read that Joe Harris was a SEAL. Kearns didn’t report that the Delvaux bitch had a SEAL living next door. Either he’d lose the gig altogether or he’d be replaced, and though it wasn’t much money it was easy money.

So he didn’t follow her around anymore in the daytime beyond the occasional drive-by. He checked in on her at night. Easier, simpler.

And got a real perk. Shit yeah. She looked scrawny when dressed but when she walked around naked, oh yeah. Everything a woman needed, she had. Instead of bony, she was delicate with perfect tits.

She wasn’t sleeping with the SEAL. She was alone at night. Though Kearns did wonder what the SEAL was thinking not fucking a babe like her. Shit, the SEAL was following her around like some goddamned puppy, why not bone her?

Whatever.

The SEAL wasn’t boning her so she was always alone at night with no one watching. So Kearns developed a routine, two, three times a week. He had a Tyvek oversuit in his car, special boots that left no prints, latex gloves, a mask and night vision gear. He knew the outside of the house like his own hand. There was a walkway that went past her bedroom. The Tyvek suit would leave no cloth samples, not even a thread and there was no possibility of DNA should he get caught on a bush. The mask covered his face. And the NV gave him a view he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

The big problem was not jerking off in the bushes. That would leave DNA. It was really hard, about as hard as his cock when he watched her coming out of the shower toweling her hair dry.

The NV gave everything a greenish glow so he couldn’t see the color of her muff but it was light-colored, like her nipples. Mmm.

So Kearns spent a couple of nights a week looking into her house at night then going back to his miserable cheap motel room to jerk off. And he sent reports on her behavior—a whole lot of nothing, which was what his employer wanted to hear.

Kearns got it loud and clear that the more Isabel Delvaux stayed away from the world, the better it was. Kearns also got it that his reports were making someone happy.

So the last Delvaux was supposed to stay sick and sad and under the radar. Not stir up any waves. Fine.

The only thing she stirred up was his dick.

It was a disaster that he’d been made. Kearns realized he’d strayed a little from the walkway to get a better look. Who could blame him? She was a wet dream. And a Delvaux. They were like Kennedys, only better-looking.

He was absolutely certain he’d left nothing behind, but that big guy next door had come running to the bitch’s door when she screamed. He was barefoot but amazingly fast. And he came out again fast, but by that time, Kearns’s Tyvek suit was off and he was in sweats and a hoodie, opening his car door. He drove by the house slowly and the big guy was checking the ground with a flashlight. A Maglite that lit everything up.

A sheen of sweat blossomed all over Kearns. The SEAL was looking very closely. Kearns had been careful. Hadn’t he? A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his face because—who the fuck remembered? He’d been enjoying the bitch’s little show that had seemed designed for him. He’d been avidly soaking up every single goddamn detail because she was going to feature large that night in his bed.

Man, he’d never had a piece that fine. Long legs, long pale neck. A mouth made to go down on a guy. On him. Oh yeah, he could imagine it so easily. All that dark honey hair swirling around his hands as he held her in place, pumping in and out of that mouth.

That moment—when he could almost feel her lips around his cock—that was the exact moment her flashlight picked him out. He was jerked harshly out of the fantasy that had been so real he had major wood. His hand been reaching for his groin when the white light had blinded him. He’d snatched the NV goggles off his face but it was too late. He’d lost his sight, temporarily.

Good thing he knew his way around the yard so well his feet carried him out of there without having to think.

But he didn’t remember much between the moment he’d been blinded and when he stumbled out onto the street, tearing off his ski mask and unzipping the suit. He fell into his SUV and pulled out too fast and then, heart still beating, decided to go around the block and see what was happening.

That was when he saw the SEAL searching the ground and for the first time it occurred to him that he could be busted. That’s when his heart started triphammering because he knew the guy he worked for wasn’t warm and fuzzy. Wasn’t the forgiving type.

He didn’t dare make another turn of the block so he drove back to the motel from hell, sweating and swearing, slamming the steering wheel in frustration. And still hard, goddamn it.

Reason kicked in. This Isabel babe was unstable. And a Delvaux. Rich high-born assholes, all of them. Never done an honest day’s job in their lives. Not like him.

