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  Stepping back and keeping his hands, palms up and open, within sight, Thomas slowly said, "You’re safe. I wouldn’t ever hurt you."

  Bending at the knees without taking her eyes from him, Geneva dipped low to rescue her purse from the hallway floor. She located her key chain as she straightened, slung the leather bag over her shoulder, and quickly inserted the correct key into the lock. Shoving open the door, she slipped inside without a backward glance.

  Thomas stood in the hallway long after she slammed the door in his face. He wondered again about the now deceased Jamal. He wondered, too, why she’d appeared so stunned by the news of his demise. And, finally, he wondered why she had chosen to live what sounded like a solitary life.

  What kind of woman was she?

  Have you lost your mind? a voice in his head inquired. Have you forgotten that you’re trying to simplify your own life?

  He had forgotten, he realized as he walked out of the building and climbed into his Jeep. Driving down the snow and ice–encrusted streets of Cedar Grove to his hotel, Thomas Coltrane couldn’t stop thinking about the woman called Geneva.

  She remained with him throughout the day and far into the night that followed, her image still lodged in his mind when he awakened the next morning. She intrigued him to a degree that no other woman ever had.

  2

  Although Geneva Talmadge had been accosted by strangers more than once in her life, that fact provided little consolation to her rattled emotions. Once she secured the deadbolt lock on her office door, deposited her purse on her desk, and sank into the nearest chair, she struggled to reclaim her composure. She’d always made sure the world never saw her as anything but totally poised.

  Geneva knew she could have moved past the startling encounter with ease had it not come on the heels of learning that the contract on her life, in force for nearly ten years, was no longer viable. She still found it difficult to believe that the threat of assassination was over or that the malevolent creature admired by terrorists across the globe and known to the world as Jamal was, in fact, dead.

  Other than the few close friends whom she trusted with her life, neither the residents of Cedar Grove nor the seasonal visitors to the surrounding ski resorts knew anything about her past. People speculated, of course. Geneva suspected that they always would. She’d long ago resigned herself to that particular fact.

  As had the other men and women who lived within the protective confines of the extensive acreage owned by ex–mercenary–turned–bestselling author Nicholas Benteen. Friend and mentor, he vigilantly shepherded his flock of retired warriors. Geneva knew he would until he drew his last breath.

  She sighed, the sound ragged in the early morning silence of her Talmadge, Inc. office. Her pulse rate slowed to normal, and her hands finally stopped shaking.

  Geneva wasn’t paranoid, just cautious. Despite being urged by Nicholas to embrace a future that included a relationship with a man, she wondered how one discarded more than a decade of self–protective behavior.

  It didn’t really matter that the life she’d once lived had been nothing more than an accident of fate. Neither did it matter that the missions she’d been a part of had been sanctioned by a clandestine arm of the U.S. government. She felt certain that what would really matter was a man’s reaction to her life and the choices she’d made. A sane man would reject her.

  After all, what man could be expected to deal with the reality that the woman in his life had once been an explosives expert? And what man who learned she’d spent her childhood as the companion of a vagabond, soldier of fortune father known for his bomb–making skills would want her? Few, if any. Damn few!

  Geneva recalled the tumultuous days of her youth following her mother’s funeral. Her father had appeared from out of nowhere like some modern day Pied Piper.

  While most young girls her age attended high school, she had traveled the world, experiencing diverse cultures and customs. As her peers gossiped about boys and experimented with make–up, she’d seen loyalty tested and lives sacrificed, often violently. She had learned all of her lessons at her father’s knee, from several languages to the artistry of constructing a bomb.

  Patrick’s friends, who’d become her friends and protectors whenever a crisis occurred, had been an eclectic assembly—men and women who took life–threatening risks on a daily basis.

  They had challenged fate, laughed in the faces of their adversaries, and lived life on the edge—of society, of acceptable norms of behavior, of conventional perceptions of right and wrong—but always within the framework of a rigid code of conduct. Always.

