Kitabı oku: «Guardian in Disguise»

A man that handsome couldn’t disappear anywhere.

He’d escaped her clutches without telling her anything at all. Darn. Either he was good at deflecting or he was just as curious as she was by nature.

She couldn’t make up her mind.

Then the crowd parted a bit and she could see his butt, a very nice, flat butt, cased in denim. As a female, she couldn’t help but respond to the sight. Eye candy indeed.

No, Liza couldn’t forget Max McKenny. Even as she nodded, listened and talked, he was the image burned in the forefront of her brain.

There was something there. And she wanted to know what it was.

But when she looked around again, he had vanished from the room.

A deflector who was good at disappearing acts? She could feel her instincts rev into high gear. Before she was done, she was going to know everything about Max McKenny.

Dear Reader,

Having a lot of journalists in my family has given me some familiarity with their inquisitive natures and often frank questions. They’re fun to listen to, they have wonderful stories to tell, but they’re not quite like the rest of us. They sometimes deal with some pretty ugly things, and being suspicious seems to become second nature.

You want to get a journalist’s attention? Give them the feeling you’re hiding something. Ordinarily it won’t matter unless you’re someone in a position of power or influence, but they can be a little tough with their curiosity and questioning even with family and friends. It seems to be built in, and then it’s finely honed. They want to know everything about everything.

And that’s how this story was born. I wanted a heroine with just that tart, sharp nature, that curiosity, even that hint of black humor. And then I wanted it to drag her into a dangerous situation. Being a journalist can do that, sometimes when you least expect it.

Wanting to know too much gets Liza Enders into trouble. It also gets her into love.

Enjoy!

Rachel

About the Author

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

Guardian in Disguise

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To inquisitive journalists everywhere,

especially some who belong to my family.

Thanks for digging for the truth.

Chapter 1

Liza Enders looked around the room at all the people gathered for the faculty welcoming tea. Yes, they called it a tea, which struck her as a grandiose description for a gathering of faculty members at a junior college in Conard County, Wyoming.

A “tea” should have paneled walls, leather chairs, old Victorian tables and heavy curtains.

Instead the faculty occupied a cafeteria with folding tables, plastic chairs and vertical blinds on the windows. The sandwiches were quartered but still had crusts, the beverage was a punch made of a soft drink poured over a brick of ice cream, and there was hot, tinny coffee in huge urns. The coffee cups were institutional, white with a green line, and the punch cups were plastic.

It was hard not to laugh.

“Tea” indeed.

She knew most of the faculty already because Conard County was her hometown and she’d already taught her first course over the summer session. This tea was the only one held each year, however, and the college didn’t spring for more intimate evening gatherings with the dean. No, they held this one social each year and all faculty were required to attend.

That meant the one new guy stuck out. Of course, he would have stuck out anyway, given that he didn’t remotely resemble his peers.

Most of the faculty looked like underpaid teachers, which they were. All teachers were underpaid, just as journalists were. Liza knew all about that, having recently been laid off from her job as a reporter.

They dressed casually but nobody had this dude’s kind of cool. And cool was the only word she could think of to describe it. He stood there holding a mug of coffee without using the handle, his denim-clad hips canted to one side in a way that was going to drive his female students nuts. His black T-shirt showed off some pretty good musculature—not at all common among the bookish types —and instead of the usual faculty jogging shoes or cowboy boots, he wore black motorcycle boots. Cool, she thought again.

Her instincts, honed by a decade as a reporter, drew her in his direction. Those little differences in appearance and stance suggested an interesting story, not a curriculum vitae of academic accomplishments.

She ran her eyes over him as she eased toward him, appreciating the picture of maleness, and allowing herself to enjoy the moment of attraction. God knew, she wasn’t attracted to any of the other male professors—most of whom were married, happily or not.

But she was curious. She’d spent a lot of time getting people to tell her things, and she was sure she’d get this guy’s story before this sham of a tea was over. Then her curiosity would be satisfied and she’d be able to return her attention to more serious matters. Like teaching, and figuring out what she really wanted to do with her mess of a life now that her true love, journalism, had spurned her in massive cost-saving layoffs.

That still rankled. The hunk in the black T-shirt would provide a little distraction and satisfy her now under-satisfied need to know everything about people. Especially intriguing people.

Something about this guy caused her nose for news to twitch like mad.

