by Cindy Stark
Ariana muttered in her sleep, followed by an almost pained whimper. She jerked and then sat upright. He twisted his gaze to the windshield before she could catch him watching her. After a moment, he glanced back as though it was the first time he'd looked at her. "I'd say good morning, but it's closer to afternoon. We should hit town in about fifteen minutes."
She removed her sunglasses and fussed with her eyes. "I shouldn't sleep with my contacts in."
"Everything okay?"
She looked at him with a startled glance. "Yes. Why?"
He shrugged. He wasn't about to ask about her bad dream if she didn't want to discuss it. "No reason." He pressed on the accelerator, gaining speed to pass a slower moving vehicle. "We need to talk about your identity before we get to Aspen."
"What do you mean?"
"We need to figure out what name you're going to use. Give you some kind of a background in case you come in contact with the locals, even though I don't expect that to happen. We want you deep undercover."
She frowned. "The program is supposed to provide that. Name, identity, the whole thing."
"Didn't Quinn tell you? You're not exactly in the program at the moment."
She stared at him, then blinked. "What do you mean?" Her eyes flicked from window to window as though she were now seeing things through a different perspective.
Milo cursed. "I can't believe Quinn didn't fill you in. I used to be a U.S. Marshal, but I left three years ago. He called in a personal favor, asking me to keep you safe, but not within the confines of the program."
"But that's how I stay safe. I've read about the program. They've never lost a person who's followed the rules. Quinn pounded that into my head every single time I spoke with him. Now he's the one deviating?"
"After the number of times your identity has been compromised, he's concerned there might be a marshal who's gone rogue. He can't prove anything yet, but he's afraid to keep you in the system."
She widened her eyes and slumped in her seat. "You're kidding me."
"He's really going out on a limb for you. This is completely against protocol. If anyone finds out what he's done, he could lose his job. He plans on reporting you as AWOL."
"Then I'm not guaranteed safety."
"That's what I'm here for, darlin'." He smiled for her benefit, but he could clearly see the image of the last woman he'd protected. She really had broken the rules, and it had cost her dearly. The moment he'd lifted the sheet to identify the body remained etched in his mind forever. "Don't worry. I'll protect you with my life. Along with my previous marshal training, I served in a combat unit in Afghanistan, and as you know, I'm currently a deputy."
"Of a small town." Uncertainty colored her words.
"I don't want to brag, but you'd be hard-pressed to find a better shot than me." He didn't like having to defend his expertise.
"But you are bragging."
He sighed and glanced at her. "Because you're questioning my abilities."
"I want you to teach me to shoot like you do. I want to be able to protect myself."
He snorted. "I can teach you to shoot, but you're going to need years of practice if you want to come close to being the marksman I am."
She folded her arms. "Bragging again."
"I'm just telling it like it is."
She rolled her eyes and sighed. He knew his statement would get a reaction out of her. That's why he'd said it. He couldn't deny he'd like the chance to run his fingers along her skin and sample her soft lips, but she was a diva through and through. "Your perfume smells nice."
Confusion settled between her brows. "Thank you."
He loved turning the conversation on a dime. A tactic he'd found that kept people slightly off balance and left them more pliant. He sensed he'd need all his tools in order to survive the month.
"I think we'll call you Anna if necessary, although I'm not anticipating you coming into contact with anyone. It's a common name, but close enough to yours in case I screw up."
She shrugged. "What do I care? It's not like I'll have the opportunity to make friends here."
* * *
Ariana watched out the window as the small strip of businesses in Aspen came into view and then disappeared just as quickly. She blinked, wondering what happened to the rest of the town. She'd seen flashes of potted chrysanthemums, the city hall, and a tiny huddle of stores. "Is that it?"
He laughed. "That's it. Now you can see why no one will find you here. Most don't know this town exists."
Oh God. This was worse than the last four places combined. She'd hoped she'd be assigned somewhere habitable, but this…this was a punishment. Perhaps one she deserved.
How would she ever survive?
It was another ten minutes until Milo turned off the main highway, and then a couple more minutes down a bumpy, unpaved road. Plumes of dust kicked up behind them, leaving the sights in her rearview mirror nothing but a brown, hazy cloud.
The little square house sat at the end of the road like a disappointment. Shade from a huge honey locust tree speckled the white-washed building and the surrounding lawn. A rickety wooden fence separated his home from green pastures. Out in the field, several cows grazed.
Milo pulled his truck right up to the front of the house, next to a marked sheriff's SUV. No driveway. No sparkling fountain surrounded by flowers and manicured lawns.
She tried to breathe through her frustration as he exited the vehicle. How had this happened? She was an educated, intelligent person, but her choices had backed her into corner that she hadn't seen coming.
Lord help her. She quite possibly had traded one version of hell for another.
Milo opened her door, and she turned her gaze in his direction, wishing she could plead for help. But she'd created this mess, and she had no choice but to see it through.
He narrowed his eyes. "Everything okay?"
"Of course." She wouldn't admit otherwise.