  Regardless of the world’s disdain for them, Geneva considered these men and women her family. They’d comforted her in her grief when Patrick had succumbed to a heart attack in Tehran on her nineteenth birthday. Nicholas had assumed the role of older brother, taking her under his wing and granting her membership in his band of highly–paid and extremely lethal mercenaries.

  A few years later these same men and women had carried her damaged body to safety when an explosive device malfunctioned at some remote hell–hole in the Middle East. They’d guarded her during a lengthy recuperation while her broken bones and shattered spirit mended. Allies in friendship, they had all learned sign language—some even going so far as to supplement their skills with finger–spelling—as a means of facilitating her ability to adapt to a seventy–five percent hearing loss.

  When the time to retire finally arrived, they did so as a group in a carefully orchestrated manner. The former warriors struggled with the adjustment required of them as they settled into new lives and identities in northern Nevada. But they had struggled together, their loyalty to one another, and in particular to Nicholas Benteen, absolute.

  Geneva knew now what she’d always known. She couldn’t change the past, even though she desperately wanted to. Neither could she conceal it and still maintain her integrity if she welcomed a man into her heart and life. The truth wasn’t a negotiable commodity. It never had been, and it never would be if she hoped to sustain her self–respect.

  She surged up from her chair and made her way to the stockroom adjacent to her office. Donning a smock, she forced herself to calm down by doing a simple chore: resupplying the display shelves of her specialty shop with jars of homemade jams and preserves. The simplicity of the task reminded her that she’d come a long way from the Middle East battlefields she’d once walked.

  As was her habit, Geneva greeted each person who walked into Talmadge, Inc. that day with a welcoming smile. The melancholy she felt remained concealed from everyone. The only person who sensed the truth was her reclusive business partner, Sean Cassidy, Nicholas Benteen’s brother–in–law. He didn’t press her, though, because he carried his own burdens from their shared past.

  ** ** **

  Memories and thoughts about the past kept Geneva awake that night. That and the face of the rugged–looking man who had so thoroughly frightened her. She abandoned her bed well before dawn the next morning, showered and dressed, and then drove twenty miles in the dark to her office at Talmadge, Inc. She dealt with invoices and mail order forms as she sipped hot coffee and indulged in one of Sean’s newer creations—wild raspberry muffins.

  She noticed the blinking light on the electronic panel atop her desk a few hours later while she lingered over a collection of documents that she’d received from the attorney who handled her business affairs. Wired to a state–of–the–art motion sensor, the red light alerted her to the presence of customers. Nicholas, ever vigilant about her safety, had installed the device prior to the grand opening of the shop.

  Glad for the distraction, she set aside the documents and got up from her desk. Geneva glanced at her watch and smiled. She expected to find her only employee, Rose Treadwell, arriving for her first day back to work following a four–week vacation.

  Geneva stumbled to a stop in her office doorway when she spotted the tall, dark–haired man with Rose—the same man who’d almost star
tled her into next week in a shadow–filled hallway and then proceeded to invade her dreams. Shocked to see him again, she moved out of their line of sight and watched Rose, a sixty–five year old widow and Cedar Grove resident, embrace the man.

  Shifting her stunned gaze to their faces, Geneva concentrated on their expressions and the movement of their mouths as they communicated.

  "It’s about time you paid me a visit, young man," chastised Rose.

  The man grinned. "This isn’t a visit, Aunt Rose. I’ve leased an office, and I’m looking for a place to live."

  "Oh, Thomas, you’re finally coming home!" she exclaimed before hugging him once again.

  "I am home. For good," he clarified once he released her.

  Geneva paled, embarrassment flooding her even though there was no way she could have known his identity. He intended to live here? She groaned silently, then recalled Rose’s comments about her nephew, the famous attorney and the somewhat infamous ladies’ man. She fully grasped his seductive appeal, although it unsettled her to admit it.

