by Paula Graves
THE TRUTH WAS BOUND TO COME OUT, BUT HE HATED BEING THE ONE TO TELL HER…
He’d faced down danger multiple times, but now Pentagon liaison Evan Pike had to deal with the ultimate confrontation. Telling Megan Randall that her late husband had been murdered by his own government was difficult. Keeping their association strictly about business, however, was proving impossible. Especially once Megan’s life was put in jeopardy.
On the run with a stranger, Megan wondered how her quiet life had changed so drastically. Having Evan as her protector was comforting and she knew he’d do anything to keep her alive. But he was also a man who had her questioning her belief that she’d never love again. And that was even more dangerous….
Her head cocked and her eyes narrowed. “You know a lot about me and my family.”
“I made it my business.” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze directly. “I guess my ten minutes are up now. Do I stay or go?”
She was silent a moment before finally giving a single backward jerk of her head and turning toward the house.
As she started up the steps, he let himself into the yard and closed the gate behind him, pausing a moment to let Patton greet him properly. He looked up to find Megan watching him from the open doorway. She’d tucked the phone in the pocket of her running shorts, but the shotgun remained in her hand.
In an instant, he felt a tug low in his belly, an attraction to this backwoods avenging angel, with her fiery hair, stormy eyes and death at her fingertips.
She was dangerous on an entirely different level.
Paula Graves
Secret Agenda
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.
Books by Paula Graves
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
926—FORBIDDEN TERRITORY
998—FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION
1046—FORBIDDEN TOUCH
1088—COWBOY ALIBI
1183—CASE FILE: CANYON CREEK, WYOMING*
1189—CHICKASAW COUNTY CAPTIVE*
1224—ONE TOUGH MARINE*
1230—BACHELOR SHERIFF*
1272—HITCHED AND HUNTED**
1278—THE MAN FROM GOSSAMER RIDGE**
1285—COOPER VENGEANCE**
1305—MAJOR NANNY
1337—SECRET IDENTITY†
1342—SECRET HIDEOUT†
1348—SECRET AGENDA†
*Cooper Justice
**Cooper Justice: Cold Case Investigation
†Cooper Security
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Megan Randall—Four years a widow, Megan Randall still blames her husband’s war-zone death on too-restrictive rules of engagement enforced by Pentagon lawyer Evan Pike. When Pike shows up on her doorstep, claiming her husband was murdered by rogue mercenaries, how can she believe him?
Evan Pike—Driven by his own sense of guilt and a passion for justice, Pike needs to convince Vince Randall’s widow that the soldier’s letters home may hold a clue to his killer. But he doesn’t expect to find himself so attracted to the feisty widow.
Vince Randall—Megan’s late husband was an army sergeant willing to lay his life on the line for his fellow soldiers. But was his death on a peacekeeping mission really a casualty of war? Or was there a darker conspiracy behind it?
Jesse Cooper—Megan’s brother owns Cooper Security and has his own reasons for wanting to hunt down the mercenaries Pike believes are behind his brother-in-law’s death. But is he willing to allow his sister to put her life on the line, as well?
Donald Gates—The former soldier was tasked with sending Megan a package from her husband, a package that never arrived. Could he have been involved in Vince’s murder?
Security Services Unit (SSU)—MacLear Security’s secret unit disbanded when the company fell to scandal. But some of the operatives are still selling their services to whoever’s willing to pay. Were they behind Vince Randall’s death?
Elmore Gantry—Vince Randall’s former captain may know more about Vince’s death than he’s telling. But will Megan’s attempt to confront the officer put her life in even graver danger?
Scott Merriwether—The soldier had carried a message to Vince’s unit shortly before Vince was killed. Now he’s dead in a suspicious accident. Could his death be connected to the mystery?
For the hardworking, hard-fighting men and women of the U.S. Armed Forces, with my heartfelt gratitude for your service.
You give true meaning to the word hero.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Megan Randall dusted aside the fallen leaves and twigs scattered across the gravestone, detritus of the storm that had blown through northeastern Alabama overnight. She never put flowers on her husband’s grave, not even on decoration day. Soft had never been his style. Vince had been tough as old leather, strong as steel. She’d loved that part of him since she was sixteen. She wouldn’t dishonor it after death.
Of course, he’d hate to know she visited his grave daily, like a ritual, but he’d just have to forgive her.
“No tornadoes this time.” She traced the curves and lines of his name etched in the glossy granite. “A limb from the hickory tree in the backyard fell on my tomatoes, though. Ticked me off.”
The only answer was a light breeze rustling the trees nearby and the soft snuffling sound of Patton investigating the grass behind her. He tugged impatiently on the leash, a signal to move along before he did something they’d both regret on one of the nearby graves.
She led the mutt out of the small graveyard, sparing a quick look behind her as they moved back onto the country road. Vince could have qualified for burial with honors at Arlington, but he’d made her promise that if he died in battle, she’d lay him to rest right here in Chickasaw County. He was an Alabama boy, born and bred.