"You're pretty pale. Did the long drive get to you?"
"That must be it." The gravel driveway crunched when her heels hit the ground. She'd definitely be packing these shoes away for the duration and searching out something more durable. Fancy and fashionable would be eaten alive in this place.
She filled her lungs with air so fresh it stung as she took in her surroundings. There wasn't a house or car to be seen. "You're really isolated out here."
He looked around and smiled. "I like it this way."
"Don't you ever feel like you're going to be swallowed by the nothingness?"
"I don't know what you mean by nothingness. I look around and see everything good in the world. Blue sky, green grass, beauty as far as the eye can see. No smog. No noise pollution. How could anyone really miss those things?"
She looked skyward and let her gaze trickle down, trying to see the world through his eyes. She liked to have her space. Just not this much space. "I guess you're right." She faked a smile. She assumed he took her gesture as genuine because he nodded and led the way into his house as though they were checking into the Four Seasons.
The sight of a gorgeous brown leather couch, complete with turquoise throw pillows and a creamy white throw folded on the edge stopped her in her tracks. An exquisite woven rug covered a gleaming wood floor and provided a backdrop for a beautifully handcrafted wooden table.
"Wow." He had oil paintings and candles, even floral arrangements. "I was expecting more of a bachelor pad." The room was a little smaller, but his furnishings could rival her family's.
He stopped his descent down the hallway with her suitcase and grinned. "Didn't you know? What you see isn't always what you get."
"You did all this?" Deputy Sykes puzzled her.
His lips turned to a sheepish grin, and he shrugged. "Okay, I confess. My last girlfriend was an interior decorator who liked spending my money."
The reminder of his all-important girlfriends, past and previous, stoked her unhappiness. She narrowed her gaze. "That makes much more sense."
&
nbsp; He seemed offended. "Hey, I paid for it and let her do it. I should get some credit."
"Of course." She strode toward him. "Take all the credit you wish," she said as she stopped directly in front of him. "Makes no difference to me." She glanced between what appeared to be two bedrooms at the end of the hall. "Which room is mine?"
CHAPTER THREE
Ariana spent the next hour in her room unpacking and changing into a tank top and jeans that seemed more apropos for this little country town. Her room was also fashionably furnished. A warm green comforter accented the contemporary walnut headboard and dresser. She fell in love with it at first sight. Whoever this girl was that had stolen Milo's heart had impeccable taste.
Which was just fine with her. Deputy Sykes could have all the girlfriends he wanted. She didn't care. In fact, she should be more concerned that she'd been so preoccupied with this unknown woman. It had to be the stress of relocating again and, of course, the impending trial. She sighed. The thought of facing her father in a court of law sickened her. She couldn't let her thoughts go there. Not right now.
She glanced at the cell phone she'd placed on the dresser. It beckoned her. Quinn had given it to her for emergencies. Would he consider the loss of her sanity an emergency? It was a simple, little pay-as-you-go phone. There was no way the mob would be able to trace it. She climbed off her bed and picked it up. Her fingers danced over Kenzie's number. It would be so simple. If she kept the call short, what could it hurt?
She groaned in frustration as she opened a dresser drawer and tossed the temptation inside.
She needed to leave her room and face Milo. As it was, she'd already tempted fate too many times. The sexy deputy could distract her before she made another mistake.
Ariana found him asleep on the couch. He looked peaceful as he lay there, his crossed arms lifting with each breath he took. She missed the animated sparks that now hid behind his closed lids. An urge surfaced, and she resisted smoothing a lock of rumpled blond hair from his forehead. She wished she could know that kind of tranquility in her life. It didn't seem to matter if she was awake or asleep, her past continually haunted her. She prayed that would change when they locked her father behind iron bars.
She made as much noise as she could as she plopped down in an adjacent beige wingback chair. Milo didn't budge. His chest rose and fell as though he was in a deep, relaxed state. A tendril of fear wound through her stomach and chest. The hit men her father employed had surely been sent to find her. The Feds had a pretty good case against him without her testimony, but she would be the one to put the irremovable nail in his coffin.
The threat against her life was a certainty, and although she doubted they'd find her in Aspen, the man sleeping on the couch was her only protection. At the moment, he wasn't inspiring her confidence. She shifted in her seat and emitted a loud sigh.
Still no movement. What kind of protection was this?
Maybe she needed to go into hiding on her own. If only she had a way to obtain some kind of identification and money. Of course, she knew people who could procure things like that, but they were all associated with her family. Family and friends from a past she could no longer claim.
She was well and truly on her own. Not to mention vulnerable.
She lifted a travel book about Scotland from the coffee table and set it back down with a thud. Nothing.
"Something you need?"
His voice startled her, and she squeaked. She eyed him, surprised that he still appeared to be in a deep slumber. "I thought you were asleep."
He lifted a lid, exposing one ice blue eye. "I already mentioned, appearances aren't always what they seem."
She adopted a nonchalant attitude, hoping he wouldn't notice her pulse slamming against her throat. "I suppose they're not."
