"Engaged?" The words spewed from Alyssa’s mouth as though they were poison. Despite his annoyance over the unexpected turn of events, TJ hid his smile, grateful for the darkened car. Since she'd seemed incapable of anything other than blind rage, he’d placed himself in the driver’s seat for their trip home.

"I’ll give her engaged." Still belligerent ten minutes later, he steered them through darkened streets. "I’ve tolerated her manipulative attempts to palm me off on any unsuspecting loser-"

"At the moment," he interrupted. "I'm the unsuspecting loser."

"This takes the cannoli." Though she came up for air, he wasn’t fast enough. "I’m going to strangle her."

"Temporary insanity doesn’t play well with juries."

"Temporary insanity was designed with meddling parents in mind," she countered.

"That little drool-factory you’re so fond of would grow up aunt-less. Monthly visits with Aunt Lefty at the bighouse might scar him," he teased. "After all that sacrifice, you’d only succeed in substituting one loser fiancé for another."

She blasted him with an arctic glare. "How do you figure?"

He allowed his gaze to wander her seriously amazing assets. "Your prison dance card would be full. But I’m a better catch than some big mama named Trixie."

"I only have your word on that."

His joking words finally reached her. The fury that sparked from her eyes like a welding torch was replaced with the shimmery light of humor. A reluctant smile twitched on soft, pink lips.

"Have you reined in your homicidal thoughts? I don’t want to find you standing over my bed with a meat cleaver."

"You’re not the one I’m having homicidal thoughts about."

"I could be the victim of transference."

She released a defeated sigh. "What happened back there?"

Mouth dropped open, Alyssa had likely halved the mosquito population in the Robbins’ courtyard. Not that he’d performed much better. Hell, it had been a minute before he’d regained the ability to form coherent thoughts after that kiss. But Deltas were ingrained to anticipate the unexpected. He was the master of ad-libbing his way out of danger. "You don’t remember kissing me? I’m a little hurt.”

“Go ahead-- make jokes. We're fake engaged."

The octave her voice reached made him wince. "We're strategically engaged."

"Is everything a mission to you?" Exasperation coated each syllable.

"We work with what we have." With her nose scrunched, she looked like a disgruntled pixie. "Thanks to your mother, we're engaged. Just go with it."

"I’m supposed to be ready for an announcement like that?"

"Rule one: always prep for an enemy ambush," he explained. "Rule two: have a plan B."

"Plan B involves an engagement ring?"

"You’re missing my point." Detouring past Fenway, he allowed himself to be distracted by the lights. There’d probably been a rain delay. He could’ve been out there right now. Watching the Sox. Instead of kissing your best friend’s sister.

She was a bundle of contrasts. A woman who worked too hard. In the big-important-job. Devoted to Theo. Devoted to family. Always putting herself last.

And then there was the woman he couldn't summon the will to resist. His brain shuffled images from that morning. The irresistible, kissable smile. The strength of her amazing legs locked around his waist when he’d carried her through the apartment. The intoxicating scent at the hollow of her throat that he drank in like air. Lithe, sexy body pressed to his. Moments from mind-blowing sex. Kissing him as though he were the last damned guy on the planet.

He released an unsteady breath. A decade later, she’d only gotten better. More beautiful than she’d been at twenty-two. If nothing else, kissing Alyssa proved his point on why one always needed a Plan B.

He forced his thoughts back to baseball. How often had he plodded the endless shifting sand and thought of Fenway? Center field bleachers under the lights . . . cold Sam Adams, a couple hotdogs. He could have been there, shouting insults at the visiting team. Instead-- he’d gone and ripped open a ten year old can of worms.

Under the watchful eyes of the mayor and his wife, he’d hauled Alyssa against him, intent on giving her a quick hug. That’s all it would have taken-- a glimpse of their alleged affection. Just enough to keep everyone off their backs for a few days.

It had taken only a moment to forget. His promise to Matt. Shit-- his promise to himself-- made only hours earlier after their first, explosive round. Her expressive eyes had been mutinous. And that damned trouble-making mouth- Unsure what she'd reveal, he’d covered it.

To shut her up. At least that’s the story he'd stick with.

"What was your point?"

Her husky voice traced his spine, filling him with unease. "Fake it 'til you make it," he said through clenched teeth, fully intending to follow his own advice.

Every time Lyss moved a muscle in that study tonight his sensors had tracked her like incoming mortar. The few times she’d forgotten she was ignoring him and blasted him with a look, his lungs had felt starved of oxygen.

