Hidden

  Heat rushed up Mal’s chest. His main skill these days was keeping himself from going ballistic on assholes, and he was about to fail in that. “I’m not interested. Now get the hell out of my house.”

  Force shook his head. “I understand you’re struggling with the aftereffects of a difficult assignment, but you won. You got the bad guys.”

  Yeah, but how many people had died? In front of him? Mal’s vision started to narrow with darkness from the corners of his eyes. “You don’t want to be here any longer, Force.”

  “You think you’re the only one with PTSD, dickhead?” Force spat, losing his casual façade.

  “No, but I ain’t lookin’ to bond over it.” Sweat rolled down Mal’s back. “How’d you find me anyway?”

  Force visibly settled himself. “It’s not exactly a coincidence that you bought this house. The only one that came close to what you were searching for.” He looked around the old-lady cheerful kitchen. “Though it is sweet.”

  Mal’s fingers closed into a fist. “You set me up.”

  “Yeah, we did. We need you here.” Force gestured around.

  Mal’s lungs compressed. “Why?”

  “Because you’re the best undercover cop we’ve ever seen, and we need that right now. Bad.” Force ran a shaking hand through his hair.

  “Why?” Mal asked, already fearing the answer.

  “The shut-in next door. She’s the key to one of the biggest homegrown threats to our entire country. And here you are.” Force’s eyes gleamed with the hit.

  Well, fuck.

  Chapter Two

  The smell of comfort and sugar filled Pippa’s kitchen in the form of freshly baked banana bread, chocolate chip cookies, and homemade apple pie. By the time the pie had started to cool, her heart rate had returned to normal. Almost.

  How much of a dork had she made of herself hours before? She tried to keep from peeking through her kitchen window like some creepy stalker, but her neighbor had a visitor. So the guy did have friends.

  Tough guy, kind of sexy, dangerous-looking friends.

  Well, one friend anyway. She’d seen him stride up the walkway and go right into the house without knocking. He was tall, like the neighbor. Messy dark hair and muscly arms beneath a ratty T-shirt. Who were these guys?

  Giving up the fight, she dusted off her hands and walked at a sedate pace, just like a normal person, through her living room to the wide window facing the street. The visitor had a clean black truck. A big one.

  Maybe the two guys were some sort of black truck club. She grinned at the thought. You could tell a lot about people from their vehicles.

  Take her. She had a fifteen-year-old, sturdy Subaru she’d purchased five years ago. It sat quietly in the garage and was only used about once a month. Just growing old and dusty. Like her.

  Movement in the truck caught her eye.

  She sidled closer to the window. Somebody was in the driver’s side of the truck. Even though it was chilly outside, a sign of the early spring season, the window was down. Her sofa sat under her window, so she perched on her knees and squinted.

  A furry head turned, and sharp brown eyes caught hers. A dog. She gasped. How did the dog know she was looking?

  His tongue lolled out. She chuckled. Adorable. The pooch had a huge head with darker fur across his eyes and nose in a kind of a mask. She’d seen German shepherds on television, and they always looked so dangerous. This one looked furry and bored. Somehow, his expression appeared as if he was put out by something—maybe by being left in the truck.

  She slowly lifted her hand and waved. Man, she was totally losing it. Maybe it was time to venture outside again to the real world. Visit a mall or something.

  The dog’s left ear lifted higher. His powerful shoulders bunched, and he leaped through the window, landing gracefully on the asphalt.

  She jerked back.

  As if on a mission, he cleared the clean row of shrubs between the two driveways and prowled up hers, sleek muscles moving beneath his thick brown fur. He paused at the sidewalk and sniffed the shoots of her tulips, which were just beginning to sprout.

  Turning his head, he gave a mighty sneeze.

  She laughed.

  He lifted his head and continued on, reaching her porch. Then he barked. Once.

