Kitabı oku: «Undercover Protector», sayfa 3

“Lies? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A long time ago you promised you’d never leave me. Then you were gone. You betrayed me.” And it still hurt. “Now, after eleven years, you come back in the middle of another strange situation. You weren’t a good Samaritan, just a stranger passing by. You were in my parking lot for a reason. What was it?”

A stillness fell between them, separating them. The gentle sounds of night—the crickets and the groans of the old house settling on its foundation—seemed deafening. Annie could almost hear the seconds ticking, widening the gulf that divided her from Michael. If he lied to her now, she could never trust him again.

“I was following you,” he admitted.

He’d been watching her, and she hadn’t even known. Annie felt violated and strangely excited at the same time. “Why?”

“Off and on, I’d been tailing you for almost a couple of weeks—ever since Bateman got out on parole. I knew he had a vendetta against your grandfather. Since Lionel was relatively safe in the hospital, I decided I’d better keep an eye on you.”

“The standard procedure in such a situation is to follow the suspect—not the victim.”

He raised one eyebrow and a slow grin curved his lips. “I figured it’d be more fun to watch you.”

“Jeez, Michael. You sound like a weirdo stalker.”

“I learned a lot about you.”

“Like what?”

“A lot,” he said. Once he’d gotten over his initial reticence about invading her privacy, Michael had enjoyed watching her. Annie had turned into the kind of woman he’d expected her to be. She had a healthy lifestyle and went jogging almost every morning. But she also had a taste for junk food. There was no special man in her life, and her partner on the Salem police force was happily married. Though her car radio was tuned to a classical station, she occasionally listened to and sang along with country-western songs.

“You could’ve picked up a phone and called me,” she said. “All I needed was a simple warning that I was in danger.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d believe me. I expected you to hate me after the way I left.”

“Ancient history.” But her sudden frown told him that he’d guessed correctly. He wasn’t her favorite person.

“Did you manage to uncover any useful information?” she asked. “Was it Bateman who attacked me in the parking lot?”

“I’m not sure.” He hadn’t expected the assault. Not in the rain. “After the paramedics took you to the hospital, I went looking and found Bateman at his favorite tavern in Salem. The bartender said he’d been there all night.”

“Is that a solid alibi?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, Michael, I wish you’d left this to a professional investigator. What else do you know about Bateman?”

“He had a reputation in prison as a ringleader with a lot of connections.” Like a poisonous spider in the center of his web, Bateman knew how to pull strings and get other people to do his dirty work. He was surprisingly intelligent and had a natural slyness that made him adept at playing manipulative games. “He’s a true sociopath, completely without conscience or any sense of right or wrong.”

“I’m familiar with the profile,” she said. “It explains something to me.”

“What’s that?”

“When I first encountered him on the street, he scared me. I don’t usually get rattled, but there was something about him that triggered my fears.” She hesitated. “Even though he didn’t actually threaten me, my gut instinct was warning me to be careful.”

“I don’t know how far his influence reaches, Annie. But we can’t be too cautious. That’s why I don’t want you going out alone on dates that might be a trap. It’s best if you stay away from Jake Stillwell or anybody else.”

“I’ll think about it.” She nodded toward the phone. “Go ahead and call the police. Please tell them not to use the siren. I’d prefer if Grandpa slept through the night.”

Picking her way through the dark house, she went upstairs to change clothes before the Bridgeport police officers arrived. If the gossips in town heard she’d been wearing a slinky nightie and sleeping under the same roof as an unmarried man, they’d assume the worst, even with her grandpa there as chaperone. She had no intention of being paired up with Michael Slade again.

Before returning downstairs in her jeans and baggy gray sweatshirt, she tiptoed to her grandpa’s bedroom door, intending to close it tightly. There was no need to disturb him. He needed his rest.

“Annie?” he called from the bed. “What’s going on?”

Her hand rested on the doorknob. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

A police siren screamed along Myrtlewood Lane.

“That doesn’t sound like nothing,” Lionel said.

She explained, “Somebody threw a brick through the window by the front door. We called 911.”

“The window with roses? Your grandma’s window?”

“I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“Can’t be helped.” He stretched out his long scrawny arm and turned on the lamp beside the bed. With a groan he forced himself into a sitting position. “Hand me a bathrobe. I won’t have the local police thinking I’m an invalid.”

