Paula Graves - Smoky Mountain Setup

He realized he could see her better than she could see him. He was bundled up against the cold and damp, a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face and a bike helmet perched atop his head.

“Hey there, Sharp.”

She stopped short.

“Sorry to drop by without calling,” he added, moving slowly toward her again, pushing his bike closer to the cabin.

She took a few steps closer to the porch steps, a tall, fierce warrior of a woman blocking the entry. “So it was you at the bank.”

He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her. God, she was beautiful, he thought, taking in the perfect cheekbones, the snapping blue eyes and the windblown blond waves framing her face. She’d cut her hair since they’d worked together. The short style suited her.

“It was,” he admitted. “I was afraid you’d closed the account, but I thought I’d take a chance.”

“Is that how you found me? Through the bank?”

“Your address was on the account.”

“And you found a way to get the teller to show it to you.” The faintest hint of a smile made the corners of her mouth twitch.

“I did.”

She took a deep breath and released it. “But now you’ve left a paper trail. You have to know it won’t take long for people to connect you to me and come looking for you.”

“It was a calculated risk.” He was beginning to feel a potent sense of unreality, standing here in the cold, gazing at a woman he’d once loved more than anyone or anything in his life.

Sometimes, he thought he still did.

“You should turn yourself in.”

“Already tried that,” he said bluntly, the heat of old anger driving away some of the cold. “Ended up chained in a backwoods cabin for a month. You’ll forgive me if I’m not eager to try it again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No. Believe me, there was nothing funny about it.” The phantom sting in his wrists returned. He tried to ignore the sensation, hating the frisson of dread that jolted through him each time he experienced the burning pain.

“You look cold.”

He couldn’t stop a wry laugh, looking around him at the light snowfall. “You think?”

She made a huffing noise but stepped back, opening a path to her door. “Get inside before you freeze.”

He grabbed the used duffel full of thrift-store clothes and climbed the stairs slowly, keeping an eye on her and her Mossberg. She didn’t look as if she was inclined to shoot him where he stood, but a lot had changed between them since Richmond.

She entered the cabin, leaving the door open for him. A wave of delicious warmth washed over him when he entered, and he quickly closed the door to shut out the cold.

As he started to turn around, he felt cold steel against his neck.

“Put your hands on the door where I can see them.” Olivia’s voice was calm and cool. “And spread your legs.”

“I’m armed,” he warned her as he dropped the duffel bag and complied.

“I figured as much.” She started to pat him down, her hands moving quickly over his arms, then slowing as she reached his waist. He couldn’t quell a shiver of pure sensual awareness as she slid her hands over his hips. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Meals have been hard to come by recently.”

She discovered the pistol stashed in his ankle holster and relieved him of it. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there.” He felt her retreat, cool air replacing the warmth of her body. “Can I turn around now?”

“Knock yourself out.”

He turned to find her emptying the magazine of his Kel-Tec P-11 onto a rolltop desk by the wall. His duffel bag was on the floor by her feet. “Is that really necessary?” he asked with a nod toward the pile of ammunition.

“For now.” She removed the round in the chamber and added it to the pile of ammo on the desk before she set the pistol down and turned her cool blue gaze on Landry. “Why did you come here?”

“Nice seeing you again, too, Sharp. It’s been such a long time.”

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “You disappeared nearly a year ago after McKenna Rigsby’s undercover mission went very wrong. At least one corrupt FBI agent has gone missing, and the Bureau is scrambling like crazy to find out what other agents might be compromised. You are on the top of their list.”

“I know.”

“And yet, here you are. Did you think I would just turn a blind eye to the fact that you’re wanted by the FBI for questioning?”

She was magnificent when she was angry. Always had been. Her blue eyes took on an amazing electric hue, and the atmosphere around her crackled with energy. He felt drawn to her, despite himself, and took a helpless step forward. “Livvie—”

“Don’t.” She held up her hand, a pained look replacing the fire in her eyes. “Please don’t call me that.”

“I know you have questions. But I’ve spent the last two hours riding a bicycle in the bitter cold. I’m tired. I’m freezing. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s snowing out, and I need shelter. Food, if you can spare any. In exchange, I’ll tell you everything I’ve been doing for the past two years, and if you still want to turn me in to the FBI after that, then fine. I’ll accept that. Because I’m sick to death of running.”

Her forehead creased as she considered what he’d just said. “You’ll turn yourself in if I say so?”

He nodded, meaning it. He hadn’t realized it until he saw her again, but he really was through running. He’d trusted the wrong person once and lost his freedom for a month—and damned near lost his life in the process.

But he had to trust someone, or what was the point of going on? He couldn’t keep living under the radar forever.

And he’d already gone nearly two years without seeing Olivia Sharp. There had been a time when he couldn’t have imagined such a thing, couldn’t have considered even a week without her, much less a lifetime without her spreading out in front of him as far as the eye could see.

“Were you working with the Blue Ridge Infantry?” she asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

He met her gaze, took a deep breath and answered the question with the truth.

“Yes,” he said.

Chapter Two

Hearing Cade Landry admit what she’d spent the past year trying not to believe shouldn’t have felt like a kick in the teeth. But somehow, it did. It hit her hard enough that she took an involuntary step backward, her foot catching on the braided rug in the cabin’s entry.

As she started to lose her balance, Landry lurched forward and caught her before she could fall, his arms wrapping around her waist. His hands were cold—she could feel the chill through her sweater—but his touch sent fire singing through her blood.

He’d always had that effect on her. Even when he shouldn’t.

She pulled free of his grasp, steadying herself by clutching the edge of the desk. “How long?”

He stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“How long did you work for the Blue Ridge Infantry?” When he didn’t answer right away, she added, “Are you still working for them? Is that why you came here?”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a soft whoosh. “I was never working for them.”

She shook her head, shock starting to give way to a fury that burned like acid in her gut. “Don’t play semantics games with me, Landry.”

His dark eyebrows arched, creasing his forehead. “Are you going to listen to what I have to say or should we just cut to the part where you call the cops to come haul my ass out of here?”

“The latter, I think.” She went for her shotgun.

He beat her there, jerking it out of her grasp. “Don’t,” he said sharply as she changed course, going for the P-11 she’d just emptied.