When she reached him, she extended her hand and gave him her friendliest smile. “Hi. I’m Liza Enders. I teach journalism.”

He shook her hand, a firm grip. “Max McKenny, criminology.”

That totally snagged her attention. “Really. I did the cop beat until I was promoted.”

“That’s a promotion? Getting away from cops?”

He smiled at last, and she was almost embarrassed by the way her heart skipped a beat. Such a good-looking man already had enough going for him without adding a devastating smile. Slightly shaggy dark hair with just a bit of wave to it, eyes the color of blue polar ice. Yummy. What was it he had just said? Oh, yeah …

“It’s considered one,” she finally answered. “The cop beat is rough but not all that difficult in terms of gathering information, so it’s usually given to the newest reporters. Most of us don’t last long at it, though.”

“Why not?”

“Between the hours and the stories? Well, you teach criminology, but I also covered auto accidents.”

“Oh.” His smile faded a bit. “That would be rough.”

“The average survival as a cop reporter is about two years,” she agreed. Then it struck her: he was learning about her.

She cocked her head a little. Had she just been deflected? She didn’t know many people who could do that, including crooked politicians with a lot to hide. “What about you? Law enforcement background?”

“Some,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”

“Well, your course will be popular. Seems like CSI made you a ready audience.”

At that his smile returned to full wattage. “Not much reality there.”

“No,” she agreed. “Criminalists don’t last too long on the job, either. Five years, is what some of them told me. So you were a criminalist?”

He shook his head. “Just law enforcement. I’m teaching mostly procedures and the law.”

“Were you a beat cop?”

“I was on the streets, yes.”

It seemed like a straightforward answer but Liza’s instincts twitched again. “I always thought it would be rough to be a beat cop,” she said by way of beginning a deeper probe. But just as she was framing her question he asked her one.

“So what do you get promoted to after the cop beat?”

She blinked. “Depends.” Then she decided to open up a bit, hoping to get him to do the same. “I went to county government next.”

“That must have been boring as hell.”

“Far from it. Folks don’t realize just how much impact local government has on their lives. Most of the decisions that affect an individual are made locally. Plus, it can be fun to watch.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“Only because you haven’t done it. You see some real antics. But what about being on the beat? You must have had some nerve-racking experiences.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I had my share, I suppose. You know what they say, hours of sheer boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror.”

“I can imagine. I bet you have some stories to tell,” she suggested invitingly.

“Not really.” He smiled again. “I was a lucky cop. You probably saw more bad stuff than I did.”

“Well, most cops tell me they go their entire careers without ever having to draw a gun.”

“That’s actually true, thank God.”

“So what made you change careers?”

He paused, studying her. “Reporters,” he said finally, and chuckled quietly. “I’m taking a hiatus. Sometimes you need to step back for a while. You?”

God, he was almost good enough at eliciting information to be a reporter himself. No way she could ignore his question without being rude, and if she was rude she’d never learn his story.

“Laid off,” she said baldly. “Didn’t you hear? News is just an expense. Advertising is where the money is at.”

“But…” He hesitated. “I don’t know a lot about your business, but if papers don’t have news, who is going to buy them? And if no one buys them…”

“Exactly. You got that exactly right. But the bean counters and the shareholders don’t seem to get that part. Plus, they just keep cutting staff until every reporter is doing the work of three or four. No one cares that the quality goes down, and there’s no real in-depth coverage.”

“Blame it on a shortening national attention span.”

“Cable news,” she said.

“Thirty-second sound bites.”

Suddenly they both laughed, and she decided he was likable, even if he was full of secrets. Secrets that she was going to get to the bottom of.

Although, she reminded herself, she couldn’t really be sure he had secrets. It was just a feeling, and while her news sense didn’t often mislead her, she might be rusty after six months. Maybe. She cast about quickly for a way to bring the conversation back to him. “Where did you work before and how did you get to this backwater?”

“I was in Michigan,” he said easily. “Is this a backwater? I hadn’t noticed.”

She almost flushed. Was he chiding her for putting down her hometown? For an instant she thought he might not be at all likable, but before she could decide he asked her another question.

“How about you?” He tilted his head inquisitively. “What brought you here?”

“Two things. A job and the fact that I grew up here. I like this place.”

“And before? Where did you work?”

“For a major daily in Florida.” Damn, she was supposed to be the one asking.

“That’s a big change in climate,” he remarked. “I doubt I’ll notice this winter as much as you will.”

