by Ashley Shay
“I’ve got it here.” Laughton patted the folder in front of him. He needed to shut her up before she could recite the lengthy but cryptic note. The breathy sound of her voice made his cock do more than twitch. It had begun to grow and throb. Had he ever slept with an ash blonde? Maybe there was some memory buried in his subconscious. There was no freaking way this kind of woman could do anything for him. “It’s a good thing you paid attention, Ms. Barnhardt. If you hadn’t, we would have one dead senator on our hands. Your principal meant business. Too bad he committed suicide before we could interrogate him.” Mr. Haney had been one smart man. The suicide had saved him hours of agonizing pain for his transgression.
“So why am I here, Marshal Laughton?” Carla asked. “I thought when Mr. Haney died all of this might go away.”
“We suspect Haney simply carried out orders of a larger faction and served as liaison between that organization and a known hit man the FBI’s been hunting for years.”
“A hit man?” she squeaked.
The man portion of the word was a bit of an exaggeration because their subject was a bit more than a hit man and a bit more than human. He was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list and one of the shifters that Tyler Lucas and Homeland Security had been hunting for years. They had code-named him Viper, simply because he was lethal and of the Serpent Society. When it came down to it, they had no idea what kind of snake he was because Viper seemed invincible and left a trail of mayhem that belied he was a normal serpent shifter. Gabe hoped like hell he wasn’t some kind of hybrid.
Viper had never let himself be photographed, he’d never fucked up an assignment, and he didn’t care which side he worked for. Gabe, however, did not intend to tell either the lovely witness or his cousins that Viper was the suspected assassin. Gabe hoped to avoid that unnecessary distraction entirely because the mere mention of Viper would send the Lucas brothers into a tailspin. Tyler would go ballistic, and Gabe needed him as calm as possible for this assignment.
“That man in the office was a hit man?” she repeated.
“Yes, Ms. Barnhardt, the man you described matches detailed witness reports we’ve received of a well-known assassin. To the best of our knowledge, he’s a contract agent. If the money is right, he’ll take the job. He has no military or political affiliations that we are aware of. He’s a rogue, and he’s very good at what he does. Had Mr. Haney not been considerate enough to off himself, I’m very certain this shif—” He paused for a second. He’d almost blown it. Why did those big blue eyes make him so dumb? “I’m very certain this man would have made his death less than quick and far more painful than either of us can imagine.” Though he had a pretty damn good idea how painful it would have been.
Her eyes slowly widened until they looked as big as saucers, and her perfect rosy lips parted in a startled O. He had visions of pushing his dick between them and—
“S–so…” Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. “S–so I’m in d–danger?”
Her hands tightened again on the arms of the chair, and her gaze flitted between the door and him, back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. She looked ready to bolt.
Gabe leaned forward. “Ms. Barnhardt.” She took a quavering breath and locked her gaze on his. “Relax.”
“H–how can I r–relax?”
“Easy.” He nodded and smiled, trying to make her comfortable. “Breathe deeply. In and out. In and out.”
She did what he said, her mouth trembling and her chest heaving. Like a schmuck, he focused on her breasts. Some day he’d go to hell. He almost wished it would happen today. He needed her gone.
“Better?” he asked gently.
“Y–yes.”
“First, let me say the department intends to keep you alive, Ms. Barnhardt.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Because I’m a potential witness?”
She was a bit sharper than he’d given her credit for.
“That’s part of it, of course,” Gabe said with a smile, “but we care, Ms. Barnhardt. We will do everything in our power to keep you safe.”
“How will you do that? I mean…” A big fat tear rolled down her pink cheek.
He jumped in quickly, heading another tear off at the pass. “With this.” He shoved the folder across his desk toward her. “Do you understand about witness protection?”
Her quiet voice drifted across the distance between them. He had to lean forward to hear it. “Only what I’ve seen in movies and on TV.”
“Then you probably know enough.”