And Isabel? A flake. She could’ve done anything she wanted but what did she want to do? Fucking cook. Like his mom. She didn’t do her cooking in a diner that smelled of rancid grease and old socks with the toilets smelling of sex and shit, sure, but cooking was cooking.

She’d survived the Massacre but turned loony. So who was going to believe that she saw someone outside her window? The SEAL would look and look, but wouldn’t find anything, no footprints, no stray threads caught in the bushes, nothing disturbed. That banshee scream was a hysterical woman who saw monsters under the bed.

As a matter of fact, Kearns was so sure he hadn’t been seen by anyone but a hysterical woman, he wasn’t going to report this. No, sir. Why should he? His reports had been coming in regularly, a guy who was doing his duty, watching her movements. She did absolutely nothing suspicious or even interesting.

So right now he’d be crazy to report the truth. I get tired of watching her do fuckall so I watch her at night when she gets naked, then go to the crap motel to jerk off. And tonight I might have gotten caught. By her neighbor. Who’s a fucking Navy SEAL.

Nope. Not going to happen.

He’d report that Isabel Delvaux, now Isabel Lawton, was continuing her boring routine. Going for walks and cooking. Cooking and going for walks.

Nothing to see here, folks, just move right along.

Chapter Five

Joe hadn’t kissed a woman in—shit. Two years? Three? The last one had been—he blanked. Oh yeah, the lawyer from hell. It had been a one-night stand because she’d scared the shit out of him with her aggression. He’d crept out the next morning with his balls crawling up into his groin out of fear.

He’d been in the freaking Sandbox so long, operating out of remote FOBs with no women but the poor souls covered head to toe in blankets, he’d almost forgotten women existed. Sex was with his fist and that got real old, real fast. So he concentrated on staying alive and he almost didn’t manage it. And man, after being blown up, whoa. That was when sex disappeared from his life.

The only women he’d seen with any regularity were the nurses who wiped his butt and the surgeon. He’d seen her exactly twice. Everyone said she was a miracle worker and his bones could attest to that. But she was fifty with a bun of gray hair and was not dream material.

So he’d sort of forgotten how great women were. Soft everywhere. Soft mouth, soft breasts, soft skin. And Isabel—he couldn’t remember a woman as enticing as Isabel.

He touched his mouth to Isabel’s, his first kiss in two or three years, and he nearly came. He tightened his ass cheeks because coming on the couch, wetting his thin sweatpants, would be super uncool.

Isabel could feel everything he was feeling. He slept commando so when he’d heard her scream he’d grabbed his gun first and then hopped into his sweatpants in less than a second and ran out the door. Barefoot, bare-chested, thinking only to get to her as fast as humanly possible.

So now he was on her couch, cradling Isabel in his arms and she could feel every single thing about him, particularly the hard-on. Which was the hardest hard-on he could ever remember having.

And the kiss was the very best he could ever remember sharing. She was so soft all over, including her mouth. He lost himself in it, forgetting everything, just diving into her, feeling her warm and open in his arms.

When he finally lifted his head, he nearly lost it at the sight of her. So amazingly beautiful, hair mussed from his hands, mouth swollen from his mouth.

“I care what happens to you,” he said. He didn’t want her to think of herself for even a second more as being completely alone in the world.

“I know,” she whispered, watching his eyes. She could watch his eyes all she wanted, she’d see nothing but the truth. She cupped his jaw and lifted her face to him again. This time the kiss was deeper, hotter and control slipped a little from his hands.

Control.

She was fragile, breakable. Joe had to have control and he usually did, damn it. Except now, when he needed it most.

He was trying to map out a strategy to get her to the bedroom though his thoughts were cloudy. Kiss her some more. Maybe ask if she wanted him to stay the night, maybe sleep on her couch, though that would be sheer hell. Sleeping on a couch while the woman he desired more than his next breath slept a room away.

But he was a SEAL. He could do that. Stay over tomorrow night, too, and the night after that. And then maybe he could convince her to...

“Take me to bed, Joe,” she murmured and it was like a lightning bolt shot through his system. He rose with her in his arms and went into her bedroom, fast.

When he set her on her feet the first thing she did was pull the curtains closed. Then she stepped into his arms.

He tried to undress them both between long kisses, hands fumbling. Isabel took pity on him finally and stepped back. Watching his eyes she pulled that soft nightgown over her head and let it drop, then stepped out of her panties.

