Billi Jean (3 page)

He might have his endurance tested with this little bit of a woman, he mused, adjusting the rear-view mirror to get a better look at her face.

Chapter Two

Lacey walked through the house as if she was in a dream. This could not be her new home. It was beautiful but, God, it wasn’t hers. Not one thing was hers. Not one. She could unpack her things, the few the FBI had allowed, and still this empty house wouldn’t be home. Hardwood floors added warmth and colour to every room in the house. They’d seemed to design the place like a home, cosy-like. There were creamy, neutral coloured walls, and heavy wooden beams in a high ceiling that arched over her head in the open-plan living room and kitchen, complete with a big, black wood-burning stove and stone hearth.

“So, Miss Fielding, did the movers set it all up for you? I have to admit I was amazed that they not only moved you in, but they brought you food, too. That’s some moving company. I always dreaded people touching my things, let alone unpacking them, but they did an incredible job, didn’t they? Look at this place…” The realtor’s wife, Irene, trailed off, caught her eye and went on to say, “Simply wonderful. Just like I thought it should look when we first put it on the market.”

Lacey turned from examining the view through her sliding glass back doors and smiled politely at the other woman. She’d not met Rob, the owner, when she’d followed Russ Ryland into town and on to the realtor’s office, but Irene had been there, excited to take her out to see her new home. Middle-aged and smiling, the woman looked curious and friendly. She was dressed in a cute little skirt and jacket set that looked right off JCPenney’s rack, and was full figured and pretty, despite her age—exactly the type of woman her dad would have appreciated.

And what kind of woman did Russ Ryland appreciate?

Now, where did that come from?

 She’d had a hard time dodging him. He’d opened her truck door for her, which had freaked her out for several seconds because she hadn’t been sure exactly what he was doing, until he’d stepped back and waited while she hopped down. Then, after an awkward moment, she’d realised that he wanted to usher her into the office, as if she might break on the three foot trip to the front door. And she might have. She’d been tired—still was—and worn out from driving. Worse, he’d made her heart do some strange things, let alone her legs, so maybe an escort to the one and only real estate office in Troy had been necessary.

“And so quiet and efficient, too. Why, we never even knew they’d come and gone. One day a man came for the key, signed your papers and, golly, you were moved in.” Irene paused, colouring a nice pink with embarrassment. “I have to admit I came over to sneak a peek… They did such a wonderful job, though.”

“Yep, I had to pay them well.” Not. The agency had paid for all of it. She suspected they paid because they’d dropped the ball. The agents had nearly got her killed. “It cost a great deal, but look at it. It’s perfect, right?” She’d trade it all in for her old life back.

Irene nodded happily, trailing a manicured hand over the dark surface of the shiny marble counter top, near the built-in six-burner stove. “My goodness, you must be exhausted. How on earth did you drive so far, and alone? I think Rob would pass out if I even considered doing something like that. And this house, all to yourself? Amazing, really.”

Irene was digging. Most people would.

“Yep, all to myself. The trip was difficult, but also very freeing. I mean, I’d never done anything like that either, never even stayed in a hotel by myself, but I did. Now I can say I did,” she added shyly. She liked this woman and didn’t want to lie to her, so she skated the truth, trying her best to stick as close to the true story as possible. “Besides, after my father’s death”—she paused and shrugged, trying to keep the emotions from rising up—“well, a change was needed.”

Irene sucked in a breath, and Lacey regretted opening her mouth when the other woman’s eyes widened in sympathy.

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t realised. Your lawyers never said. I’m so sorry. Losing a parent is so difficult.”

“Yeah, it was. But he was sick for a long time, you know? He was ready, and he would have loved me living here.” Not. Her father, the alpha Navy SEAL he had been, would have hated her driving alone. And he would have had a fit at her
living
alone. He’d been nothing if not protective. At least, when he’d been able. Even sick and so shrunken with the cancer he could barely sit up, he’d been protective. Grumbling at her to eat, to stop wasting time with him, to go out, to be careful—all those things he’d always harassed her over.