Patton pulled to a halt, his normally floppy ears peaked and his furry body rigidly at attention. He gazed into the woods ahead, a low whine emerging from his throat. Not a warning, exactly, but it made the hair on the back of Megan’s neck prickle.
She peered into the gloom, unable to see any movement within the thick vegetation. A squirrel, she thought. Or a rabbit. Nothing more threatening than that.
But the hair on the back of her neck continued to rise.
Though not a fearful person, Megan wasn’t foolish. Her house was only a mile up the road, but Patton’s soft whines convinced her to circle back around the cemetery toward her sister’s house and the safety of numbers. It was Saturday morning, so Isabel and Ben would probably be home. And if they weren’t, Megan had a key to let herself into the house.
To her surprise, however, Patton pulled against the leash as she tried to bring him around in the opposite direction.
“Come on, Patton—let�
�s go! Heel!” She gave a sharp tug, and the big dog finally came to heel as she’d trained him to do. He trotted beside her as she jogged toward her sister’s house, his furry head turning now and then toward the direction from which they’d come.
She found Isabel and Ben in the front yard of the sprawling farmhouse, piling up limbs the storm had knocked from one of their old oaks. Patton tugged on the leash, eager to go to Isabel, one of his favorite people.
Megan’s sister looked up at his happy bark and grinned. “Patty McPatton!” she called as Megan reached down and released the dog from his leash. The mutt raced to Isabel, his back end dancing as she bent to greet him.
Ben kept his distance—Patton was still deciding if he liked the new person taking up his beloved Isabel’s attention—and smiled at Megan as she approached. “One of these days, that tree’s going to come crashing down on the house. I keep telling Isabel we need to top it off, but I think it’d break her heart.”
“What brings y’all here?” Isabel asked, still scratching Patton’s ears while the dog panted.
Not wanting to admit she’d been spooked by a whining dog, Megan shrugged. “Just out for a run and thought we’d come by.”
“Have you eaten yet?” Isabel asked. “Ben and I are about to drive to town for breakfast, as soon as we wash up. Want to join us? We can drop off Patton on the way.”
Megan was sure the last thing the newlyweds needed was a third wheel for their breakfast date. “I’ve eaten,” she lied. “But Patton and I will take a ride back to the house, if you’re offering.”
“Sure thing,” Ben agreed. “Be right back.”
“We’ll be out here.” Megan settled on the porch swing to wait, gazing toward the woods that lined the other side of the road. She still felt a low level sense of alarm, as if someone lurked in the deep woods, just out of her sight.
Someone watching her.
At her knee, Patton whined again, his tail thumping a steady cadence on the porch floor. Ears alert, he peered into the woods across the road.
Her heartbeat quickened. “What do you see, boy?”
The front door screen opened with a creak, making her jump. Isabel and Ben emerged, hand in hand. Megan tamped down a twinge of envy and greeted them with a smile.
“Sure you don’t want to go to breakfast with us?” Ben asked. “You’re more than welcome.”
“I figure you two have at least three more months of matrimonial bliss before you’ll really notice anyone else in the room with you, so I’ll pass,” she answered with genuine affection. Isabel and Ben had reunited only a month ago, after her sister had spent six months believing the man she secretly loved had been killed in a bomb explosion. She’d been given a second chance at love and grabbed it with both hands.
Megan would never get that chance. She’d seen her husband’s body with her own eyes, still and lifeless in his dress blues. She’d said her goodbyes alone by his casket at the tiny church where he’d been baptized as a teenager. At least the kill shot had been through the heart, giving her the chance for an open casket and a final goodbye. She knew plenty of military widows who hadn’t been afforded that.
It was a comfort, however small.
Patton piled into the backseat of Ben’s Jeep Cherokee with Megan, snuggling close to her. He’d been here in the States with her for four years, since just before Vince’s death, but he still got nervous in cars.
“How’s he doing?” Isabel asked, meeting Megan’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“He’s fine—aren’t you, boy?” She gave the dog a hug and he leaned his muscular, furry body into hers. Tears stung her eyes but she fought them back.
He had been Vince’s dog originally, a stray he and the other men in his squad had found wandering around their forward base in Ralijah, Kaziristan. He’d been a puppy, orphaned, perhaps, or just abandoned by his wandering mother. Young enough to tame easily under the affectionate care of his adopted family of soldiers, Patton had become the camp mascot. But after a scary near-miss with one of the unit’s armored vehicles, Vince had arranged for the puppy to be shipped home to Megan.
She’d been happy for the companion and made fast friends with the German Shepherd mix puppy. They’d both waited patiently for three long months for Vince’s return.
They hadn’t expected he’d come home in a flag-draped box, she thought, her gaze drawn to her husband’s gravesite as they passed the cemetery on the way to her house.