When her eyes threatened humiliated tears over those damned pictures, his gut had taken the punch. If he’d shown a glimmer of compassion, she’d have fallen apart. His only defense had been pushing her away.

"Did Theo say anything weird?"

Her voice disrupted increasingly alarming thoughts. "I said you were overwhelmed by the prospect of marrying me."

Soft, kissable lips smirked. "Well, that'd be true."

For someone caught off guard, Alyssa had managed to pour one hell of a wallop into that kiss. Unable to resist the urge to tweak her, he smiled. "They agreed you’re the luckiest woman on the planet."

Her head whipped around. "What?"

Belatedly, he remembered she’d already kicked his ass more than once. He didn’t relish a repeat session. "Or maybe they meant that for me."

The street in front of the brownstone was clogged with parked cars. "Looks like we’re walking." He cruised several blocks before settling for a spot in front of the coffee shop several blocks from his apartment. The neon mug blazed a friendly beacon from the darkened storefront window. "Want to grab a cup? I like to review interview details while they’re fresh."

"Of course you do." Stifling a yawn, Alyssa nodded. "As long as it’s decaf."

* * *

Conversation paused to place their order. TJ scored a table in the darkened window, making sure he had visibility of the door. Not that he expected to run into No-Key, but some habits refused to die. It wasn't long before Alyssa began firing questions.

"So-- what are we doing about my mother?"

Her disgruntled expression made him chuckle. "Maybe we should focus on the op we’re starting at 0800 tomorrow. Or have you forgotten?"

"After watching Theo fawn over you, I’m convinced he knows way more about you than I do." Her shoulders lifted in a conceding-defeat shrug. "You said you’d handle it so . . . I believe you."

"Quite a vote of confidence." Her persistence actually reminded him of Maddie. Not that he was brave enough to point that out. "The engagement thing will go away on its own."

"But-"

Snapping off a chunk of his biscotti, he shoved it in her mouth. "We do nothing," he repeated, grinning over her attempt to protest around a mouthful of cookie. "Your mom wanted to be involved. I should have assigned something to keep her busy." He removed the spoon from her drumming fingers. "She believes she’s providing a cover story."

Several moments of serious chewing meant blessed silence. Until she swallowed. "You underestimating your enemy." Alyssa clutched her mug like a shield.

“We're still talking about your mom, right?" TJ sipped his coffee, the fierce, Turkish blend transporting him to the cold, stark nights when he hadn’t dared fall asleep. Caffeine cranked through his veins, mimicking the adrenaline rush that kept him alert to danger as his team trudged an endless ocean of sand.

Just as quickly, he returned to the jazzy strains of coffeehouse blues, to the sights and scents of an urban night. To the beautiful woman sitting two feet away. Leaning across the table, he captured her restless fingers as they continued tapping out Morse code with her spoon. "Unconventional warfare is my specialty."

"Madeline isn’t your typical enemy," she countered. "She’s crafty."

"Here's what I do when I’m faced with a creative enemy."

An amused smile curved her lips, suggesting she would humor him. Her fingers still warm in his, he waited while she set her mug down and plopped her chin into her free hand. "The first step is recon," he said conversationally. "I’m going to evaluate the terrain." He traced her fine-boned wrist with a calloused finger, enjoying the shiver that jolted through her, the wide, startled doe eyes-- as much as the moment that followed-- when she went all prickly. Despite Lyss being amazingly predictable, he felt anything but bored.

"Hey-- recon somewhere else."

He stroked the pad of her thumb, enjoying the soft, textured strength of her fingers. If she was going to drive him mad, he planned to drag her into the abyss with him. "After a thorough reconnaissance, I’ll assess your vulnerabilities-"

"M-my vulnerabilities?" Shaking her hand free, her expressive eyes flickered with curiosity. And something else.

"I’d seek out the best way to exploit your weaknesses."

"Maddie doesn’t have any."

"Everyone has them." As her cheeks bloomed a luscious pink, his pulse began a slow, heated strum. She wanted him. And he' never stopped wanting her. His brain ran the calculations as his cock acknowledged the heat flaring in sapphire bright eyes. The softness of the hand he stroked. Pulling the pin on this grenade involved risk. His friendship with Matt could blow apart. If he bobbled the toss, Alyssa risked getting hurt. Though he couldn't have left much of an impact the last time, tangling with her now would require a few rules.

"I'm curious what yours are." Sure-- it meant acknowledging the irritating weakness of wanting her. Accepting the inevitable. But the longing gripping his chest made him less worried about consequences. She was no longer twenty-two. If they both wanted it . . .

"You'll get over it."