“Oh, dear. That is so difficult. My father died of cancer ten years ago. It was difficult. But I think it got better after a while. Just knowing he wasn’t in pain any longer helped.”

Lacey fought the rush of tears building behind her eyes. Yep, her dad was not in pain, and remembering that was the only thought that kept her going some days. He’d been her rock. Her foundation. She’d not gone a day of her life without thinking of him, of seeing him or at least talking to him on the phone. They’d lost her mother when she was ten, and, since that day, her father had always been there for her. He’d even quit working full-time in his SEALs unit to train SEALs instead. He’d always put her first, even refusing to be relocated twice so she wouldn’t have to switch out of school in mid year. He’d taught others to do what he’d once done, but he’d never gone on another mission. Yep, she missed him. Missed him didn’t even cover it.

“Exactly. Thanks, I didn’t mean to unload on you. I’m a bit tired.”

Irene gripped her cold hands with her warm ones. She had nice, soft hands.

“Don’t worry, honey. All that driving? Terrible. I can’t imagine.” Her words were well meant. Irene released her hands after another squeeze, and walked to where she’d left her big jacket. “Well, you take a nice hot bath in the bathroom they designed for you, have a cup of cocoa and you’ll be asleep before you know it.”

“That sounds great.” Lacey didn’t want to be alone in this house, but she would do it. Yep, she would, all alone in a new, spotless and unfamiliar place. Great.

“How about you meet me tomorrow, honey? We can do lunch and I’ll show you around all the right spots in town.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Trouble? Good Lord, you’re new to town. I can’t let you wander around. You come by at, say, eleven. Then we’ll go eat and I’ll show you all the nice shops.”

Nice shops? In Troy? The place had looked like a picture out of some Wild West show. She’d even seen a carved totem pole. A post office, a hotel, a few shops, a grocery store and the town was gone. If they had shops, she must have blinked and missed them.

“That sounds wonderful, Irene, thank you.”

Irene waved a hand and tutted at her. “No, thank
you
, honey. I can’t wait. You can tell me all about your home back in New York. Well, your
old
home,” she said, surprising Lacey with a hug that smelt of baby powder, soap and some kind of flowery perfume.

“Of course.”

“All right. See you tomorrow, honey. Welcome to Troy!”

Lacey watched Irene totter out on her high heels to her little white Ford sedan and waved at her when the older woman got in.

As soon as Irene had backed out, having waved once more, Lacey shut the heavy door and let out a deep, long breath, her back to the heavy wood.
Well, now what?
The empty house was so quiet that her own breath rattled her.

Two bedrooms, both pretty, softly coloured in neutral tones, warm thick comforters and silk sheets on the beds. Two bathrooms. A workshop for her stained glass. A garage. A small shed outside the back window. And acres of land.

All to herself. And all empty.

They’d even sprung for a computer, a television, huge couches, a big wooden butcher-block table with straight-backed chairs, kitchen gadgets, and tools in the garage. There was probably a lawnmower in the shed, and more tools.

Everything a girl would need to start a new life, as if her old one had never existed.

God, it was awful. She sank into a chair in the kitchen and let the quiet fill her senses.

This was so not real. Was it?

The agents had sure seemed to think so. After the attack they’d felt responsible, she knew. They’d said as much. Asked about what she liked to do, what colours she liked, what she thought was essential in a home. Or, at least, they had when her jaw had been unwired. She knew they’d also done some checking into her past and dug up everything they could about her.

A sigh gusted past her lips. And this was what they’d come up with for her? This was it? This was her? Or what they thought was her? Would this make up for everything?

Her stomach bottomed out. Nerves were making her feel too tightly strung, too tense and way too out of control. This wasn’t going to work. She should have told the agents that from the beginning.

This was supposed to be home, she reminded herself.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not yet. She was too scared. Too scared of too much. She felt as if she was drowning in anxiety. This was worse than the first night at the hotel. Then, she’d been so nervous she’d placed a chair under the door and sat up in another chair, with the lights out, for hours, waiting for the bad guys to show up. She’d been so certain they would.