  Geneva watched closely as his gaze wandered through the spacious interior of her shop. She saw the appreciation in his expression as he took in the display shelves laden with a wide selection of jams and preserves, and she knew the instant he inhaled the fragrant aroma of the extensive array of fresh–baked breads and pastry items. Pleased by his reaction, she relaxed a little, but she remained out of sight.

  "Your parents would’ve been so pleased," Rose told him. "It’s a shame you sold their house. Where will you live? What about your law practice? What are your plans?" She inspected him from head to foot with critical eyes. "You look too thin to me, Thomas. Are you eating properly? Please tell me you aren’t staying in some dreadful motel when I have a perfectly good guest room at my house."

  Geneva watched him laugh at her barrage of questions. She wondered if the sound of his laughter was low and resonant, then promptly told herself it didn’t really matter. She wouldn’t ever be able to hear it, anyway.

  "You should have been a lawyer, Aunt Rose."

  "I’ve always made it my policy to leave the lawyering in the family to the men, as out of step as that makes me with what’s politically correct these days. Now, tell me exactly what’s going on with you."

  He shrugged. "It’s not complicated. I’ve cashed out of the partnership."

  Rose’s smile faded. "You founded that partnership, Thomas, so something serious must have happened."

  Under Geneva’s watchful eyes, Thomas pondered her observation for several moments before responding. As he stood there, he unzipped his leather jacket to reveal a mauve cable knit sweater that stretched across his broad chest. Shoving his hands into the pockets of black jeans that molded to obviously muscular thighs, he rocked back on the heels of his western–style boots.

  Geneva sucked in a quick breath as heat stole into her bloodstream. She told herself that his physical attributes were no more impressive than any other male in his prime, but she knew she lied. Although not handsome, it was easy to see just why this roughly hewn man had a reputation with women.

  "Thomas?"

  "A lot of things have happened over the years, Aunt Rose. When they started to add up, I decided it was time for a new beginning. So, here I am."

  "You need a life." The older woman poked him in the chest for emphasis. "You need to share your life. You’ve been alone too long."

  "Maybe."

  "There’s no maybe about it."

  Thomas smiled.

  Geneva noticed the tension that invaded his posture, despite his pleasant expression.

  "I have plenty of space…" Rose began.

  "I’m forty years old, and I do not need a keeper."

  "You know me too well. I’d fuss you right out of the house, wouldn’t I?"

  He nodded, the angular features of his gentled somewhat by his warm smile. "Probably, but I am counting on you to feed me once in a while."

  "You don’t even have to ask." Rose paused, a considering glint in her eyes. "I have a wonderful friend in real estate. Shall I call her for you so that you can start your search for a real home?"

  "Let me get my office set up first," he said with a laugh. "I’ve got a place to stay for the time–being."

  "A hotel," Rose said, sniffing her disdain.

  "Guilty as charged, ma’am."

  He grinned down at her as she shook a finger at him. Geneva liked the affection she saw in his eyes as he spoke to his mother’s sister. She’d seen photographs of Rose’s extended family, including those of her sister Grace, Thomas’s mother. All of the men in the family were tall, built with typical western sturdiness, and possessed character–filled faces. Thomas fit the mold to a T.

  "How was Egypt?" he asked.

  "Extraordinary, of course!" Rose exclaimed. "It exceeded every expectation I’ve ever had."

  "You always talked about going there."

  "And I finally did, thanks to you."

  "It was my pleasure, believe me, and a modest thank you for your encouragement over the years."

  "You’re family, and I love you," she reminded him as she squeezed his hand. "I’m so glad you’re here, but why didn’t you tell me about your plans before I left on my trip?"

  Geneva took a step back, suddenly feeling foolish for eavesdropping. Time to stop hiding, she told herself.

  She stepped into view and immediately felt seared by his gaze. She wore another body–suit, this one black, and a wraparound fringed leather skirt. As she crossed the room, the leather parted with every step she took to reveal her long legs.