Resigned to her grandpa’s concern with his reputation, she plumped the pillows and helped him comb his hair. In spite of his emaciated body, he donned an attitude of dignity. He wasn’t about to lie back quietly and accept anybody’s pity.

And she was glad for his change in attitude. Pride was a whole lot better than depression. Fondly she patted his bony shoulder. “You’re a stubborn old buzzard, Lionel Callahan.”

“Well, I can’t rest easy while you’re still running around getting yourself into trouble.”

Neither the attack in the parking lot nor the brick through the window were her fault. However, if it made Grandpa feel better to believe she needed his protection, Annie wouldn’t disillusion him. “I guess trouble is my middle name.”

“Always has been.”

“By the way,” she said, remembering Michael’s statement that he’d come here to protect her and Lionel from possible retribution from Bateman. “Did you telephone Michael? Or was it the other way around?”

“Can’t say that I recall.” His expression was too innocent to be believed. “I was a little hazy after the stroke.”

Hazy like a fox, she thought. Grandpa had his own special reasons for wanting Michael to stay at the house. “I hope you’re not playing matchmaker.”

“Between you and Michael?” He gave her a lopsided grin. “The idea might have crossed my mind. I’m not getting any younger, Annie. I wouldn’t mind having some youngsters around the neighborhood.”

“Great-grandchildren.” She didn’t like being manipulated. “Don’t push me, Lionel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Downstairs she confronted Police Chief Derek Engstrom himself. Though he was out of uniform, his beige trousers were sharply creased. The plaid shirt under his green Bridgeport Badgers windbreaker was starched and ironed. Engstrom was a tidy person in his early forties, and he was in good physical condition. There was only a touch of gray in his thinning brown hair. As far as she knew, he’d been living alone since his mother died. “I’m surprised to see you, Chief Engstrom. I didn’t think you’d be on duty this late.”

“I had just stopped by the station when your call came through.” He nodded to the uniformed officer. “Bobby, you remember little Annie Callahan.”

“Annie was never little.” Officer Bobby Janowski smirked as he eyeballed her from toe to head. “She always was the tallest girl at Bridgeport High.”

And Bobby had always been the most obnoxious bully. It annoyed her that he’d chosen a career in law enforcement. “Hi, Bobby.”

“Heard you’re a cop in Salem.” He hitched up his uniform trousers and stood straighter, as if trying to match her height. He was only five foot nine. “That’s a tough job for a woman.”

“I guess I’m big enough to handle the work. Now, I suggest we go outside and have a look around.”

“Agreed,” Michael said.

Engstrom squinted in his direction. His upper lip curled in a disdainful smirk. “I remember you, Michael Slade.”

Michael didn’t need to verbally respond; his body language said it all. His eyes became cold and hooded, his chin hardened, and he thrust out his chest. He was transformed into an archetypal tough guy, a hoodlum.

“You were a troublemaker in high school,” Engstrom accused. “A real punk, weren’t you? You got picked up for reckless driving and curfew violations, right?”

Still Michael said nothing.

As a fellow law-enforcement officer, Annie should have taken Engstrom’s side. But there was a dignity in Michael’s silence. He didn’t deny his past. Nor did he try to defend it.

“And drinking,” Engstrom continued with the long-ago rap sheet, “underage possession and consumption of alcohol. Or maybe that was your father.”

“That’s right,” Bobby put in. “Old man Slade was one mean son of a gun when he got drunk.”

Annie couldn’t stand it any longer. “Chief Engstrom, we have a problem here. An act of vandalism.”

But Engstrom was on a roll. He put himself right into Michael’s face. “I’m surprised to see Michael Slade in one piece. With the way he started out, I would’ve thought he’d be dead or in jail by the time he was twenty-five.”

“Disappointed?” Michael asked.

“You only had one thing going for you, Slade. You were the finest wide receiver who ever played for Bridgeport Badgers. I still remember that game against the Cougars.” Engstrom stepped back to pantomime throwing a football. “Jake Stillwell was quarterback. You caught four touch-down passes. Stillwell to Slade. It was a thing of beauty.”

This little trot down memory lane annoyed Annie even more than Engstrom’s former hostility. “If you don’t mind, Chief, we should check the yard for—”

“It’s okay, Annie,” he said condescendingly. “We’re here now, and we’ll protect you. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Her muscles tensed with the effort of holding back a frustrated scream. “You can’t imagine how that makes me feel.”

