Code Name: Willow

by Paula Graves

  She looked good as a redhead. Red was one of the few colors she hadn't tried during his time on her security detail—a dozen different shades of blond and a couple of dalliances with black and brown, but never red. The home dye had turned her golden brown hair a deep, exotic burgundy, emphasizing her fair complexion and the russet glints in her dark brown eyes.

  She'd also taken scissors to her hair, trimming a good four inches off the length, leaving her with a somewhat untidy bob that just brushed the tops of her shoulders.

  He entered the room, his footsteps audible on the hardwood floor. "Remy in bed?"

  Maggie looked up, no warmth in her expression. "Finally wore himself out admiring his new hair in the mirror."

  Remy had talked Jack into giving him a buzz cut to go along with the dye job; the boy now had spiky blond hair that contrasted wildly with his swarthy skin and dark eyebrows.

  Jack was beginning to understand Maggie's fierce affection for the boy. Remy was bright, basically good-hearted, and brutally honest. During the first leg of the trip west, riding with Jack, Remy had told him everything, from the previous arrest by Blevins to taking Maggie at knifepoint from the youth center, all without being prodded.

  But Maggie had yet to tell him her side of the truth. And, based on the cold anger he still saw in her expression, she wasn't likely to do so any time soon.

  Maggie looked away. "We should make a plan."

  "A plan?" Frustration edged his voice. "We have cops after us who probably have enough evidence, trumped up or otherwise, to put us all away if they find us. Assuming they let us live. There is no plan to counteract that. Not until we find someone on the outside we can trust to help us."

  She pinned him with her fierce gaze. "You mean Laura."

  "Yeah, I mean Laura."

  Maggie turned back to the fireplace, her back stiffening. "Are you still seeing her?"

  "No. We broke up five years ago."

  "It took you five more years?" She looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow arched with surprise.

  He ignored the implied dig. "She called and left a message on my home answering machine the night you showed up."

  "She was calling about me?"

  "Not specifically. She'd heard about your situation and it reminded her of me. So she called to tell me about it."

  "Just happened to think of you, huh? Convenient." Her smile wasn't kind. "You do think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

  He sighed. " It was my idea to have her check up on Blevins, not hers." He'd also had Laura check Remy's background as well as Maggie's, but he kept those facts to himself.

  "And Laura Sandoval was your first choice to do that?"

  "She was convenient," he said, deliberately using the word she'd used a moment ago. "She's a U.S. Attorney with access to a lot of information in New Orleans. Information we can use."

  "She's not my idea of a trustworthy confidante."

  "I didn't tell her you were with me."

  "Well, she knows."

  He couldn't quibble with that. He'd heard her message on his answering machine, caught her unspoken meanings.

  "She sent those men," Maggie said.

  He shook his head. "Laura had nothing to do with that."

  "How did they know to look at your house? You have to at least consider the possibility."

  He shook his head. "If you think she's mixed up with crooked cops, you're wrong."

  "Well, I'd have liked a vote before you decided it was okay to tell her my secrets." Maggie's voice tightened.

  Jack ran his hand over his face, tamping down frustration. "You can be a real pain in the ass, Marguerite."

  Maggie stood, pressing her lips together, irritation flashing in her dark eyes. She headed for the door, brushing past him on the way out. His skin thrummed where their bodies touched. "I'm going to bed."

  Jack followed her to the bedroom door. "Yeah, run away, like always. You just don't want to hear the truth. The last time I saw you, you were wild, impulsive and unreliable-do you really think I could just take your word for it?"

  She didn't turn around. "Yes. I should've known better."

  Jack clenched his teeth, controlling a sudden rush of anger. He took a step back from her to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shaking. "Goodnight."

  He didn't wait for her to enter the bedroom before he went to his own room. Careful not to wake Remy, he closed the door behind him and crossed in the dark to his own bed. He sat for a moment, heart pounding with frustration and anger.

  He'd be damned if he was going to grovel for her trust. He'd done his share of that with Laura, and he had no intention of playing those kinds of games again.