Her cell phone rang, almost giving her a heart attack. Her chair made a horrible scraping sound on the wooden floor when she shoved it back, but she answered the phone she’d been given on the third ring.

“Yes?”

“You’ve made it to the house?” a man’s voice asked in a clear, firm, familiar tone. She’d met him once—an older guy with hard, sky blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, deep grooves in his face and a commanding body and voice.

“Yes.”

“Remember that no one can know. No one.”

“Yep, I remember.”

“Blend in, be normal and call if anything,
anything
doesn’t seem right. You have this number now.”

“Yep.”

Silence filled the line. What else could she say? They knew where she was and they wouldn’t come near here. It was the only way to keep her safe from the men who wanted her dead.
If
they found out she hadn’t died the first time around. She’d considered running when the agents had explained the plan to hide her away in Montana.
Why do it their way?
she’d grumbled. Their way had nearly got her killed. But, somehow, the thought of running from the FBI had frightened her enough to do what they ordered.

“Don’t let this battery go down. Keep the phone with you at all times.”

“Yep. I will.”

“Be normal, blend in and you should be fine, miss.”

What to say to that? That she wasn’t normal and she didn’t feel fine? That they’d taken her life and given her—what? This place, and a fear that wouldn’t go away? A fear that kept her up at night and made her cry unexpectedly during the day?

“Great.”

“Goodbye, miss. Don’t call unless you need us.”

Like she would call to say hello?

“I won’t.”

“Remember, you need to activate your bank accounts by tomorrow. You can use the computer in the living room. Be careful and you’ll be fine. Goodbye, miss.”

He hung up, not even waiting for a reply.

Bank accounts? In her living room. On the computer. God, the man knew this home better than she did. Did they have it bugged? Carefully, she set the phone down on the spotless counter and gazed around at the empty house. She couldn’t sleep in here. She couldn’t. She had an extra mattress in the U-Haul. The agents had set up the mattress when they’d driven her partway. They’d made sure to hide her in the back when they’d left town. She’d been all for it. There was no way she’d wanted to chance being spotted.

She’d since grown used to the U-Haul. One more glance around the empty house and she decided. The U-Haul would do for now. She’d lock this place up and sleep out there. It was cold, but she could do that.
Sleep out there
.

First things first, she needed to go for a run. It was time to start putting her life back together. The physical therapist had said she was good to go. She’d done six miles on the treadmill at the clinic. Time to hit the road…or dirt? Maybe trail running would be fun. Now, if she could just find some running clothes in this museum they called a home…

Russ made it up to the ranch in record time, gathered his gear, showered and was back down the mountain within forty-five minutes. Eagle was probably already hip-deep in his woman. Russell had managed with his fist. Life could have been better, but at least he had taken the edge off. And he was actually looking forward to something.

If only he could look forward to being hip-deep in one dark-haired woman he’d only just met. Of course, he had no such hopes. But a guy could dream.

He’d spooked her. She’d looked a bit dazed in the real estate office, but, by the end, she’d given him some clear looks that had had nothing to do with coming here and having sex until they needed a break for food, and had been all about shock at his interest. She looked eighteen, but was twenty-six. He’d seen her ID when she’d introduced herself to Irene. She looked innocent, and he had to wonder how innocent she was…

When he rounded the bend near Saddleback Creek, he had to jerk the truck nearly off the road to avoid the runner heading down the dirt road.

Son of a bitch
. What was she doing? Not resting. Hadn’t she said she’d needed a nap?

Without his boot on the gas, his truck rolled to a stop. He took a few slow, long breaths to calm down. He never got this heart-poundingly frightened by anything. But he could have hit her with his truck.

A soft knocking on his window made him narrow his eyes and swing his head to see her smiling tentatively up at him. Her smile grew as his frown increased.
Unbelievable.
He had to bite back a smile in response at the wicked little gleam in her blue eyes. She was laughing at him. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? At least she wasn’t running scared.

He hit the button and the window went down.