“Besides, if anyone was outside, they probably left when we pulled up.”

“There might be clues,” she said. “Like footprints. Or a cigarette butt. Maybe a chewing-gum wrapper. Something.”

“We won’t find anything in the dark,” Engstrom said. “With the shadows a flashlight casts, we might miss important evidence, might accidentally destroy something.”

“Hey!” came Lionel’s shout from upstairs. “Is that Derek Engstrom?”

“Yes, sir,” Engstrom called back. “Come upstairs with me, Bobby. Let’s see how Lionel is doing.”

“Wait!” Annie pointed to the chunk of brick on the floor. “This is a big fat piece of evidence. Aren’t you going to do anything about it? Take it back to the station and check for fingerprints?”

“Why don’t you put that brick in a grocery bag for me,” Engstrom said. “We’ll grab it on our way out.”

Stunned by their complete lack of professionalism, Annie glared at the retreating backsides of the Bridgeport police as they ascended the stairs. To Michael she said, “I don’t believe this. If I treated a crime scene this way, I’d be booted off the force.”

“We’re in Bridgeport,” he reminded her. “The idiots are running things.”

Though she wanted to speak up for her hometown, the police chief’s behavior was indefensible. “Why does Engstrom have it in for you?”

He shrugged. “In his narrow mind, I’ll always be Michael Slade, teenage troublemaker.”

“And a damn good wide receiver.”

“My only saving grace,” he said. “I could hang on to Jake Stillwell’s wobbly passes.”

She stared down at the piece of brick. “I guess I should go to the kitchen and get a bag for this. It’s probably too porous for decent fingerprints, but you never know.”

“I’ll wait here,” Michael said.

Facing Engstrom had awakened bad memories of his small-town identity as a bad boy. The bitter ache still lingered. No matter where he went or what he did, when he came here, he was still a punk. He couldn’t change that. He was still the son of an abusive drunk who couldn’t hang on to his job at the lumber mill and then deserted the family for good.

Even though Michael had grown up only eight miles from here, his world had been far different from Annie’s. She was a Callahan. Her grandpa was a respected man in town, and they lived in a nice house with rose-patterned windows by the door.

Eleven years ago he’d tried to be worthy of her. He’d backed away from his hoodlum friends, quit smoking and drinking. He even read a book of poetry she’d given him. He tried to be a better person, deserving of Annie’s attention. And he failed.

She returned from the kitchen with a plastic grocery bag and two foil-wrapped chocolates, which she held out toward him and he declined. “More for me,” she said.

She unwrapped them and popped one into each cheek, like a chipmunk. Then she picked up the brick chunk with two fingers. “Nothing remarkable about this piece of concrete.”

When she turned it over, he saw markings on the bottom side. “What’s that?”

Annie studied it. “Black marker. It’s numbers—six, one, three—and there’s a space between the six and the one.”

“Six, thirteen.”

“What do you think it means? A code? An address?”

“Maybe a date,” he said. “June thirteenth.”

It was the anniversary of the worst day of his life, the day his future died. Michael knew exactly why Bateman had thrown a brick through the window. It wasn’t to signal a break-in or to offer an opportunity for a sniper.

The brick was a reminder and a threat. Six. Thirteen. June thirteenth.

Annie placed the brick in a plastic grocery sack. “What does the date mean, Michael?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to explain to her, but there seemed no way around it. It wasn’t fair to withhold information. “We’ll talk later.”

“Today’s the seventh. June thirteenth is less than a week away,” she said. “Should I be concerned?”

“Yes,” he said tersely. June thirteenth might be the date when Bateman intended to take his final revenge.

She eyed him curiously. “Well?”

“Not now,” he said. “Not with Engstrom upstairs.”

“Fine, we’ll get rid of him. And Bobby. They’re not acting like police, anyway.”

Michael followed her up the staircase to Lionel’s bedroom, where the old man was finishing a harangue about the spread of vandalism in small towns. “…the teenagers don’t respect private property because nobody bothers to teach them about right and wrong.”

Engstrom nodded. “You think teenagers broke your front-door window?”

“I’m not pointing any fingers,” Lionel said. “But Drew Bateman was hanging around earlier.”

“Bateman? I thought he was in jail.”

“He’s out on parole and he’s got some kind of grudge.”

Annie said, “I want to take out a restraining order against Bateman.”