  "I'm a big proponent of the 'keep it simple, stupid' method," Jack said as he and Remy finished their warm-up exercises the next morning.

  "I'll buy that." Remy grinned.

  "Come on, Rem, concentrate. This is serious."

  "Yeah, yeah." Remy looked over his shoulder at the back door. "She just gonna sit there all day?"

  Jack followed his gaze. The screen door remained shut to keep out flies and mosquitoes, but on this mild spring morning, the main door remained open, letting the fragrant breeze flow into the kitchen where Maggie sat, drinking coffee and watching Remy's self-defense lesson.

  She was still giving Jack the mostly silent treatment, speaking only when spoken to and sparingly. Her attitude went a long way toward helping Jack keep to his resolution of not letting her get under his skin anymore.

  If only she hadn't looked so damned sexy this morning when she stumbled in from her morning run, hot from the exertion, a trickle of sweat sliding over the curve of her breasts where they disappeared beneath her t-shirt. His body had let him know pretty quickly that he hadn't yet developed full immunity to her considerable charms.

  Jack looked away. "Maggie can do what she wants."

  "Why doesn't she need lessons, too?" Remy complained.

  "She's had self-defense training," Jack answered.

  "Doc did?" Remy's eyebrows rose.

  "Before she took the job at the youth center." Jack had gotten that much out of her earlier in the evening, before they'd gotten crossways with each other. He'd told her his plans for Remy's training the next day. She'd told him about her lessons at a dojo in New Orleans.

  Behind him, the creak of the screen door signaled Maggie's presence. Warm awareness spread over the back of his neck and down his spine. His heart rate increased.

  Make stress work for you, he thought. Then he said it aloud. Remy looked at him as if he were crazy.

  He should have known the 'young grasshopper' bit wouldn't work for this kid. Jack tried another tack. "You're watching a slasher movie. Hot blonde chick opens the door and there's our boy in the hockey mask. What does she do?"

  "Screams."

  "Why?"

  "Dude with the hockey mask is there and he's gonna slash her up."

  Jack took a deep breath. "Because she's afraid he's gonna slash her up."

  "Same thing."

  "And this fear causes what reaction in her body?"

  Remy grinned widely. "Is she wearing one of those thin t-shirts without a bra?"

  "Remy—" Damn the boy and his teenage hormones. It was taking all of Jack's concentration not to think about Maggie sitting behind him, shorts cut halfway to heaven and her breasts firm and round beneath that way-too-thin t-shirt.

  "Okay—um...her heart starts beatin' like crazy."

  "Stress," Jack said, his heart beating like crazy.

  Remy nodded. "Stress."

  "Ever been in a car at night and the headlights catch an animal crossing the road? The animal looks at the light and what happens?"

  "He freezes."

  "Right. Stress can do that to you, too." Stress could do a hell of a lot to you.

  "So that's why the hot chick just screams and stands there, waiting to get slashed instead of running and getting away?"

  Jack grinned. "Well, that and bad w
riting. But when you get in a life-threatening situation, your body is going to experience stress. And before you even get to the fight or flight stage, you're going to feel yourself freeze up."

  "What do you do so you don't freeze up?"

  "Nothing you can do. It'll happen. But if you're expecting it, you can keep stress from becoming panic. Expect that moment of shock so that it doesn't immobilize you. Then you're better able to decide whether to fight or run."

  Remy nodded. "Cool. I get it."

  "Great." Jack sneaked a look behind him. Maggie sat on the low stoop, her coffee cup tucked close to her chest as if to warm her. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable.

  He forced his attention back to Remy. "Pick your moments. Find your opponent's weakness and exploit it. Don't let him immobilize you. You're not in this to be a hero, so if you have a chance to run from danger, do it."

  He took the boy through some of the simplest self-defense moves, gauging which techniques Remy performed most efficiently and honing those skills. Every now and then, he'd steal a look at Maggie, who remained seated on the stoop, quietly watching.