She scooted forward a bit on her chair and reached for the folder. He couldn’t see much from his vantage point, but the tight skirt rose a bit on her creamy thighs.
“We plan to give you a new life. We’ve found a position for you in Catamount, Texas. Four wealthy ranchers, brothers, need a tutor and a nanny. Would you be interested in an assignment like that?”
* * * *
Carla opened the folder and found a small stack of photos. She picked up the first, staring at a landscape shot of a large and luxurious ranch home set on what seemed like endless acres of beautiful terrain. She lifted it to stare at the photo beneath, a casual five-by-seven portrait. Four of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen in her entire life—two men and a set of twins—stood near a barn and stared directly into her eyes. Four pairs of deep, mesmerizing green eyes peered from beneath cowboy hats perched on their long, tawny hair. Each one had the same rich, golden color base, but each brother’s hair held threads of varied shades of caramel, amber, goldenrod, and deep oak. They would have blended and become part of any landscape—a desert canyon, a Texas hillside, or a sandy stretch of beach. All four wore jeans and white T-shirts stretched across wide, muscled chests. She let her gaze roam over the four men and let out the breath she’d been holding. All four looked way better than any movie star she’d ever seen.
A jolt of excitement hardened Carla’s nipples like a blast of cold air had passed over her skin. She quickly glanced up to see Marshal Laughton hadn’t missed it. His chiseled features didn’t change, but his eyes sparkled with amusement, and Carla felt another blush warm her cheeks. She’d never felt so aroused so fast in her life. It was an entirely new sensation for her. She’d never been one to feel sexual excitement without a whole lot of stimulation or attention. And yet, at this moment, her pussy fluttered with small pulses, and she felt a slight hint of moisture dampen her panties.
The man in front of her was gorgeous, but these brothers…
The marshal leaned a bit over his desk. She had the distinct impression he was trying to smell her. Was that possible? She wanted to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. She clenched her muscles, trying to hold in every bit of moisture her body had created then drew back a bit, trying to escape his attention. Her movement seemed to spark something in him because he settled back in his chair and smiled. “Interested?” he asked.
“Um…y–yes,” Carla stuttered, feeling like a complete idiot. She started to scan the photos again, but her hands shook, and she fumbled. The photos cascaded to the floor like a game of 52 Pickup. “Rats!” She leaned down and knocked her head against the desk. “Ow!”
Marshal Laughton’s shadow fell across her. He squatted down beside her, and his gaze dropped into her cleavage. Her skin heated up as quickly as a match set to dry kindling. She wished her shirt didn’t feel so tight. She’d gone a bit overboard on the eating the last few weeks. Stress always made her famished, and food offered the only release she had from the worry and fear. She’d skip dessert for the next few days because these few extra pounds were becoming hard to conceal unless Marshal Laughton bought her a new wardrobe, and that seemed as likely as the two of them becoming lovers, or even friends.
She wondered what it would be like to be this man’s lover…She imagined he would be magnificent in bed. Those long fingers would stroke her, raising goose bumps on her skin. Those lips would roam over every inch of her quivering flesh, and when he dipped his head down between her
legs, she would feel his tongue—
“Hey, you’re bleeding.”
Carla shot a glance toward him. A look of concern had fallen over his face. He stood and leaned across the desk.
She touched her forehead, and a drop of blood appeared on her finger. Marshal Laughton handed her a Kleenex. She dotted her forehead then pressed it against the small cut. She let him guide her back to the chair, and then he gathered up the fallen photos. She watched the muscles of his ass clench with his movement, wondering what they would feel like beneath her hands.
She shook her head, pressing the Kleenex tighter. What was wrong with her?
“You said tutor and nanny? There’s a child?”
“Yes,” Marshal Laughton said, handing her a photo. “A daughter. She’s five.”