Bobby edged closer to her. “Don’t you worry, Annie. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

“No trouble at all,” Bobby said. “I’ll make a point of patrolling your block.”

A growl rose in the back of Michael’s throat. He was here to protect Annie and he didn’t want interference. He didn’t want anybody else to be close to her. Not Bobby. Not Jake Stillwell. Nobody.

And that wasn’t because he was jealous, damn it. He had solid reasons, in addition to the wrenching in his gut, and the unreasonable urge to give Bobby two black eyes so he’d never look at Annie again.

Bobby said, “I’d be happy to protect you, Annie. Day and night.”

“Not necessary.” Michael stepped forward, placing himself between them.

“Oh, yeah?” Bobby stared up at him. “Why not?”

“I’ll be here to see to Annie. She’s my…fiancée.”

Behind him, he heard her gasp. An instant later she jabbed him in the back with her good left hand.

“How come I don’t see a ring on her finger?” Bobby demanded. “Too cheap to buy a diamond, Slade?”

“She has a beautiful ring,” Lionel boomed from his bed. “These two lovebirds are honoring me by using the engagement ring that belonged to my late wife.”

“You!” Annie gripped the cherry-wood rail at the foot of her grandpa’s bed. She looked ready to leap over it and strangle him. “You set this up!”

“After all,” Lionel continued, drowning out her objection, “you don’t think I’d let a single man stay in the same house with my granddaughter if they weren’t planning to be married, do you?”

“I guess not,” Bobby said. But he was still suspicious. “When’s the wedding?”

“Maybe in the fall.” Michael took her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Maybe at Christmastime.”

Her jaw clenched. Her cheeks flamed with a feverish red flush. “If you think I’m going to stand here and—”

“She wants the wedding sooner.” He talked loudly to cover her words. “And you know how stubborn she can be. She’ll get what she wants.”

“Here’s what I want,” she said. “I want you to get your sorry—”

Michael pulled her close. He silenced her with a kiss.

She twisted in his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. Later she could yell at him, but right now he needed to warn off all the tomcats in town. Whether she liked it or not, he intended to keep her safe, and a fake engagement was a small price to pay.

Though he had only intended to keep her quiet, his kiss became real when her struggle calmed. She wasn’t fighting him anymore. Her arms encircled and embraced him. Her lips were sweet and soft. Her supple curves molded to him, and the fire of her anger took on a passion of its own.

Her tongue flickered across his mouth, and Michael gladly welcomed her probing. He deepened the kiss, and she responded with a moan.

He was stunned by the intensity of her mature passion. Eleven years ago, their kisses had been gentle as a softly played flute. Now, Annie’s kiss was a full-blown symphony.

He wanted more. But not now. Not with three other men watching. Reluctantly he broke away.

“I guess that settles it,” the police chief said. “If you two aren’t engaged, you should be. Congratulations.”

“I’m a lucky man,” Michael said.

Annie’s blue eyes were dazed. Her full lips parted, but no words came out.

Before they left, Chief Engstrom promised to have Bobby and the other officers patrol the neighborhood regularly. “We’ll come back in the morning when there’s some light. Then we’ll see if we can find anything that looks like evidence.”

With Bobby trailing behind, Engstrom left the bedroom. Michael listened as the two men went down the stairs and out the front door.

From the bed Lionel chuckled. “Congratulations.”

“Pretending to be engaged is the best way to keep all these guys away from Annie,” Michael rationalized. “Until we know who Bateman is involved with, we can’t take chances.”

Lionel yawned broadly. “It’s a good plan. To tell you the truth, I was worried about what people would say when they found out you were staying here. I didn’t want Annie’s reputation to be ruined.”

“My reputation?” Annie rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe for one minute that my reputation was your concern, Lionel. You as much as admitted that you wanted me and Michael to get together. You set me up.”

“Someday, Annie, you’ll thank me for this.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I want to thank you both for providing me with the single most humiliating situation in my life. Not only am I the only woman from my high-school graduating class who has never been married, but now I have a phony engagement to add to my record.”

Michael didn’t believe she was all that upset. There was a spark between them that couldn’t be denied. “It’s not so bad to be engaged to me.”

She slapped his face with her left hand. Her aim was accurate and her arm was strong.

Chapter Three

The palm of Annie’s hand stung from slapping the grin off Michael’s face. He reacted immediately. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched. She could tell that his instinct was to slap back, but he held himself in check.

