Lynette Eason - Threat of Exposure

She was quite confident in her ability to take care of herself—and she didn’t plan on staying long.

Opening the door, she made her way down the sidewalk and headed toward the office, keeping an eye out for the pool sign.

As she walked, out of habit, she scanned the area, taking full advantage of the meager lighting the hotel offered. With surprise she noted how neat everything was. The trimmed bushes, the overpowering smell of freshly-spread mulch. She paused. Who laid mulch in January?

Interesting.

The silence tickled her ears.

Nothing moved in the darkness.

A room door clicked shut somewhere behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder.

Nothing.

Her stomach twisted as she took in the quiet night. At home, she tended to enjoy the darkness, the quiet peacefulness that came with the setting sun.

Here, she felt exposed in the openness, wishing she had some kind of cover to hide behind. Hugging the building, she hurried along. She wondered if she should have brought her weapon with her. But she’d left it in the room, not wanting to leave it lying out of reach while she was in the pool.

Now, she was thinking that leaving it behind might not have been a good idea.

Sudden laughter spilled from the balcony above and she felt her muscles relax. Slightly. The two college guys had the door to their room open allowing bits and pieces of conversation to drift down to her. Absently, she thought they must be crazy to have the door open on a cold night like tonight, but to each his own, she supposed.

The feeling of being watched lingered and she shivered. Looking around netted her nothing new.

Taking the sidewalk in front of the office building, she saw the sign indicating the pool facility. A concrete structure, it had small horizontal windows running along the length at the very top. The double glass doors that led to the interior were tinted and—she tried one—unlocked.

Slipping inside, she saw she was the only one there. She supposed those who had come to swim had done so earlier in the day.

There weren’t that many people in the small hotel. She and Brock had done their homework on the ride over from the restaurant. The other occupants consisted of a family of three who had one room at the end of the building, an elderly couple in the room above hers and a couple of college kids passing through Boot Hill on their way to a family funeral. And that was it. Which suited her just fine.

Gisella found the changing room. Chlorine assaulted her nose and a tingle of anticipation crept up her spine. At home, she had an inground heated pool that she used at every opportunity.

If she was home, that was daily. If she was on a case, she found the nearest pool to work off the stress. If she couldn’t swim, she’d go for a run, but she preferred the peaceful feel of the water.

With one foot, she tested the temperature.

Perfect. Who would have thought this small-town hotel would have an adequate pool like this?

Gisella walked to the deep end and looked down. More meager lighting, she thought ruefully. There were underwater lights, but they didn’t do much more than offer a faint glow. She didn’t care. With a push of her feet, she plunged into the warm depths.

With each stroke she felt the stress of the day slide from her. Her strong arms ate up the distance and soon she flipped and pushed off from the other end.

Brock Martin. DEA. A bit on the rough side. A risk-taker.

A good-looking man that made her heart do things it hadn’t done in a really long time. Not since Andre. A mistake she’d promised herself she wouldn’t repeat. He’d been a hard worker, a fellow Highway Patrol.

And he’d hated that her goal was to become a Ranger. He’d felt threatened by her skills and her determination to achieve her goals. So, he’d left her. But not before Gisella had learned a lesson. Steer clear of men whose egos couldn’t handle a woman in her position. And don’t be sucked in by a pretty face.

Brock definitely fell into the pretty-face category.

But was there more to him than his looks?

She had a feeling she would be finding that out during the course of the investigation.

Lord, keep us safe. Help us find Greg’s murderer and stop more innocent people from dying.

As she swam, she prayed. A habit she’d started in her teen years before her brother, José, had died. After his death, she’d been mad at God for a long time, but found swimming and praying helped. Soon, she’d made her peace with God, but not with the drugs that killed José.

His death had made her what she was today.

Finally, she tired and decided to call it quits.

Just as she reached the side to pull herself out, she felt something encircle her wrist.

Adrenaline spiking, she twisted her wrist, grasped the hand that held her and yanked. She was rewarded with a resounding splash behind her. Sputtering, her feet touching bottom, she whirled to see Brock treading water, his jaw tight, his face grim.

“What in the world is wrong with you?” she gasped.

“You could let a partner know where you’re going.”

Gisella stared at him, words failing her. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t report to you.”

His jaw didn’t soften, but she thought his eyes did. A fraction. “No, you don’t. And I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I called your name twice, you were so lost in your water world, you didn’t hear me.” He moved to the shallow end and got his footing.

Shock zipped up her spine. Swallowing hard, Gisella wilted against the side of the pool. “Really?”

“Yeah. That’s not safe. You need to be more aware.”

Her pride stung. He was right. When she swam, she tuned everything out. At home, she had her security system. Here, it was just her and Brock against the town of Boot Hill. At least that was what it felt like.

Gisella hauled herself out of the pool. Brock followed her. He tossed her a towel and she buried her face in it, buying time. But there was only one thing she could say. “You’re right.”

Her soft answer wiped out his anger. “Oh. Okay then. Good.” Clearing his throat, he admitted with a rueful smile, “I have to admit, you have great reflexes and reaction skills.”

Gisella gave a small laugh and shook her head. “At home, I swim all the time. I don’t think about work or the danger or…” She pulled in a breath. “I was wrong. I don’t have that option here. I should have told you what I was doing.” She changed the subject. “What made you come looking for me?”

“I heard someone at my door. I thought it might be you.”

She frowned. “Someone with the wrong room?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Thinking it was you, I called out that I was coming. By the time I looked out the window, whoever was there was gone. I went back inside and called your room. When you didn’t answer, I got a little concerned.”

“So you checked the pool?”

“It seemed logical. You said you liked to swim off stress and the hotel has a pool.”

Gisella felt her insides warm. He was worried about her. Part of her appreciated it. The other was embarrassed that he’d called her out on her carelessness. But she considered herself a big girl. She could handle it. “You need to get your gun dried out.”

He quirked a smile as he looked down at his sopping clothes. “Along with everything else.”

Standing, she wrapped the towel around her. “Let me change into dry clothes. Once I get back to my room, I promise to stay there, all right?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

She gave him a head-to-toe glance. “You’re going to freeze on the walk back.”

Brock shrugged. “I’ll live.”

A few minutes later she’d changed back into her clothes, pulled her hair up and wrapped the towel around it. On the trek back to her room, she noticed the stillness that hung heavy in the dark air.