"You forget, I spent time in the army. Sometimes the only sleep we got was ten minutes at a time on the side of the road in the middle of the day. I learned how to make the most of it."
She nodded, feeling the idiot. "I can't imagine what that must have been like. Thank you for your service to our country."
He regarded her with a studious gaze as though sizing her up and then nodded.
She glanced about the room, not comfortable with him watching her. "I'm wondering what there is to do around here."
He sat up and stretched his arms above his head. She watched, fascinated as his triceps bulged outward. The white bandage that circled his left arm expanded with his movements.
"What happened to your arm?"
He glanced at it and snorted. "By-product of the job."
"How do you mean? What happened?"
"Got shot during a standoff. The guy had already wounded several people."
She widened her eyes. He spoke of it like being shot was nothing. "I thought you were this expert marksman."
"I said I was good, not perfect." He eyed her with a serious look. "However, if you're concerned about my abilities, don't ask him."
"Why not?"
"He's dead."
She sucked in a breath, trying to shake off an impending shiver. "Do you always take killing this lightly?" She didn't want his attitude about murder to be the same as her father's.
A pained look shot across his expression before he transformed it into a blank mask. "Of course not. The men I killed while I was in the army haunted me for months. The man I shot the other day was the first person I had to take out while serving in this capacity." His voice cracked on the last syllable. He cleared his throat. "No one ever goes into those situations wanting to take a life. But he wouldn't surrender peacefully, and I couldn't allow him to hurt another citizen that I've sworn to protect. The situation is under investigation as we speak, but Sheriff Williams is telling me they think he wanted to die. Suicide by cop."
She nodded. She'd spent several hours hiding in a dark warehouse in Chicago, consoling Danny because his uncle had done something similar. He'd double crossed her father and death-by-cop had been a more humane way to die than what her father would do to him. "I'm sorry. That was unfair of me to suggest you took it lightly." She couldn't keep comparing every man she met to the thugs who had pervaded her younger years.
Milo stood. "Speaking of shooting, I'm pretty sure I still have some old coffee cans in the shed that would be perfect targets. We can work on your shooting skills if you'd like." He seemed to have reburied the distress she'd brought up.
Her spirits lightened as well. "Okay." If she was ever going to feel safe in this life, she'd need to know how to protect herself, and she'd always been intrigued by the different weapons her father's men had carried. The one time she'd handled a revolver her father had stashed in his desk, she'd been backhanded so hard she'd tumbled across the floor, horrified to find blood dripping from her lip. But that world was no longer her world, and in her new life, she could shoot if she pleased.
* * *
Milo made them both a couple of roast beef sandwiches before they headed outside. They were heavy on the meat and light on veggies, but hers tasted surprisingly good. He was definitely right on the fact that appearances weren't what they seemed. So far, he'd proved to be quite enigmatic and interesting.
When he retrieved his gun holster and strapped it around his waist, a silent thrill rushed through her. He looked damn good sporting a pistol. She watched with fascination as he checked his weapon.
Under the circumstances she'd had growing up, she should hate weapons, but she was smart enough to recognize it wasn't the gun that killed people. It was the person standing behind it. She also couldn't deny that guns meant power. That was something she'd inherited from her family whether she liked it or not—she enjoyed power. Not that she was proud of that fact.
With a jerk of his head, he indicated she should follow him out the kitchen door.
The sun had crept to the west side of the house by the time they headed outside, leaving the sprawling backyard shaded. A sweet-scented breeze tickled her skin. She folded her arms and waited near a swing on
the back porch while he crossed the yard and entered a small wooden building. The sound of metal banging and things being shuffled around drifted from inside the structure.
She glanced about his yard. No signs of a woman's touch out here. It had an untamed or old-fashioned feel to it. No landscaping. The grass was mowed, but wild pink roses grew up and over the surrounding wood fence while tall grass clung to the posts. An old hammock strung between two tall shade trees beckoned to her. The tool shed commandeered one corner and a large pine sat squat in the other. To the far left, a vegetable garden overflowed with ripe tomatoes and peppers. She couldn't really picture Milo spending his time gardening, but then again, there were many things about him that didn't fit with the descriptive labels she'd given him.
He emerged from the shed, a cocky grin curving his lips, a stack of old coffee cans in his hands. "Got 'em."
Good Lord. The image of him standing with his gun slung low on his hips, his t-shirt outlining every glorious curve of his chest, and his blue eyes lit with excitement would remain seared on her retinas for a long time to come. A shiver of attraction rolled through her as she stepped off the porch and walked toward him. "Great." She had no idea what to do with the pistol or with the unwanted attraction that had sprung up like the wildflowers growing up the fence.
Milo balanced all five cans on separate posts of the fence and then stood in the middle of his yard. "Come here."
She moistened her lips, swallowing an intense thread of excitement as she joined him. When she stopped, he moved closer, removing the remaining space between them. He slid his gun out of the holster and displayed it in front of her. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that handling a weapon is serious business."