She should have exercised the same degree of restraint.

“I was wrong to hit you,” she said. Physical violence never solved anything.

“Is that an apology?” His voice was cold.

“I’m sorry.”

But she didn’t turn tail and run. Though he hadn’t physically lashed out at her, Michael and her grandfather had been bullying her emotionally, forcing her into positions that were more and more untenable.

He’d grabbed her and kissed her without permission. Though the aftershocks of that incredible kiss still trembled through her body, he’d had no right.

Annie straightened her backbone. Like an athlete who had strained a muscle, she tried to shake off the lingering effects of Michael’s kiss. She had to regain control of the situation.

“I want both of you to listen carefully. I’m sick and tired of having things sprung on me.” She frowned at her grandpa. “Lionel, you should have told me ahead of time that Michael was going to stay with us and help out. For that matter, you should have told me you’d kept in touch.”

“You’re right, honey.” He yawned again. Now that the excitement was over, he was ready to go back to sleep.

She dared to look at Michael. His eyes were hot. His lips invited her. It took all her willpower to confront him. “You had no right to kiss me. And claiming to be my fiancé? It wasn’t fair.”

“Agreed,” Michael said.

“I want no more lies. No more games. This phony engagement thing will be the last decision either of you will make without consulting me first. Is that clear?”

Michael nodded. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” If she could get her body to stop yearning toward him, everything would be fine.

She went to her grandpa’s bed and fussed with his covers while she scolded, “You need more sleep, Grandpa, because I’m going to wake you at eight tomorrow morning. Your physical therapist is scheduled for ten o’clock, and you need to bathe before he gets here.”

“There’s one more thing.” He pointed to the bedside table. “Open that drawer and reach way in the back. There’s a cigar box.”

Now what? She removed the battered rectangular box of heavy cardboard decorated with a garish picture of a Spanish señorita with red flowers in her impossibly thick, curly black hair.

“Open it,” Lionel said.

She eyed him suspiciously, half expecting an explosion of confetti when she lifted the lid. “If this is some kind of joke, I will not be amused.”

“Just open the box, girl.”

Inside, resting atop a clutter of buttons and lapel pins, Annie found a three-by-four-inch sepia photograph of a smiling woman with pale eyes and long, light-colored hair swept back from her forehead in a style popular in the 1940s. She was Annie’s grandmother, Elizabeth Callahan.

“The engagement ring is in there,” Lionel said.

Gingerly Annie picked up a little velvet-covered box. “Grandpa, you don’t have to give me this.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I buried Elizabeth with her wedding band twenty-three years ago, but I kept this little diamond for you, Annie. I always thought you might like it.”

Annie snapped open the box. A small bright diamond winked at her from its ornate setting of tiny, twining wild roses. “It’s beautiful.”

“You remind me of her. Sometimes when I look at you, I see Elizabeth.” He cleared his throat. “You were only seven when she died, but do you remember her at all?”

“Her laughter.” Mostly she recalled stories other people had told her about Elizabeth, but one memory belonged to Annie alone. “She took me fishing on the river in a rowboat. We didn’t catch anything, but we laughed all afternoon.”

“That woman had one hell of a sense of humor. She kept me from taking myself too seriously.” He gave Annie a lopsided grin. “Put the ring on.”

Tears stung the back of her eyelids, and she blinked to keep them from falling. This ring was a sacred symbol of her grandparents’ love. Wearing it for a fake engagement seemed sacrilegious. “Grandpa, this isn’t right.”

“Just do it, honey. Elizabeth would’ve loved the joke. She would’ve laughed her head off if she’d seen your face when Michael said you were engaged. I never thought your eyes could pop that far out of your head.”

But this moment wasn’t funny to Annie. Getting married and being engaged were serious business. A lifetime commitment was not to be taken lightly. She took the ring from the velvet box and held it.

Unable to decide what to do, she rose from the bed and walked slowly, thoughtfully, toward the bay windows. Though the miniblinds were closed, a breeze crept in. Annie wished for a strong wind to flow through her mind and whisk away all her questions and doubts.

Though she had no intention of ever falling for Michael again, there seemed to be no choice except to play along with the fake engagement. By tomorrow morning, Officer Bobby would’ve blabbed to somebody else, and the rumor would be all over town. To explain would be embarrassing, to say the least. “I hate lies.”

Michael joined her at the windows. “The ring doesn’t have to be a lie.”

