Gunning for Trouble. HelenKay Dimon
behind Caleb. He had his ankle wedged against the laundry door just in case someone managed to curl up in there and hide. That left the few feet of space between the couch and the television.
The rat-a-tat drumming of energy pounded through Caleb. He didn’t waste one more second waiting to get shot first. He ducked down, using the piece of furniture as a shield. Him on one side and the target on the other. In one smooth move, he launched his body up over the top of the sofa. The first grab turned up only air. He stretched forward on the second lunge, saw a flash of brown hair and then grabbed a shirt collar and pulled back. Caleb shoved his gun into the intruder’s temple just as the screaming started.
He was a she. A very pissed-off she.
Arms and legs thrashed. Books from his coffee table fell to the floor as she kicked out, missing the television by inches. Fingernails scraped against his forearm. When she bit him, he shoved her away. She lost her balance, careening right for the plasma screen but she caught herself in time. She spun around, her eyes wide with shock, chest rising and falling in a rhythm guaranteed to bring on a heart attack.
Identifying the threat almost did it for him. It was as if the blood stammered to a halt in his veins. “Avery?”
“Caleb?”
His muscles burned from the quick diversion from the fight. “Uh, yeah.”
“Why are you sneaking around?”
Avery Walker, former boss and lover. She fired him exactly two years ago next month. He dumped her right after. They’d carefully avoided each other ever since. “That’s my question. It’s four in the morning.”
“I know.”
“And how did you get into my house?”
“I can explain.”
His breathing finally pulled back to near-normal levels. “You bet you will. And while you’re at it, tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I came to talk to you.”
“There’s this new invention called the telephone.” He took in her tight mouth and the white-knuckle grip on the side of his television. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Could you lower the gun?”
Out of habit it was still aimed right for her heart. He dropped his arm to his side but didn’t put the weapon away. Not until he knew what was going on. “Better?”
“Barely.”
He felt the same way. Seeing her ripped through his usual wall of control. The jeans and bulky sweater seemed out of place for someone who spent most of her life in a lab coat. Studying her, he saw the same long brown hair and the huge dark eyes that could drop a man to his knees. She had just turned thirty-four, two years older than him, yet her round face and smooth skin made her look a good ten years younger.
The off-the-charts hotness factor had also made some of her days at Hancock Labs tough. Men talked down to her while they ogled her hourglass figure and tight butt. There were few women there, but the one near the top of the food chain piled menial jobs on top of Avery’s heavy workload as a DNA analyst, as if daring her to fail.
Caleb knew because he watched it all play out. Quietly fought battles on Avery’s behalf without her knowledge. Then she got promoted, the rumors started and everything fell apart.
“You can let go of my television now.” They had enough bad blood between them without adding a couple of thousand dollars’ worth of smashed electronics.
“It’s not what you think.”
He actually had no idea what to think. “Okay.”
“This is an emergency.”
He stared at his front door, but didn’t see any sign of a break-in. “How did you get on this side of the door?”
Her arms slowly fell to her sides as she blew out a long breath. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Try answering any of them. Just pick one and start talking”
“I used the code and this to get in.” She slipped her fingers into her jeans pocket and pulled out a shiny key.
The move stunned him more than seeing her face. “I didn’t live here when we…before…so you sure shouldn’t know my code, though I’m thinking you have an old one since my alarm still went off. And don’t try to tell me I gave you a key, because we both know that’s not true.”
Her chin lifted. “Not to this or any other apartment.”
“Is now the right time for that discussion?”
She threw the key on the couch cushion between them. “You’re the one who’s been running. Not me.”
He refused to take the bait. “So, you decided burglary was the best way to get my attention?”
“Forget that.” She waved her hands in front of her. “I’m not here about us.”
The fact she could dismiss their relationship now as easily as she did two years ago sent his temperature spiking. Had his hand squeezing against the gun until the metal dug into his skin. “What else is there?”
“I had to find you.”
“Why?”
“Rod told me if he ever…”
“Stop.” Caleb stepped around the sofa to stand in front of her. “Rod who?”
She didn’t roll her eyes, but she looked as though she wanted to. “The man you work for. Rod Lehman.”
With his free hand, Caleb wrapped his fingers around her elbow and dragged her even closer, his chest practically resting against hers. He dropped his voice to a whisper just to be safe. “You can’t know about this.”
“About the Recovery Project? About your undercover work?” She tried to wiggle free, but he didn’t ease his grip. “I assure you, I know.”
“Not possible.”
She flattened her palm against his chest, her gaze searching his face as she talked. “Caleb, listen to what I’m telling you.”
The soft touch of her hand burned through him. The feel of skin against skin lit his nerve endings on fire. It had always been that way with her. Despite the fury and betrayal, his body reacted to her nearness.
He stepped back to break the hold, physical and otherwise, she had over him. “This is nuts.”
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“For what?”
She bent down and grabbed her bag. “I have information for Rod. Where is he?”
Nothing she said made any sense. The Recovery Project was top secret, an off-the-books, quasi-governmental agency that hunted missing people, both those who wanted to stay missing and those who wanted to be found. Or it was until a congressman with a personal vendetta pulled the funding and disbanded the group. Now it functioned as a private, rogue investigative organization.
Rod had always spearheaded Recovery, handpicked its operatives, but he had nothing to do with Caleb’s past. And Avery was most certainly his past. “What do you know about Rod?”
“Like I said, he’s your boss.”
Caleb wanted to shake her, but touching her again was out of the question. “Damn it, Avery. That’s not public information, and I think you know it.”
“He told me if I needed him and couldn’t find him through our usual communication channels—”
“What does that mean?”
“I should come to you.” She sent Caleb that disapproving frown, complete with flat-lined lips. The same look he dredged up from memory whenever he got dangerously close to calling her to talk over old times. Caleb shook