Before she could turn the conversation back to him, he looked away. “I’m being summoned. Nice meeting you, Ms. Enders.”

“Liza,” she said automatically as he started to move away.

“Max,” he said over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

Well, he didn’t exactly disappear. A man like him couldn’t disappear anywhere. Soon she saw him conversing with some other teachers.

He’d escaped her clutches without telling her anything at all. Darn. Either he was good at deflecting or he was just as curious as she was by nature.

She couldn’t make up her mind.

When the crowd parted a bit, she could see his butt, a very nice butt, cased in denim. As a female, she couldn’t help but respond to the sight. Eye candy indeed.

One of the other faculty members started yammering in her ear about the renewed effort to build a resort on Thunder Mountain and she reluctantly tore her gaze away.

Max wasn’t handsome, she told herself as she listened politely to the man talk about the threat a resort would raise to the mountain’s wolf pack.

She cared about wolves, she really did, and didn’t want to see them driven away or killed.

But she couldn’t forget Max McKenny. Even as she talked about wolves, he was the image burned in the forefront of her brain.

There was something there, a story of some kind. And she wanted to know what it was.

But when she looked around again, he had vanished from the room.

A deflector who was good at disappearing? Her instincts revved into high gear. Before she was done, she was going to know everything about Max McKenny.

She might have laughed at herself, but she knew exactly why she was reacting this way: training and instinct. It had been over six months since she’d had a story to follow. Max might be the most normal ex-cop on the planet, but that wasn’t the point. The hunt for information was. She could hardly wait to get to her home computer.

“So will you help us?” Dexter Croft asked her. “With the petition drive?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she agreed almost automatically. “But the ranchers aren’t happy about those wolves, which means many of the other locals aren’t, either.”

“Those wolves don’t get anywhere near the herds,” he said irritably. “In fifteen years we’ve only had one confirmed wolf kill.”

“I know, Dex,” she said soothingly. “I know. But it’s the idea we’re fighting. That and the news from Montana and Idaho.”

“Which is not all that bad.”

“I guess that depends.”

Dex drew himself up. “On what?”

“Whether you’re a rancher who’s running on a margin so slim one kill could cost you nearly everything.”

“They get reimbursed for wolf kills.”

She smothered a sigh. She wanted to save the wolves, yes, but you had to consider the other side of the story. Without cooperation from the ranchers one way or another, the wolves weren’t going to make it. “I said I’d help, Dex. But maybe we need a better way to talk to the ranchers.”

“We’ve been talking to them for years.”

“Maybe the problem is we’ve been talking at them. I don’t know. But I said I’d help.”

She turned to scan the room again, but still no Max McKenny. She wished she knew what excuse he had used because she’d sure like to try it out herself. She hated this blasted tea.

Then she turned back to Dexter and fixed him with her inquisitorial look. “So, Dex, why are you devoted to saving the wolves?”

The question seemed to startle him and he blinked rapidly. “Because they’re an important part of the ecology.”

She nodded. “Very true. I know a lot of people who just like them because they look like puppies.”

“That’s absurd. They’re not domestic dogs. You couldn’t bring one home with you. But they improve the ecology.”

“I know. I’ve read about it. I just wondered if there was some special reason you took up the cause.”

“It’s what’s good for the environment, that’s all.”

Which told her she was now going to be badgered by Dex on every possible environmental issue. Inwardly she sighed. Ten years of training as a reporter had hardened her against taking sides. She could have been fired for taking sides even on her personal time.

Well, she wasn’t ready to take up any causes yet. She was still feeling too bruised by the loss of her beloved career. Too bruised by the failing newspaper industry that had made it impossible for her to find another job and necessary for her to teach when she’d rather do.

She was lucky, she told herself. A lot of her friends who had been laid off had had to leave journalism behind.

Just keep that in mind, she told herself as she eased away from Dex and made her way to the door. You’re lucky. Even if you don’t feel like you are.

Summer warmth lingered, even with the earlier twilight and Liza chose to walk. Her apartment was only a few blocks away from the relatively new campus, and not too far from the semiconductor plant that had brought brief prosperity to the town before falling prey to an economic downswing and laying off about half its work force.

Most of those people had been forced to leave town, which meant the apartments were no longer full and rents had fallen. Given her salary as an adjunct, she supposed she should be grateful for that. But she really would have preferred living in the older part of town, seedy as some of it was, to living in the new sprawl that had been added over that past ten or so years.