  Her body responded to the heat that flashed in his eyes. Geneva felt as though she was being caressed by invisible fingertips of flame.

  The scorching sensations didn’t cease. They kept sizzling through her, making her more aware of herself as a woman than she’d been in many years. She strolled into the center of the spacious shop at a relaxed pace, a polite expression on her face as she approached Rose and her nephew.

  She stepped past Thomas Coltrane to hug her friend. Then, she faced them both, directing her comments to Rose. "Welcome back. You’ve been missed."

  Rose smiled. She signed, supplementing the introduction by finger–spelling their names. "Geneva Talmadge, this is Thomas Coltrane, my nephew."

  Geneva deliberately met his gaze, her chin lifting as she kept her poise in place. "We met yesterday." Her hands wove through the air as she talked. "Unfortunately, I thought he was trying to assault me, and I treated him accordingly."

  Rose darted a what–in–the–world–have–you–done–now glance at Thomas.

  He inclined his head. "No harm done. In fact, if I ever need an ally in a tough back alley, I know who to call."

  Geneva smiled then, and she gave him points. She loathed being perceived as the helpless deaf woman. "I gather you’re moving back to Cedar Grove."

  "I already have."

  "Welcome home, then."

  He extended his hand.

  Geneva hesitated, and then accepted the inevitability of the polite gesture. Not to respond would have been rude. The instant their palms met and mated, she knew she shouldn’t have allowed Thomas Coltrane to touch her. The warmth of his skin penetrated her flesh and sank into the finely constructed bones of her slender hand. She felt as though she’d held her hand too close to a roaring fire.

  "I’m glad to meet you under more… ideal circumstances," he said.

  Looking puzzled, Rose signed for him.

  "Thank you." Geneva eased her hand free of his grasp.

  Her eyes remained locked on his face as she searched for motives hidden beneath the surface of polite words and an easy smile. His touch stayed with her, unsettling her to such a degree that she frowned—as much at him as at her reaction to him.

  "We’re neighbors," he remarked.

  Geneva glanced at Rose, who continued to sign for her nephew.

  "Neighbors?" she clarified, returning her gaze up to his face.

  Thomas nodd
ed. "I’ve leased most of the top floor of the building."

  She felt her composure slip a notch, but she recovered quickly. "You’re an attorney, I believe."

  "That’s right."

  Although Rose kept signing, Geneva noticed the uncharacteristic scowl on her face. Her scowl turned into a glare. Although Thomas seemed indifferent, she wondered about the cause of Rose’s displeasure.

  "We’re a small community and very law–abiding," she said.

  He smiled easily. "I know. I grew up here."

  As she watched his lips, Geneva realized how relaxed and composed he seemed. She envied him his poise. Hers seemed on the verge of wholesale desertion. "Rose speaks of your childhood upon occasion. To hear her tell it, you were quite the hell–raiser."

  Rose abruptly stepped away before Thomas could reply. Geneva assumed that the bell above the door had alerted her to the arrival of customers. A glance at the front of the store confirmed her assumption.

  She didn’t protest when he took her arm and guided her deeper into the store, but she stepped back when he released her. The heat of his touch lingered, prompting her pulse to pick up speed. Your reaction to this man is crazy, she told herself, so settle down and deal with him like an adult.

  With his back to Rose and the customers, Thomas simultaneously signed and commented, "I didn’t mean to frighten you yesterday. I approached you because you looked upset. I thought you might need a friend."

  At first surprised by his use of sign language, Geneva appreciated his effort. She recalled what Rose had told her about the loss of hearing Thomas’s mother had suffered following a car accident. She chalked up a few more points for him, then told herself that, points or no points, this man was too much of an unknown quantity.

  "You didn’t frighten me, Mr. Coltrane, but you did startle me," she explained. "I was… preoccupied when you came up behind me, hence my reaction."

  His hands, which had signed with some hesitation before, moved with more sureness this time. "Call me Thomas, please. We both know I frightened you, so let’s not debate the obvious."