  She blinked. This was a little nutty. Catching her breath, she looked outside in every direction. Nothing. The two houses were located at the end of a cul-de-sac, across from forested land. The nearest house was more than twenty miles down the quiet road.

  The dog barked again.

  Okay. A normal person wouldn’t just go and open her door to a barking German shepherd. She pushed herself off the comfortable denim sofa and turned for the door. Since when had she been normal?

  It took several seconds to disengage the multiple locks, and then she opened the door, keeping a tight grip on the edge in case she needed to slam it shut. “Um, hello.”

  The dog remained sitting and cocked his head to the side.

  She knew better than to crouch and put her face close to his teeth. So she held out a hand.

  He moved forward, sniffed her hand, and then gave it a giant lick. A slight whine escaped him, and he pushed toward her, trying to lick all her fingers up to the wrist.

  She laughed and shoved him back. Apparently, she hadn’t wiped the sugar from the pie off her hand.

  “Roscoe!” A sharp voice snapped from the other porch.

  She yelped, and the dog sprang into action, his shoulders striking her knees. He turned and bounded back toward the truck, leaping smoothly through the open window. She teetered and then fell flat on her butt. For the second time that day.

  The neighbor and his visitor both visibly blanched from across the way.

  “Damn.” Her new neighbor cleared the shrubs in one leap, striding toward her, his chin down. When had they come outside? “Lady, I’m sorry.” He reached her in seconds, holding out a hand large enough to wrap around her entire neck. He was so . . . big.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her hands remained frozen on the porch.

  He studied her with those startling green eyes and then dropped to his haunches so they were eye to eye. “You’re all right.” His voice, dark and deep and rumbly, was somehow soothing. And he smelled ... good. Masculine and foresty. “Did the dog frighten you?” He turned his head to look over his shoulder at his friend. The man was standing at the driver’s door of his truck, watching them.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Her neighbor turned back, his full focus on her again. “Did I?”

  She swallowed. Considering she was trembling, she’d look even more like a moron if she lied. “No.” What the heck. Lie anyway.

  His lips twitched and he almost grinned. The slight action lightened his eyes enough to make them even more fascinating.

  The guy at the truck opened his door, shoved the dog to the other side, and jumped in. “I’ll be in touch, West,” he called out, igniting the engine and whipping around in the street. He reached the edge of Pippa’s drive and rolled down the dog’s window. The dog seemed to be smiling somehow. “Remember what I said.”

  The neighbor called West didn’t look at the other guy again. “I said no,” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. “Don’t come back.” The darkness in his tone was backed up by the clear threat.

  Pippa’s eyes widened. So . . . not friends. Any words she might have had dried up in her throat.

  The truck sped off.

  West watched her for two seconds and then seemed to make a decision. He dropped from his haunches to his butt on her porch, wincing as he forced his jean-clad legs into a crossed position. “You’re scared, and I’m trying not to tower over you, but you’re a little thing, aren’t you?”

  Even sitting, he did tower. But there was a sweetness in his actions that had her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Are you hurt?” She found her voice again.

  His dark eyebrows lifted. “Left thigh. Injury that’s
getting better.”

  Okay. Time to stop being such a wimp. If he could act normal just sitting on the hard planks of her front porch, so could she. She held out her hand. “Pippa Smith.”

  His arm lifted slowly, as if he was trying really hard not to spook her. “Malcolm West.”

  The second his hand enfolded hers, warmth and a jolt of awareness shot up her arm. Her breath caught again, and this time fear had nothing to do with it. She was acting like some Victorian damsel meeting a man for the first time. “I’m not a virgin or anything,” she blurted out.

  Oh God. Heat flushed into her face. Had she just said that?

  His chin lowered just a bit, giving him almost a predatory look, although amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Is that an invitation?”

  * * *

  The bright pink blush across the woman’s high cheekbones made her seem even more delicate somehow. She had shoulder-length brown hair and deep ocean-blue eyes. Even if fear didn’t seem to hover around her, there was a fragility to her that brought out an awareness in him he sure as hell didn’t need. “Why do I scare you?” he asked before he could stop his damn mouth from working.