Something had sure put her in a morose mood, she realized as she strode down sidewalks fronted by young trees. And here she thought she’d been getting over herself.

Maybe it wasn’t so easy to lose a job you loved and then have to move halfway across the country for a new one, even if it was a matter of coming home. Except home had changed since she had left to go to college fourteen years ago. Some things looked the same, but they didn’t feel the same.

You can never come home again. The old saying wafted through her mind and she decided it was true. The town had changed a bit, but so had she. And maybe the changes in her were the most momentous ones.

She sighed, the sound lost as the evening breeze ruffled the leaves of the scrawny little trees.

Well, at least there was now Max McKenny to stretch her underworked brain muscles again. Her mind immediately served up another mental image of him, and she had to smother a smile lest she be seen walking all alone down the street, grinning like an idiot.

But she wanted to grin, for a variety of reasons. She’d seen how the girls went after an attractive teacher, and he was more attractive than most. Heck, she’d done a bit of it herself in college. All you had to do was stare intently, longingly, and you could fluster an inexperienced teacher. You didn’t even have to follow them into their offices to rattle them and make them nervous. She wondered if Max had any idea what he might be in for being a new and interesting man in an area that didn’t often see new guys.

She bit back a giggle.

Yup, he was in for it. And since she wasn’t entirely immune herself, she would willingly bet he was going to have a lot to contend with.

Oh, he was yummy all right. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on the reason. He was good-looking enough, but not star quality. No, it was more that he projected some kind of aura, the way he stood, a man supremely confident in his manhood, she guessed. No apologies there. Yet he hadn’t struck her as cocky, which made him all the better.

She hated cocky men. She’d had too many cocky editors and interviewed too many cocky politicians.

So that was a definite mark in his favor. He’d been pleasant enough, and friendly enough. Polite. Respectful.

And oh so unrevealing.

That part she didn’t like. Quickening her pace, she reached her building and trotted up the stairs. Her computer was still on, and she dropped her keys on the table as she hurried to it.

She wished she had all the resources she had once had as a reporter. But at least she had enough to begin her search into his background.

She started at the college’s website, knowing they had to say at least something about his qualifications.

Maxwell McKenny, adjunct instructor, criminology. B.S. University of Michigan, J.D. Stetson University College of Law. Eight years law enforcement experience.

Good heavens, he had a law degree? A beat cop with a law degree? What in the world was he doing here in the back of nowhere? With that Juris Doctor degree he shouldn’t have wound up teaching at a minuscule junior college in Wyoming.

And Stetson was in Florida, her old stomping grounds. He couldn’t have gotten that degree while working for any Michigan police department. Which must mean he’d gotten it before he went to work as a cop, or after he had quit.

And why, when she had told him she’d worked as a reporter in Florida, hadn’t he made the natural comment that he’d gone to law school there?

Because he had indeed been deflecting her.

Her nose twitched and her curiosity rose to new heights. Leaning forward again, she began a search of the American Bar Association. If he’d been admitted to the bar, he should be there somewhere.

“I’m going to find out who you are, Max,” she muttered as she began her searches.

Because something is smelling like three-day-old fish.

Max rode back to the La-Z-Rest motel on his Harley, a hog he enjoyed immensely as the weather allowed and had missed during his last assignment. Soon he was going to have to find some old beater to get him through the winter, but for now he was free to enjoy the sensation of huge power beneath him and little to slow him down on the road. Not that he sped. He did nothing to draw unnecessary attention.

Although he’d evidently gotten the attention of Liza Enders, former journalist. Just what he needed: a reporter interested in him. Being noticed was anathema, and something he was trying very hard to avoid right now.

Then that temptress with the cat-green eyes had come striding across the room, and he’d stood there like a starstruck kid when he should have ducked, watching her rounded hips move, noticing her nicely sized breasts, drinking in her shiny, long auburn hair.

Idiot. He should have moved away the instant he realized she had focused on him. But how was he supposed to have guessed she was a reporter? All he’d noticed was that the loveliest faculty member in the room was walking his way.

Thinking with his small head, he thought disgustedly as he roared into the parking slot in front of his room. Responding with his gonads. He never did that. Not anymore.

It was too dangerous.

Frustrated with himself, he turned off the ignition, dismounted and kicked the stand into place. He gave the hog a pat then headed into his room.