  It got harder to turn his attention back to Remy.

  After thirty minutes, Jack called a halt to the lesson. "Good work, Remy."

  The boy beamed at him, then jogged over to the stoop and dropped next to Maggie.

  "Did you see me, Doc?" He chopped the air, miming a move that Jack had taught him. "I'm Jackie Chan!"

  She smiled, her eyes warm with affection. "Good job."

  "Jack says you got some moves." Remy leaned back, resting his elbows on the stoop. "Show me some."

  Maggie looked at Jack. "Actually, Remy, why don't you go for a run? Jack and I need to talk."

  "You gonna chew him another one again?" Remy asked.

  "Jog, Remy," Maggie said, her voice raspy. "Two feet, pounding the pavement—"

  "Ain't no pavement."

  "Woods, whatever."

  Jack's heart slammed against his ribs as he recognized the slow smolder in the depths of Maggie's dark eyes.

  "I ain't even seen any of your moves yet," Remy grumbled. But he set off toward the woods as she'd asked. "How far should I go?" he called over his shoulder.

  "To the creek and back," Maggie replied.

  "That's two miles round trip," Jack murmured.

  "I know, I ran it this morning." Fire flashed in her eyes. She carefully set down the mug and rose to her feet. "You want to see my moves, don't you Jack?"

  Jack's heart hammered against his chest. Uh oh.

  Chapter 8

  Maggie crossed the dewy grass until she stood inches from him. The heat of her body wafted toward him, warming the slight breeze. She smelled like chicory and sweet milk.

  "I don't think—" he began.

  "Good." Her voice was molasses thick. "Don't think."

  Desperation mingled with a slow burning fire deep in his belly. He moved without warning, grabbing Maggie's wrists.

  She stared up at him, pupils wide and inky. But she didn't struggle. Didn't try to break his hold as he pulled her to him.

  "You're supposed to be trying to get free," he growled. His erection pressed into the softness of her lower belly.

  The first flicker of unease flitted across her face. He held her too close for her to get a knee up between their bodies, but she tried to stomp his foot. He twisted out of the way, catching her even more off balance.

  "Let me go," she gritted through clenched teeth.

  "You don't like not being in control." He wrapped his arm around her waist, molding her to him. She resisted briefly before melting against him, her face lifting to meet his kiss.

  Sweet. Spicy. Coffee and milk, honey and sex. Her mouth parted, her tongue sparring with his. Her hands—small, hot, oh-so-talented—moved under his t-shirt, tracing the sensitive contours of muscle and bone. It was like the first time they'd kissed, all over again. Sweetness and spice, strength and vulnerability, all wrapped up in an enigma named Marguerite.

  That night when she'd turned a farewell dinner into a seduction, his judgment had left him at the mercy of his desire. It was a betrayal of his sworn duty, of his relationship with Laura. But when her lips had moved beneath his, warm and vulnerable, for a few crucial seconds he'd given into the need that filled his belly every time he looked at Marguerite Cole.

  He should never have kissed Marguerite Cole. Biggest mistake of his life. But he'd never forgotten that kiss.

  He'd never forget this one, either.

  He kissed a slow, thorough trail across her jaw line and down the curve of her throat. Slipping his hand under her shirt, he traced the ridges of her spine, one by one, made a slow exploration of her rib cage until his knuckles brushed against the swell of her breast.

  Maggie uttered a soft, whimpering noise.

  He teased the hard nipple. Her breath caught.

  "I don't want this to happen," she rasped, even as her hands slid between them and curved around his erection. She stroked him, eliciting a growl from deep inside his chest.

  "Then you should really stop that," he grated, thrusting helplessly against her hand.

  She tore herself away, stumbling backwards until her calves connected with the back porch stoop. She landed hard on her butt, her dark gaze locked on his face, full of accusation.

  Breathing hard and fast, Jack fought to get his body back under some sort of control. "Go inside, Maggie. I'll be inside in a little bit." Turning, he started jogging toward the woods.