  She withdrew her soft hand. “Who says you scare me?”

  It was so obvious he couldn’t even respond. So he let his gaze drop to her neck and the vein pulsing there.

  The desire to dive right into her head, into her secrets, slashed into him with a too-familiar feeling. There was a reason he’d been a cop. But that reason was gone. “Is it me or all men?” Why was he still asking questions?

  Thunder rolled in the distance, and she angled her head to better see the gathering cloud cover. “Why was there a man at your house who you told to never return?”

  Well. Apparently, he wasn’t the only nosy one. “I was a cop, things went bad, and that guy wants me to be a cop again.”

  Her gaze snapped back to him, the movement like a startled bird. Her mouth formed a small o.

  Ah, hell. “Is there some reason you don’t like cops?” This shivering woman couldn’t be a threat to anybody. Angus Force had been full of crap. Without question. “Pippa?” Her name was pert. Cute. But she was deeper than that. He could already tell.

  She slowly shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of police officers.”

  Lie. Surprisingly, she wasn’t bad at lying. Not great, though. He was still breathing because of his ability to play a part and detect deceit. So he decided to play along. “So, men.”

  Her head tilted just enough to be intriguing. She sighed. “No. People.” Her face scrunched up, making her look younger than what had to be late twenties.

  Ah. “You’re agoraphobic.” How odd to be having this conversation on a porch with rain about to arrive. But he didn’t want to move. If he moved, she’d go back inside. He’d never met a mystery he didn’t want to unravel.

  Maybe some things never changed.

  She shook her head, sending that long mass of hair tumbling. “No. Not agoraphobic.” She sighed. “Close enough, though. When you don’t do something for a long time, then it’s hard to do it again, you know?”

  Not really. But at least she was talking.

  He opened his mouth to speak, and the scent of sweetness caught him. He turned his head to her slightly open door. “What in the world is that?” He lifted his nose and sniffed. That was better than anything he’d smelled in ages.

  She stiffened, as if brought back into the real world. Then she scrambled, using the door to reach her feet. “I, ah, bake sometimes.” The flush intensified as she looked down at him from not much height. “A lot. I bake a lot.”

  It smelled like what heaven should smell like. He’d probably never know. Was it rude to beg? It probably was. Would she let him buy whatever it was that smelled so good? It was probably also rude to offer money to a new neighbor for baked goods. He’d never learned much in the manners department. Manipulation, hell yeah. But something in him, something he definitely didn’t want to examine, balked at manipulating her. “I can microwave,” he offered. “Good noodles.”

  “Oh.” She slid the door open and edged halfway inside. Indecision crossed her face; she looked almost pained. She probably had great manners and was now fighting them.

  He rolled to his feet and shook out his left leg, which had cramped. The ache from his thigh was a constant companion, but at least the bullet had missed an artery. When he could, he took several steps back to give her space.

  The skies opened, and rain began to drop.

  “Um, I could give you a couple of cookies, if you’d like.” Her knuckles were white as she clutched the door.

  Damn, he wanted those cookies. But her body language, even if he wasn’t an expert, showed she didn’t want him inside. In fact, she was barring the way. “My boots are dirty,” he lied easily. “I’d love a couple of cookies, but do you mind if I stay on the porch? My socks have holes, and I’d rather not remove my boots. Too much ego, you know.”

  She blinked, self-derision mixing with relief in her stunning eyes. They were clearer than a July sky in Montana. He’d been on a case there years ago. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared.

  He didn’t move. Not an inch. With her hyperawareness, she’d hear the creak of a porch board, and she’d be scared again. So he barely breathed. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for a homemade cookie that smelled like it’d melt the second you tasted it.

  She reappeared again with a large basket in her hands. “Here.” She thrust it over.