Her blunt response made him laugh. Her spoon began tapping a staccato beat, adding to the charged atmosphere sparking between them. "It’s what we guard most," he suggested.

Her smile was irresistible. "My stash of chocolate?"

His gut tightened as he remembered the cannoli-- perfect white teeth nibbling the cherry. "Did I mention my expertise at defusing explosives?"

In a heartbeat, she turned thorny, shaking her hand free of his. "We agreed on friendship-"

"Friendship can have its benefits."

Despite the acknowledging flare in her eyes, she fought it. "This friend wouldn't want to see you hurt again. I won that battle, remember? Sprained wrist, bloody finger?"

* * *

Clutching her mug, Alyssa swallowed around the panic closing her throat, ignoring the desire fisting her stomach.

"Mere skirmishes," he pointed out.

Her pulse cart-wheeling, she wondered how the conversation had skidded off track. Her demons had been reactivated with that stupid kiss at the mayor's house. Teagan likely sensed weakness. He'd intercepted her vibe of sexual desperation. But after nearly giving in that morning to the crazy, heady desire he provoked-- her guard had been up. Protecting her from the hot, dangerous man she would always want, but would never understand.

The mayor and his wife had been audience to her decade-long weakness. Maggie-- who would no doubt report back to her mother. Probably something along the lines of we thought we'd have to hose them down--right there on the front steps. “What were you thinking?” Startled, she realized she’d muttered the question out loud.

“I was thinking—we have a couple weeks.”

Trouble was-- she hadn’t been thinking. Staring at him now—his handsome face appearing both amused and determined, her mind was blank. Dangerously devoid of coherent thought, she inhaled the scent of minty herbal tea, letting it clear her senses. She needed a strategy-- fast. Teagan's words tumbled back, like nirvana from the heavens. What we guard most. Her best defense might be a good offense.

"Theo mentioned you were a Delta. How’s that different from a Ranger?" Blurting the first thing that popped into her head, Alyssa experienced a thrill of relief when he winced. Though inadvertent, she’d hit the target, discovering vulnerability. His powerful need for privacy. Exploiting that might smother the sexual force field radiating from his incredible body. Or at least infuriate him enough to keep his distance. "What's a Delta good at?" Besides getting her topless in record time?

His body stilled for a dangerous, crackling moment before the shutters lowered. "I think our time is better spent reviewing the op. 0800 will be here before you know it."

Bullseye. Her pulse down-shifted a notch. "I can find it online."

"Delta is just another branch of special ops," he finally said. "No big mystery."

No big deal. Psy ops. Black ops. "How do you earn a bronze star?" Or seven.

He made a show of glancing at his watch. "Can we just run through this? It's getting late."

Ignoring the distinct prickle of danger, she leaned in conversationally. "Theo probably has your file."

In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, gunmetal eyes flashing with animosity. "Not for long." Pushing his coffee aside, he withdrew a pad from his pocket. "Since we’re being so chatty, why don’t you tell me what happened back there?"

Heart thudding with relief, Alyssa schooled her features. Sex might be off the table, but by doing that, she'd unleashed anger. In their battle of wills, defensiveness would put TJ back in the driver’s seat. "Can you be more specific?"

"Sounds like Maggie’s got issues with her husband’s sexy assistant." He paused a beat. "Despite what she says in public."

Pain stabbed her ribs. A professional warrior, T would fight dirty if necessary. "Maggie knows there’s nothing between me and Theo."

"I don't think so, Sweet." A sarcastic smile quirked his mouth. "Is that how you got the job?"

His derisive gaze raked her body, making it tingle-- with both desire and shame. Heart pounding, she set her cup on the table. Why did she assume there was a thoughtful, misunderstood human under the prickly exterior? Instead of a defensive loner with a mean streak. "Maybe you're jealous?"

It was the smirk that took her down. The expression in his eyes suggesting this-chick's-off-her-rocker. A single, belittling glance.

"I’m sure the Barnes name had nothing to do with your current position."

This was what happened when you ticked off TJ O’Brien. Poking the lion in his cage, he emerged ready to rip her apart. This was the guy she was still hung up over? Disgust washed over her. Instead of analyzing him-- she should spend time searching for her misplaced self-esteem.

"I'm leaving." She pushed up from the table.

"I don't think so." His hand shot out to stop her. "You roped me into this, Fiancée," he reminded. "We're stuck together until it's over."

Aware of the sudden quiet around them, she sank back into her chair.

"Let's review my notes," he suggested, his clenched jaw not matching the reasonable tone.

"Not until we finish this. You lobbed accusations. We're discussing them . . . or I can go."