Once there, he flopped on his back on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. On the ceiling above him was a water spot that looked pretty much like the state of Texas.

He played over the conversation in his mind again, recalling everything he had told her. Not much. That and the brief CV the college printed wouldn’t really tell her a thing.

Well, except for that freaking law degree. She would probably find that odd for a beat cop, but he couldn’t be the only one who had a J.D. So what if the reporter dug a little more? What would she find?

Very little. He wasn’t even using his real name, not that that would make a difference. He’d gone so far to ground that even his real name wouldn’t yield anything except possibly a birth date.

He was a man who didn’t exist. And it had to stay that way for a while yet.

So why the hell had he allowed himself to be blinded by a pretty face and a luscious figure into holding still long enough to have a conversation? She’d been trying to get information about him. He was smart enough to know that. Many had tried over the years.

But maybe her curiosity was just passing. Maybe she’d let it go.

He’d have to keep an eye on her, that was for sure. If she started prying too much, he would have to hit the road. Not that he wanted to. He kind of liked the gig they’d set him up with here, in a place where you could spot a stranger from a hundred miles.

He kind of liked the thought of teaching. And even though he’d been here for only a short while, he kind of liked this town, too.

Finally he pulled his cell phone out of its holster and punched a number he tried not to call too often. One he definitely never put on speed dial and always erased from the phone’s memory of recent calls.

“Ames here,” said a familiar voice.

“Max.”

“Oh, man, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure. I just got the inquisition from a reporter. Are you sure my background holds up?”

“Considering how many databases we had to modify, yeah. It had better.”

“A J.D. looks pretty funny hanging off a beat cop.”

“Not if that cop wants to be a detective someday. Or run for prosecutor. Or teach at a college. Take your pick.”

Max sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“Why? Did she say she was going to check into you?”

“No, but her eyes did.”

Ames surprised him with a laugh. “She must be pretty.”

“You could say that. Why?”

“You noticed her eyes. Okay, we’ll keep tabs on it. What’s her name?”

“Liza Enders.”

“Got it. What paper is she with?”

“None. She teaches at the college, too.”

“All right. I’ll blow the whistle if anything looks suspicious. In the meantime, I think one of our nerds can make sure she runs around the maypole a few times if she tries to crack your background.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Need anything else?”

“No, that was it.”

He put the phone away and resumed his contemplation of the ceiling. It wasn’t long, though, before he was seeing Liza Enders rather than the Texas water spot.

She sure was an attractive armful. He didn’t go for the skinny women who looked more like boys, and no one would mistake Liza Enders for a boy.

She might be a great reporter, but he was better at a far more dangerous game. He knew from long experience how to cover his butt. And there was entirely too much at stake to let a reporter blow it.

His life, for one thing. And the lives of other innocents, too. Not to mention if he let anyone close to him, they could get caught in the cross fire.

He had to find a way to keep her distant.

He closed his eyes. At least it was safe to fantasize about her. It would never be more than that, but he’d been living on fantasies for a long time.

One more surely wouldn’t hurt.

Growing hot and heavy, he imagined removing the clothes from Liza’s curvy body.

Nope, it couldn’t hurt.

He awoke in a cold sweat and sat bolt upright with his heart pounding. The room was dark except for a nervous strip of blinking red neon light that crept between the curtains.

For an instant he couldn’t remember where he was. For an instant he wondered if someone had entered the room while he slept.

Reaching out, he found the pistol on his bedside table and thumbed off the safety. Was someone in the room with him? He listened, but heard nothing except the whine of truck tires on the state highway outside.

At last he flipped on the bedside light. Empty. Shoving himself off the bed he checked the tiny bathroom. He was all alone, the door still locked.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, pistol still in hand, he waited for the adrenaline to wash away. Nightmares. He’d had a few of them in his time.

Dimly he remembered some of it. They’d found him. Yes, that was it. They’d found him. They surrounded him and threatened him and kept demanding his real name.

He hadn’t been able to remember it. And each time he failed, they hit him again. It may have been a dream, but his head and stomach felt as if those blows had been real.

And Liza. She’d been there, too, demanding his identity.

As if he had one anymore.

Crap. He thumbed the safety on again and put the pistol on the table. Now he felt cold from the sweat drenching. He needed a shower, but didn’t feel safe enough to take one. Not yet.

That damn reporter was going to be a problem. He had to get rid of her somehow.

This might look like a game to her, but for him it was life or death.