  He took it, leaning down. The fragrance nearly dropped him to his knees. “What is all of this?”

  She shuffled back. “Cookies, some banana bread, and an apple pie.” Her shrug lifted slim shoulders. “I can’t eat it all.”

  “I can’t take all of this.” But he was already backing away before she could change her mind.

  She smiled. “Sure you can. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Then she glanced around at the completely deserted vicinity. “Well. Welcome to the end of nowhere anyway.” Then she shut the door in his face.

  He lowered his nose and inhaled deeply. The pie. He’d definitely start with the pie. His mind spinning, he turned and walked easily through the rain to his front door, already dialing and then lifting his phone to his ear.

  “Miss me?” Angus Force said by way of greeting, with the sound of light traffic around him.

  Mal kicked his door shut. “I want the records on her. Not agreeing to help you, but I want the files.” He clicked off before Force could piss him off.

  Then he leaned back against the door, the basket of goodies in his hands and curiosity in his head. He should repack his stuff and hit the road. Get the hell out of there.

  But she’d given him a pie.

  Chapter Three

  Pippa woke with a startled gasp, bolting upright in bed. Her heart thundered and her stomach cramped. “It was just a dream,” she whispered into the darkness. Just a dream. It wasn’t real. This was real. She pinched her arm to make sure.

  Ouch.

  Okay. Even though a nightlight near the door illuminated the room, she fumbled for a brighter light on the antique bed table. Used to the routine, she took several deep breaths and studied her pretty room. She’d painted her tables and dresser a very bright green. Her bedspread was a cheerful yellow, and her rug a soothing combination of the two. The exact opposite of muted and proper colors.

  She reached for the glass of water near her, noticing it was empty. Her throat hurt.

  Maneuvering out of the bed, she slid her feet into slippers and moved toward the bedroom door, taking seconds to disengage the three locks.

  Pausing out of habit, she closed her eyes and listened. Quiet, the peaceful kind, filled her house. No odd signatures of anything or anyone who shouldn’t be there. So she padded down the hallway into the kitchen and filled her glass at the sink.

  Rain pattered against the window, and the wind had picked up to a low roar. It sounded ominous. But enough of a moon shone through the clouds that she
could see the trees swaying past the grass in the backyard, fresh pine needles whipping around in a frenzy.

  Then she saw him.

  Malcolm West stood with his back to her in the center of the yard, wearing only boxers, his head up and his body shuddering. Rain sluiced over him, showing the hard ridges and planes of his body. Which was shaking almost violently.

  The hair stood up on her arms. Silently, she moved to the sliding glass door, almost pressing her nose to it.

  The light was dim enough that she could make him out, but the entire scene was a little hazy. His fists were clenched. The muscles in his arms and back bunched—impossibly so. His chest heaved, moving his entire torso.

  Oh. If that wasn’t a panic attack, she didn’t know what was. A part of her, the good and righteous part, knew she should run out there and offer help. Give comfort.

  The much stronger part of her remained stiffly in place, unable to move.

  He howled something, the sound pained and lost in the wind. Yet anger rode it, almost visible.

  She stepped back from the glass.

  Lightning cracked, and she jumped. For a second, the entire yard was lit up. He was all male, full of power. Almost animalistic in the middle of that storm. His wet hair curled to his shoulders, and there was damage on that magnificent body. Three healed bullet holes near his right shoulder blade, and what looked like knife wounds down his left rib cage.

  Her breath sped up, and she pressed her hand to the glass. How could something so dangerous, somebody so dangerous, draw her? Maybe she really did have that evil core she’d been accused of.

  He was wounded, and he was deadly. She knew that as well as she knew her own soul.

  The yearning inside her to join him, to touch him, shocked her. But still, her hand released one of the door locks.

  Another large crack, and something spun through the air. That tree branch she’d meant to have removed. He partially turned, probably out of instinct, just in time to get hit in the head.

  He went down fast and hard.