She seemed uncertain as she watched him carefully and Joe couldn’t understand that. She was perfection itself. Long slender neck, delicate collarbones, full breasts, tiny waist, long slender legs.

“God.” He reached out a hand and hesitated a second. He had such rough hands, callused hands. Was he going to scratch that delicate skin? She took hold of his hand and placed it on her left breast. He smoothed his hand gently over that incredibly satiny skin and felt her heartbeat pounding.

She was excited. God, so was he.

A heartbeat. She was alive, in this room, with him, when she should have been in the ground these past six months. His own living miracle.

“Now you,” Isabel said, looking at his sweatpants.

God yes. He shucked them without taking his eyes off hers.

Isabel placed her palm at the top of his chest and ran it slowly down him. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered and he’d have laughed if he could have.

He blew out a breath. “I don’t have condoms, Isabel.” He could have slapped himself but it wouldn’t have made any difference. He didn’t have condoms with him and he didn’t have them in his house, either. And he wasn’t about to get dressed and cruise town for an open drugstore. No, sir.

He could lie and say that he had tons of self-control and would pull out in time and in the past that would have been true. But right now he knew he had very little self-control.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything but she surprised him. She stepped forward, right into his arms, breast to chest. She burned him all along his front.

“I was put on the pill,” she said, watching his face. “There’s been no one for quite a while and I’ve had every blood test known to man.”

Joe froze then huffed out a strong breath. Bareback.

“I haven’t had sex in at least two years,” he answered. “And ditto the blood tests. Don’t even have high cholesterol.”

She smiled but he didn’t smile back.

The idea of entering Isabel bare was making him shake. He was so excited he thought his heart would hammer its way out of his chest.

He was...dangerous. He had to be really, really careful here. He had strong hands, he had to be gentle and he didn’t know how to do that so he did the only thing he could. He walked to her bed and lay down on his back, hand out.

“Come to me, Isabel,” he whispered. If she was on top she could maintain some control.

She took his hand and moved to him. He caught one knee and gently lifted it over him. Isabel moved over him, braced herself on her hands, bent her head to his, her hair a soft curtain that closed them off in a private magic kingdom.

Joe stared into her eyes, hands roaming up and down that satiny back.

“I’m not going to last at all the first time,” he whispered. “Just so you know.”

She smiled faintly, bent down farther and kissed him.

Joe pulled his cock away from his belly, positioned it against her opening, wanting so badly to go slow, knowing he wasn’t going to manage it.

“Now, Joe,” Isabel said into his mouth and he thrust upward, hard, spilling as he entered her, his entire body shaking and sweating, coming as hard as a freight train. He jerked and trembled and kissed her and held her tight, completely out of control.

It ended, finally. He gentled his hands, pressed his head back against the pillow, completely ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, Isabel,” he said, laying a forearm against his eyes. He couldn’t stand to look at her.

“Whoa.” Isabel peeled his forearm away. Smiled into his eyes. “I came, too, didn’t you feel it?”

God no, he’d been too busy living through his own personal earthquake. But he thrust a little in her and she was very wet. Maybe not just from him.

“You did?” His voice was hoarse. She smiled and nodded.

Thank you, God. That was an orgasm he didn’t deserve. Someone up there loved beat-up soldiers.

She was smiling and she wasn’t mad. Another miracle.

Joe was still rock hard. He hadn’t even taken the edge off.

He rolled over, taking her with him and smiled down into her eyes. He moved in her a little, knowing he’d have better control this time.

“And now,” he said, “for my next trick...”

* * *

Isabel woke up smiling. No nightmares. None. Of course Joe had kept her awake most of the night so she hadn’t had time for any REM sleep. Whatever, she felt rested and...happy.

Wow. Happy.

She was lying on a strong, broad chest with a nap of rough curly chest hair. This guy didn’t manscape like everyone she knew. No, it was like resting on a soft carpet over a hard floor. Her ear rested against his chest and she could hear the steady heartbeat. Sixty beats a minute. A beat a second. So steady it felt like a machine that could go on forever.

Well, last night it hadn’t been that steady. After that first wrenching orgasm, Joe had been breathing like a bull and she could see the fast heartbeats throbbing in the veins of his neck. Fast and hard.