  "Where are you going?" Maggie called.

  "To find Remy," he answered.

  At the creek. The nice, cold creek.

  Maggie glanced at her watch for the sixth time in the last half hour. Nearly eleven-thirty. She peered out the window at the sun-dappled back yard. Still no sign of Jack or Remy.

  She didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

  Jack was probably looking for excuses to stay away from the house, considering what had almost happened between them. She closed her eyes, trying to figure out why she hadn't been able to control their encounter that morning.

  It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to arouse him; it had been her primary intention. Get him hot and bothered and then slam the door in his face. Show him he no longer had power over her.

  Then he'd kissed her, and the reins had slipped out of her hands, sending her hurtling into passion with no way to stop the runaway sensations. She hadn't felt so out of control in years.

  She'd learned the hard way that men were untrustworthy by nature, always ready to move on to the next pair of perky breasts that caught their attention. After Jack, she'd tried one more time to find Prince Charming. His name had been Tim. They'd dated a year before he ended their relationship when he realized she just wasn't "First Lady material."

  Like Jack, Tim had told her to grow up, to stop believing in fairy tales. Marriage was about connections. Getting power. Keeping power. Love was a shell game only little girls and fools bought into.

  Once the pain had subsided, she'd taken Tim's advice to heart. Created her own system of dating. No expectations. No emotional involvement. No thought of love. Just sex without strings. Leaving a man behind long before he thought about leaving her had rarely taken an effort or elicited any tears.

  Could she walk away from Jack so easily?

  The question terrified her, because Remy's problems added a dimension she couldn't control. She and Jack weren't just potential lovers. They were partners in taking care of Remy. She needed Jack's help to keep her promise to Remy. There'd be no walking away until they settled Remy's problem.

  This was one problem she couldn't solve by running away.

  She needed something to do to keep from thinking about Jack anymore. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she hadn't already tried. She'd fixed sandwiches and made a pitcher of tea nearly an hour ago, so making lunch was out. She'd already given the place a thorough cleaning as soon as she'd come back inside. She'd tried checking the news for more information about Remy
's case, but the cable nets were rehashing all the same old stuff.

  Then she remembered the Internet. Jack's client had a wireless set-up. Jack had used it the night before.

  Jack's lap top computer was in the bedroom he and Remy had shared the night before, sitting on the bedside table. Maggie perched stiffly on the edge of the bed, trying not to breathe too deeply for fear some warm, spicy hint of Jack's aftershave might still linger in the sheets and pillowcases.

  Waiting for the notebook computer to boot up, she ran down a mental list of questions they still had about Remy's case. Who had Blevins shot? Where was the body? Why had a "squeaky-clean" cop like Blevins shot him in the first place?

  Blevins wasn't working alone—two men had broken into Jack's house, and Remy had seen three men the day his fosters parents disappeared. Who else might be in on it? And how had the bad guys known to look at Jack's house for Maggie and Remy?

  Maggie knew the answer to that—Laura Sandoval. Jack's former lover. The woman who'd shared Jack's bed and owned his heart for at least six years. Maybe owned it still.

  Okay, enough of that. Focus.

  She clicked the web browser icon and went to work, searching out Louisiana news sites on the web. She had just accessed the Times-Picayune site when she heard the back door open. Every nerve in her body went on high alert—and not because she suspected an intruder.

  Remy's voice rang through the house. "We're home!"

  Maggie started to close the window when a headline caught her eye: Body found in Lake Pontchartrain west of Kenner.

  "Maggie?" Jack's voice boomed down the hallway.

  "In here," she called. She hit the link and scanned the article. Unidentified adult male body, Caucasian, late thirties/early forties . . . homicide suspected . . .

  Jack stopped in the doorway, bracing his hands on the doorjamb. "We're back," he said.

  She took in his damp clothes and hair. He looked good enough to throw down on the floor and . . . She forced her mind away from dangerous territory. "I thought you were going jogging, not swimming."