His Adams apple seemed to work overtime. "Why are you doing this?"

"You've established that I'm worthless and borrowing on my name-"

"I shouldn't have said that. I apologize."

The flash of regret in his expression made the knot in her stomach harden. She relaxed into her favorite coping mechanism, letting the chill settle over her. When the going got tough-- the tough turned to stone.

"You-- belittle me? Because I hit too close to home?” Conscious of their audience, she lowered her voice. "Avoiding a question isn't lying, T." She waited, hoping her quiet words would seep through the defensive armor. Reaching for her mug, she cursed her shaking hand.

“I can be a real bastard sometimes.” He turned to the window, his jaw tight with anger. “You see why it’s safer for everyone when I keep to myself.”

She resisted the urge to lay her head on the table. She was so tired. Of running. Of faceless enemies. Of arguing with the aggravating man who'd somehow trapped a corner of her heart and refused to release it. She was tired of making bad choices. Tired of feeling stupid for them. "Isolation is your defense mechanism."

Teagan sighed. "What's this-- Psych 101?"

"You’re doing it right now."

He glanced away. "Isolation has kept me alive."

After her attack, isolation nearly destroyed her. The stark, cold knowledge of something horrifying-- an incident she couldn’t lessen by sharing. Paul's insistence she gloss over the details. Important documents had gone missing that night, he'd claimed. He'd led her to believe that truth could prove disastrous.

"Over there, your enemy is everyone you don't know." TJ’s voice disrupted her spiraling thoughts. "But frequently, its people you do know."

Only minutes earlier, his magnetic gray eyes held hers with the barely leashed burn of desire. Now, they were shadowed as the night beyond the window. He was so damned hard to reach. "Over here," she emphasized, "you seem to use that tactic with everyone."

The facade of boredom cracked, his eyes flashing hostility. "You know what kills people? It's not bullets or mortar rounds. It’s betrayal." His mocking laugh filled the tense silence. "My precious family turned their backs on me," he said. “Over something I didn’t even do.”

What the hell had she reawakened? “Your family? That’s-- terrible.” When his silence continued, she took a cautious step. “Maybe it was a mistake?”

"No mistake,” he finally responded. “My brother couldn’t be bothered to hear my side.” He reached for his mug as though his hands needed something to do. “The rest of them never questioned that he might be wrong."

"I'm so sorry." This was seriously bigger than she’d imagined.

"The O'Briens are hotheads. I was making things worse, so I left." He shrugged as though it hadn’t cost him everything. "Turns out the adopted one was expendable."

Adopted? What had happened? Alyssa swallowed mounting panic. Their conversation had veered dangerously off course. "Maybe if you talked with-"

"No,” he cut her off, his eyes like barren, gray ice. "It was a long time ago."

"What if it was a huge misunderstanding?" What if it was fixable?

"I wasn't allowed to explain then." The sleet in his voice left no possibility for negotiation. "Why bother now?"

Because you're still so hurt by it. She clutched her mug like a life preserver, uncertain whether to continue. "Couldn’t you give them a chance?"

"I wasn’t the one hurling accusations. Finn chose to believe the worst."

"They're your family-"

The silence between them lengthened into a palpable, growing thing. A slow leak, filling the room with methane. One careless spark would ignite the fireball.

“Can we please get back to the op?” He made a point of looking at his watch before he glanced at his notes. "What was going on with Maggie?”

She was almost relieved to accept the change in topic. Whatever had gone down with his family sure as hell wasn’t fixable over a cup of mint tea. “What do you mean?”

“Lyss, I’m a behavior specialist. It’s my business to know when people are lying." He sat back in his chair. “What did she mean? ‘Last time you slept through it’.”

She stared into shadowed eyes that seemed to have forgotten how to smile. “It’s nothing-”

He cut her off. “Maggie’s eyes may have reflected concern, but her tone said ‘tough luck’."

"She was referring to my . . . attack." She drummed her spoon on the tablecloth. "I was . . . in a coma for two weeks after.”

“Lyss-” He reeled back in shock. “I’m sorry.”

“It gets better.” Deflated, Alyssa calculated the energy necessary to trudge home and fall into bed. “I was engaged at the time.” Sensing the sudden interest in his gaze, she swallowed. “Press Secretary Paul left me while I was in the hospital.”

His fist clenched on the table. "Bastard."

"He was worried a violent attack might . . . damage Theo's polling numbers."

Teagan's eyes sparked. "This sounds like a joke—but you're serious?"

"It was primary season." She forced a smile, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. "Paul didn't want negative headlines taking away from Theo." In a demented way, she'd agreed.