Her lips curled at the memory.

Joe’s hand was cupping the back of her head and his hand tightened briefly. “I can hear that smile.”

His voice was so deep, a low rumble in his chest.

The idea of hearing her smile charmed her. “Can you? You have very keen hearing.”

“You have no idea.” He gently pulled her head up until they were staring at each other. “Good morning.”

This morning his face was sheer sex appeal. All of him was, actually. From the sexy smile in a stubbled face, the wide shoulders, the lean muscles, the red-hot heat in his dark eyes, it all spelled sex. Writ large all over him.

Isabel blushed all over as she remembered last night and his eyes grew even darker as he saw her blush. His mouth tilted up on one side. “I love it when you do that.”

Isabel blew her bangs out of her eyes. “What, blush? I should be way beyond blushing. It’s embarrassing.”

She was propping herself up on his chest with one forearm. Next to her thigh, his penis started hardening. Which was amazing, considering last night. She’d had a banker boyfriend who’d had fewer erections in six months of dating.

“I like making you blush,” he stated and his eyes dropped to her mouth. Isabel knew she looked like a woman who’d had sex all night. Her hair was a tangle of curls that would take a brush with stiff bristles to tame. She was sure she had beard burn all over her face, neck and, um, breasts and probably had a few hickeys, too. She hadn’t had a hickey since the early years of high school. Her mouth felt swollen. Everything felt swollen, including the tender tissues of her sex.

She blushed even harder.

Without any visible effort, Joe placed his big hands under her arms and lifted her fully over him. They were laying face-to-face, breast to chest, groin to groin. And he was now fully erect. Again. His penis was like a warm steel tube against her belly, growing warmer and harder by the second.

“You are, um...” she whispered.

“Yeah. Hell yeah.” His voice was hoarse, eyes burning into hers. He squinted, as if she were a thousand miles away and he had to see every nuance of her expression. “You up with that?”

Was she up with that? She’d had more sex last night than in the past year. And the past six months after the Massacre had been like an historical period, the Era of No Sex. 400-300 BC. It was hard to remember, it felt like eons ago. At the time, she couldn’t imagine anyone touching her or wanting to be touched. Her entire body had been dead to sex, lifeless and dry. She wasn’t lifeless and dry now.

Isabel pressed down with her belly just as he pressed upward and her entire body just bloomed with heat. It opened up, happy to be here in bed with Joe. Knowing for a certainty that good things were about to happen.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded strangled. She coughed to loosen it up. “Yes, it appears that, um, though my head says ‘enough is enough’, my body seems to have other ideas.”

His face was sober now, tense, white lines bracketing his mouth. Thin nostrils flared as they took in more oxygen. “Let’s see,” he said suddenly.

What did he mean—oh. A big hand smoothed over her bottom, farther down, slid a finger inside her. She was wet, ready. Her body knew that before her head did.

Joe lifted his head and kissed her, one of those melting kisses where she had to close her eyes because they couldn’t stay open. His entire body was kissing hers. Wiry chest hairs rubbing against her erect nipples, hard belly rubbing against hers, rough-haired thighs opening hers. His hand cupped a breast, callused thumb circling her nipple, an electric arousal. Oh God, it felt like her skin was crackling, like some painless fire was burning her alive, only it wasn’t killing her, it was bringing her back to life.

His mouth moved to her ear, giving it a little nip that brought goose bumps. He kissed it, whispered, “Lift up.”

Isabel could hardly breathe from the excitement. She had to consciously expand her lungs and pull in breath.

“Lift,” he growled.

She lifted, coming up on her knees. Still watching her carefully, Joe fit himself to her and slowly, slowly guided her down on him, holding her hips.

The pleasure was so intense it felt electric. “God,” she gasped.

“Tell me about it.” His face was tense, rigid. Everything about him was rigid, tightly holding on to control. When he was completely inside her, he stopped, lifting up to kiss her.

As if she needed more stimulation.

Isabel angled her head, licked her tongue in his mouth and felt the answering surge of his penis inside her. Her body answered the only way it knew how, clenching tightly. They gasped in each other’s mouths.