“What are you saying?” He couldn’t possibly be proposing. After eleven years apart, they hardly knew each other. “You can’t be talking about a real engagement.”

“Let me help you put it on.” Gently holding her left hand, he slipped the band over the tip of her third finger and paused. “This ring is my promise to you.”

His nearness and the warmth of his touch soothed her troubled mind. His dark eyes shone with sincerity. Oh, how she wished she could believe his promises! She longed to curl up against his broad chest and forget her cares.

He continued, “This is my vow. I will always keep you safe. Always. As long as you wear this ring, I will protect you.”

From the bed, she heard her grandpa’s heartfelt sigh of relief. “Amen,” he whispered.

“I accept,” Annie said. Silently she added her own promise: She would protect him, too. They would be partners.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Michael sat opposite Annie at the kitchen table and watched while she polished off a ham-and-Dijon-mustard sandwich. She didn’t pick at her food, mentally counting every calorie. Annie ate the same way she did everything else—without pretension.

And yet her life wasn’t an open book, easily readable from page to page. Annie kept her emotions under tight control. She had erected barriers—steel walls to hide her secrets from prying eyes.

“We’re partners,” she said. “Just like my partner on the force in Salem.”

Michael’s intentions were far more intimate. He’d been watching her for days, developing a grudging admiration for her professionalism and her no-nonsense approach to life. He liked Annie Callahan. And her kiss had sparked a deeper attraction. “Partners,” he said.

“As such, we should proceed with our own investigation. I suggest we start now.”

As she raised the sandwich to her lips, the engagement diamond flashed like a warning signal. His promise to protect her might be more difficult than he’d expected. “Why now?”

“Because we don’t want the trail to get cold.” She chewed for a moment. “Engstrom and Officer Bobby aren’t exactly super sleuths. I don’t think they’d recognize a clue if it jumped up and bit them on the toe.”

“It’s their job, Annie.”

“Mine, too. And I’m good at it,” she said confidently. “I noticed that you’re pretty handy with that weapon you were waving around. By the way, do you have a permit?”

“Yes, Officer,” he said dryly.

“Why are you armed?” she asked.

“I’m here to protect you.” He deflected her question. “I didn’t know if Bateman would be carrying.”

“Possession of a weapon would be violation of his parole.” She was all cop. “Michael, may I see your gun?”

He grinned. “That’s the first time a woman has said that to me and meant it literally.”

“Ha-ha.”

“It’s double-action. Easy to cock.”

“Very funny.”

“Most women would—”

“I don’t want to hear about your other girlfriends,” she said quickly. “It’s not that I’m jealous or anything. But this is the way I like to work with a partner. We stay focused on the job, which is taking care of Lionel and guarding against threats from Bateman. We don’t need banter.”

“Are you telling me that you and your partners don’t ever talk about anything other than policework?”

She leveled a cool, blue-eyed gaze at him. “I want my male partners to think of me as a cop, not as a woman. And the best way to do that is to avoid talking about sex. Understand?”

This probably wasn’t the best moment to tell her that she was cute when she was being a hard-boiled lady cop. “I bet you’ve got other rules.”

“Only one,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s not worth mentioning. You couldn’t possibly follow it.”

“Try me.”

“Always be honest. You’ve got to be able to trust your partner one hundred percent. There can’t be any lies or betrayals.”

Though he agreed with her in principle, Michael thought honesty was highly overrated. It was safer for him—and for Annie—if he continued to slide around the edges of the truth. The things she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

He reached behind his back, pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and placed it on the kitchen table.

Annie finished off her sandwich before she picked up the gun. “Very nice. A Smith and Wesson automatic? Is it 10 mm?”

“Yes.” He knew exactly where her questions were headed. The handgun was a specially designed model issued to federal agents. Michael phrased his explanation carefully to avoid a direct lie. “It was given to me by a friend. He’s in the FBI.”

“That’s unusual. The feds don’t like to part with their weapons.” Her injured right arm and wrist caused her to fumble as she removed the ammunition clip. Frustrated by her clumsiness, she flexed her fingers. “I need to practice with my left hand.”

“How long before you’re back to normal?”

“The swelling is almost gone. I’ll probably be okay in a couple of days, but I’m going to have to wear this adjustable cast for a lot longer to protect the bones while they heal.” She snapped the clip back into place and handed him the gun. “Let’s go outside and take a look around.”