Ben and Isabel let her out at the front gate of her small bungalow, a river stone and clapboard house nestled in a wooded area near the base of Gossamer Mountain. A mile to the south, Gossamer Lake sparkled through the trees, reminding her that May was almost halfway over and she still hadn’t been bluegill fishing with her cousin Hannah as promised.
She’d broken a lot of promises over the past four years.
“Come on, Patton, let’s go inside.” She unlocked the front door and waited for the dog to enter. But Patton lingered in the front yard, sniffing the monkey grass growing at the edge of the fence near the gate.
“Patton?”
He looked up at her briefly, panted happily, then resumed his investigation of the fence edge.
With a sigh, she entered the house alone, knowing he’d scratch at the door soon enough. Despite being a refugee from a very rugged land, he’d grown to appreciate the creature comforts of America, like central air-conditioning to ward off the humid heat of an Alabama summer and the dog food bowl that magically filled whenever he was hungry.
She wondered if he was still waiting for Vince to come home. Did he wonder why the big, tough soldier who saved him from a life of hardship had never shown up again?
Her eyes burned again. She rubbed her fingers against the sting until she regained control.
Today was May fourteenth. Seven years and a week ago, she’d married Vince Randall in the same little church where she’d laid him to rest. He was supposed to have come home in time to celebrate their third wedding anniversary.
Things hadn’t worked out that way.
* * *
EVAN PIKE PARKED THE RENTED Ford Taurus on a narrow dirt turnabout just off Culpepper Road, pulling into the soft grass so that the car wouldn’t easily be seen by passing vehicles. He didn’t intend to hide his presence in Chickasaw County forever, but until he’d decided the best approach, he was inclined to keep a low profile.
Megan Randall lived a quarter mile down the road, in a single-story bungalow set back from the road behind a large chain-link fence. He knew this much because he’d already made a pass by the place earlier, not long after she and the dog had left for their morning walk. He’d looked around, just to get a feel for the kind of woman she might be.
The house itself had revealed little. Neat but not militant about it. Her life seemed simple and uncluttered. Plain house. Plain yard.
Only the woman herself was anything but plain, with her shock of wavy red hair and sleek, athletic body. He’d seen a photo of her once, tucked in Sergeant Randall’s belongings after his death. More cute than pretty, with fair skin sprinkled with freckles and mysterious gray eyes.
The picture had done her no justice.
He’d caught up with her in person, unintentionally, a couple of miles down the road at a small cemetery next to a tiny stone church. Sergeant Randall’s resting place, he’d guessed. He’d parked the rental car out of sight and went on foot through the woods across the road, keeping a careful distance as he watched the widow crouch at a grave and dust off a small marker.
The dog—Patton—had nearly seen him. He’d frozen in alarm as the dog started whining, a familiar sound he’d almost forgotten over the distance of four years.
When the woman and the dog had headed up the road, he’d kept pace through the canopy of trees that hugged Old Maybridge Road as far as the eye could see.
After she’d stopped to speak with a man and woman in front of an old two-story farmhouse, Evan had lingered only a few minutes before retreating to where he’d
left the car. Megan Randall had seemed intent to stay a while, giving him one more chance to take a look around her bungalow before she returned.
What he was looking for, he wasn’t sure. An approach? A way to get through to her despite her obvious desire to keep her distance from anything reminding her of her husband’s death?
She’d refused his initial request to meet with her. Blocked his subsequent calls. He’d even tried reaching her through Cooper Security, where she worked, only to learn she’d already warned her coworkers to refuse his calls.
A wise man would give up and go home. But nobody had accused Evan of being wise.
Not recently, anyway.
He had already reached the edge of her property when he saw movement inside the chain-link fence. Patton was snuffling a path along the long monkey grass planted at the edge of the fence. His head came up suddenly, his long nose sniffing the breeze. A low whine carried in the warm spring air, and Evan realized the dog had caught his scent.
He started to back away, but Patton caught sight of him and started barking a joyous greeting.
Seconds later, the front door opened and Megan Randall appeared in the opening, her hair released from the ponytail she’d worn while jogging. It spilled in russet waves over her shoulders, glistening in the morning sunlight. In her right hand she held a phone. In the left, a shotgun.
Evan’s breath hitched as she caught sight of him, her gray eyes widening with surprise.
This might be his only chance to talk to her. All she could do was tell him to get lost, right?
Or shoot you.
He forced the words from his throat. “Mrs. Randall?”
Megan strode down the porch steps and stopped halfway to the gate. Her gaze slid from him to Patton, who stood on his back legs now, his front paws resting on the fence. His whole body wagged with joy, and Evan felt a powerful pull in the center of his chest, drawing him toward the animal.
“He’s not friendly to strangers,” Megan warned, but he heard doubt in her voice, as the dog’s behavior was anything but threatening. “Neither am I,” she added more confidently.
That he could believe.