Isabel licked his lips, moved her mouth over that strong, stubbled jaw, licked his ear, bit his earlobe. With each movement of her mouth, his movements grew stronger, faster. She bit his mouth and he jolted, lifting his hips off the bed, moving incredibly deep inside her.

Isabel moaned and Joe wrapped his arms around her so tightly she could feel every movement he made inside her and out. As he started thrusting hard, she was riding him with her body, her belly feeling his rock-hard belly against her, the hair on his thighs abrading the insides of hers, his hands holding her to him as he thrust inside her. Every single inch of her felt possessed by him, touched by him, her body as an extension of his, their excitement rising together, identical, until with a hoarse groan that felt wrenched from him, he started spilling inside her just as she rose over the top. With him.

Spent, Isabel fell bonelessly forward, lying on Joe’s hard, muscled body, breathing heavily. She felt like she’d run a marathon at the spa. Exhausted, yet jazzed. Her body was humming but her mind was completely empty.

When she moved, he slipped out of her and she was sorry but the rest of his body was exciting enough. There was no sexual energy left in her, all fizzled out, though she was still able to appreciate the perfect specimen beneath her. Her hands came to rest on the balls of his shoulders, the muscle there so hard she couldn’t dent it with her fingers.

“Wow,” she murmured, eyes closed. A little nap right about now sounded just great. Vast physical effort, blinding pleasure, a little nap. Perfect sequence of events.

She could feel Joe pushing his chin down to look at her. All he’d be seeing was the top of her head. Her tangled bed-hair head.

“Not so fast, Sleeping Beauty.” He tensed beneath her.

Another round? God no. She couldn’t possibly. The newly awakened sexual part of her brain consulted her body for a second, but nope. Not happening. This was the time of lax muscles and that little nap. Besides, he wasn’t growing erect. If he had he’d have been a wonder of nature or else he’d swallowed about ten little blue pills.

“We’re not sleeping.”

“We’re not?” she asked, not really caring what he said. She wasn’t getting up for anything or anybody. “Yes we are. At least I am. I’m staying right here.”

“Nope, honey. I’m really sorry to contradict you, but we’re getting up.”

In your dreams. With difficulty she dragged her hand out from under the warm covers where it had been perfectly happy to clutch his shoulder. In comparison to the warm cozy space under the covers, the air felt cold. She held out her index finger and wagged it back and forth in the universal “no” sign, then put her hand back under the warm covers against his hot skin, where it belonged.

He grabbed her hand, kissed it and sighed. “We gotta get up, honey. Sorry.” And the beast threw the covers off!

Without opening her eyes, she reached down blindly to grab them, pull them up and huddle deeper in the warm blankets. Then, in an act of incredible cruelty, he pulled them away again.

She sat up, indignant. Joe smiled into her eyes and tapped her mouth. The one he’d kissed all night. “God, you’ve got a sexy pout.”

“I’m not pouting,” she huffed.

“World-class pout. A real champ. I’d love to let you sleep, but I can’t, because in about an hour’s time Metal and Jacko are coming over and I don’t think you want to find yourself opening the door in your nightgown.” His smile was pure sex, eyes narrowed as he glanced at her nightgown on the floor, where she’d tossed it. He could have no idea that in her pre-Joe stage, a nightgown of hers would never be on the floor. Ever. Apparently fabulous sex made you lower your housekeeping standards.

“Wait.” She frowned. “I thought they were coming over in the afternoon to play poker in your house. What are they coming here for this morning?”

“We’ll play poker all right. Later.” Joe’s face went from pure male sensuality to sober soldier in an instant. “This morning we’re all going to work to make your place more secure than Fort Knox. Remember I said that last night? No one is ever going to creep up close to your house and look in your bedroom window.” He gave a short, sharp nod. “You can take that to the bank.”

Something loosened inside her, something she hadn’t realized was twisted tight. “You really believe me then. That there was someone here last night.” It mattered. He wouldn’t have called in his friends and colleagues if he thought she’d conjured up an intruder in her sick mind.

Joe’s face pulled tight. “Of course I believe you. The fact that I couldn’t find evidence doesn’t mean anything. The ground was too cold to bear prints and I imagine he wouldn’t be foolish enough to smoke a cigarette and throw the butt on the ground. But someone was here. And he had night vision. That’s not ever going to happen again.”