A petite little girl wearing a pink sundress smiled up at her. She squinted against the summer sun, but Carla saw her eyes were a lovely shade of dark green, and they sparkled with an iridescent light. Her honey-blonde curls fell over tanned shoulders from beneath a cute white cowgirl hat. Carla had worked around children for almost a decade, but she’d never seen a more beautiful child.
“Which one is her father?”
The marshal opened his mouth for a second then flipped through a few pages in the folder. “Apparently the oldest one…um, Tyler Lucas.”
“Does the child have a mother?”
Laughton shook his head then referred to his notes again. “Suzie’s mother died last year. The Lucas brothers have excellent credentials, and I believe you’ll be safe as long as you stick to your new identity and don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” she murmured. Surrounded by a family like this, no one would ever notice her. As usual, she’d blend into the woodwork like she had all her life.
Marshal Laughton either didn’t hear or didn’t care because he ignored her. “You can’t tell anyone you’re part of the Witness Protection Program, not even your employers. We’ll provide you with references and a background, of course, but it’s your responsibility to keep in character.”
“In character? What does that mean?”
“It means, Ms. Barnhardt, considering the circumstances of this juncture in your life, reinventing yourself would be a very wise course.”
“Reinvent myself?”
“In a few days, Carla Barnhardt will be dead. This is your chance to be any kind of woman you’d like to be. Do you have any questions?”
“Only about a million, but they can wait. I think I have too much to think about right now.”
Like reinventing myself.
Like working for four delicious men.
Like keeping my hands off those delicious men.
Her thoughts had begun to stray into a realm she had no business thinking about when the marshal’s voice snapped her out of a daydream of four men surrounding her naked body.
“We’ll keep you safe, Ms. Barnhardt.”
My God, what is wrong with me? She’d almost forgotten the most important thing she had to think about.
An assassin.
She shuddered thinking of the man she’d seen in Mr. Haney’s office. He’d been the kind of man she associated with dirty drug money and underworld power struggles, a tall, lean man filled with wiry muscles beneath his impeccable black suit and slick black hair. She could as easily see him dining in an outdoor café on a Caribbean island wearing native prints as she could see him skulking through the Brazilian rain forest wearing camouflage and toting an automatic weapon. Both images left her with a cold chill down her spine. When she’d looked at him, she thought of sly, enigmatic meetings with nefarious criminal types, hot, blazing sun, and sweat-drenched hostages. Despite his handsome features, he was exactly the kind of man who, with one withering glance, left her feeling like she’d fallen into an oozing pit of industrial waste. An acid bath couldn’t have removed the toxicity of his gaze.
When he’d sauntered past her desk at Mr. Haney’s invitation, he’d stared at her boldly, blatantly, his cold almost-black eyes taking in every detail of her face and body, leaving behind a trail of creepy sensations that dried on her skin like poison. When the door had closed, she’d leaned over and vomited into her trashcan. Then she’d dabbed at her clammy face with a tissue drenched with bottled water. Even that hadn’t helped. She’d grabbed her purse and left the building, despite the fact the lunch bell wouldn’t ring for another ten minutes. For the first time since she’d started working at the school, she’d forgotten to turn the phones over to the machine and hadn’t locked the office door. She never wanted to see that man again.
Her gaze drifted toward the folder. Better to think about these four gorgeous men. “I’ll be briefed before the trip, right?”
He nodded. “On the trip. I’ll be accompanying you.”
She gulped. “Seriously?” How would she survive that?
He offered her a weak smile. Obviously the idea didn’t appeal to him. “Seriously.”
“Okay.” Spending time with this gorgeous man would be good practice for once she arrived in Texas. “In the meantime…is this hit man still a threat to me?”
“We believe he is, yes,” Marshal Laughton answered truthfully. “We think your principal, Mr. Haney, was involved in an underground political group that feels radical measures are the only way to turn the tide of Washington. What their pet project is remains unknown at this time, but we suspect it involves issues of national security, things best left kept secret. The FBI and Homeland Security have been monitoring them for years, and this is the first break they’ve caught in a long time. Unfortunately, you got a look at the suspect. It won’t take him long to figure out who contacted the authorities. We feel he will try to eliminate you.”
“In case I’m called in to testify in court?”
Laughton mumbled something, but Carla had a hard time understanding it. It sounded like, “It would never get to that.” Carla’s brow furrowed, and Laughton said, “Yes, ma’am. In case you’re called to testify against him in court. He can’t afford to have a witness identify him.”
“I’ve never been to Texas,” Carla murmured.
Marshal Laughton stared at her for a moment, frowned, then muttered, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
Chapter Two
Despite the soft buzz of the hotel air-conditioning, Carla felt flushed and hot. She’d just gotten out of the shower, and she’d already begun to sweat. She supposed it was her body’s way of reminding her they’d arrived in Texas. San Antonio, to be exact. She only knew because she’d heard the pilot’s announcement as they landed, and when they’d rented their cars, the desk clerk had a soft drawl. Looking around the chain hotel room, she could be Anywhere, USA. She’d really wanted to see the city, but Marshal Laughton had insisted they lie low. Lying low last night had meant watching bad network TV and eating semicold fast food. Her nerves had gotten the best of her, and she’d eaten the entire carton of large fries as she’d mindlessly watched some reality program.
Now she appeared to be caught in her own reality program.
A nervous giggle escaped her as she realized the implication of the role she would be taking on if the brothers hired her. The cowboy and the schoolmarm, one of the oldest sexual role-playing games she knew of. Only in this case it would be the cowboys and the schoolmarm. She could hardly wait to get started. She would be outnumbered by the four brothers, but she told herself she could hold her own with them. The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a new person with new strength and determination, and Carla was determined to live this life to the fullest.
She glanced at the array of documents spread before her on the dresser—birth certificate, social security card, passport, debit card, a Visa, and a driver’s license from Pennsylvania, sporting an address she’d never heard of in the town near where she’d been born. She hadn’t lived in Pennsylvania in years, but Laughton hadn’t wanted anything that traced her back to her tiny condo in Northern Virginia. He’d d
eliberately chosen an area familiar to her should she ever need to supply details. None of the documents seemed out of the ordinary, with one exception. They didn’t belong to Carla Barnhardt. They belonged to someone named Carly Barnes.
Slowly she lifted her eyes to stare into the mirror again.
“Hello, Carly Barnes,” she said quietly. “Nice to meet you.”
Her gaze darted away from the mirror toward the pile of clothing tossed haphazardly across the flowered bedspread. Nothing on the bed seemed right for her new life. She wished she could have bought a fresh wardrobe before they left Washington, DC, one that reflected the attitude that went with a name like Carly. Carly wouldn’t wear these drab, uninteresting colors. She would have a wardrobe full of bright colors and playful styles. At the very least, she’d have a gypsy skirt and flashy sandals.
The somber-colored clothing of an employee of an exclusive private school hardly fit the rugged Texas landscape and bright Western sun that had greeted her when she’d stepped out of the airport. Shouldn’t a nanny wear colorful and casual clothing that would allow her to interact comfortably with a young child? How could she keep up with a five-year-old in modestly cut, streamlined skirts worn to impress the parents of Washington DC’s next generation of movers and shakers?
That life was gone, and she’d been handed the opportunity for a do-over. How many women were lucky enough to get that?
“Well, little lady,” she said in her best Texas drawl, “I sure hope you know what you’re doin’.” She burst out laughing and did a little shimmy then danced toward the bathroom.
In her pink lace bra and matching panties, Carly stood in front of the full-length mirror bolted on the bathroom door and critically studied herself. Her full breasts rose high above the lacy edges of the pretty demi bra, and she had to admit her skin looked soft and silky. That could be the lotion she’d slathered on after her shower, but even so, maybe she should wear something with a bit of cleavage…