"I guess it's good the bastard didn't kill you, then."

"It all sounds stupid now." His sarcasm made her smile. "He was with me that night." She stuck a tentative toe in the confessional waters, suddenly curious how he would react.

Teagan stilled. "The guy took him out first? Paul?"

"No."

He frowned. "Then how the hell did you get hurt so-" His eyes narrowed. Staring at her for endless moments, he released a breath. "If you tell me that prick ran . . . I'm going to find him . . . and beat him myself."

"He claims . . . he didn't." Her voice suddenly small, she glanced away, a shiver jolting through her. "I don't remember." Her unconscious body had been discovered behind a dumpster. When she finally woke in a hospital bed, Paul was there, his blackened eye filled with remorse.

"Christ." Teagan shoved his coffee aside, disgust on his face. "You better pray I don't meet this guy."

"He moved on to greener pastures." Surprised to feel so little for the man who should've been her husband, she smiled. If she could place Paul on a continuum with Teagan, they would be exact opposites. Two forces. Diametrically opposed. "He married up-- a congressman's daughter." The crazy thought popped into her head that had she been choosing a man today, she would choose T. "Actually . . . he married Andy McQuinn's daughter."

His spoon clattered to the table. "Wait-- the congressman? The guy from the picture?"

"Paul was always very driven." She chose her words carefully. Paul-- the scum-sucking traitor. But words like that would make Teagan think she still cared. When she absolutely didn't. Except for the colossal humiliation, she'd actually been relieved. "He'll probably end up working for a president one day."

Teagan's intensity seemed to spark, a swirling, magnetic radar that threatened to pierce her placid facade. She felt exposed . . . as though he had the ability to see behind her eyes. "That's quite a coincidence."

"Boston's a small town when it comes to politics."

The object of her misguided affection shook his head. “And Maggie’s so insecure about Theo, she'd actually mock you about it?”

“They have other issues,” she admitted tiredly. “She doesn’t want him to run again. She’s afraid for their kids.”

“Why?" His expression was doubtful. "What happened with the kid? Bridget?"

"She was . . . taken." Heart pounding, she relived the incident she'd pushed to the back of her brain-- something Maggie would never be capable of. "From school. Four years ago. She was missing nine hours. Until someone dropped her at a park three blocks from their home."

Teagan paled under his tan. "Who?"

She fiddled with the sugar packet. "Bridget was too young . . . too traumatized to remember. It was pitch dark."

"No wonder-" He gathered their empty cups and stacked them. "She thinks they're related."

Alyssa released a shaky breath as she scraped back her chair. "She's the reason Theo keeps stalling on the governor decision. He's afraid to put his family through it."

As they threaded their way through the emptying tables, his expression remained somber. The cool night air hit them, shaking her free of their gloomy conversation.

"Let's get home. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Despite his abruptness, her idiotic heart softened for the lonely, guarded man before her. The rift in his family had scarred him. Possibly forever. But all she could think was that at one time-- he'd cared. He'd loved. He'd felt.

“I’m sorry again—for what I said.” Teagan’s voice stole around her like a blanket, soothing the pulsing nerves that seemed to take over in the dark.

“It’s okay.” That didn't mean she could afford the challenge he represented. Teagan was a loner. Indifferent. If she were smart, she'd be indifferent, too. Her gaze glued to his tight-muscled back as he guided her through the lingering crowd, she frowned. He wouldn't think beyond their current situation. At best, they were situational friends. In town for a few weeks. If he could kill two birds and get laid at the same time, he'd jump at the chance. Friends with benefits. Temporary, scratch-an-itch benefits.

Could she handle that sort of arrangement? Did she have the necessary armor to make a three-week fling work? Despite their numerous differences, she’d begun to appreciate his sense of humor. His loyalty to his best friend-- and by extension, his friend’s family. Even if he didn’t like her much, TJ liked and respected Madeline.

Hell—of course she could handle it. Paul had abandoned her in an alley. And again-- at the altar. Her armor was a foot thick. This week alone-- she was being stalked. And blackmailed. If anyone could use a few sessions of mind-blowing stress relief, it was her.

Once Teagan was finally gone—again, she could settle down-- in a safe, predictable, unchallenging relationship. She'd settle-- for a staid, boring, suitable selection from her mother's stable of eligible men.

Teagan would never qualify as boring. Nor predictable. Nor suitable, since he didn't even want a relationship. If he ever summoned the notion to care about someone, he would be as demanding of her as he was of himself. A shivering jolt of need slid down her spine. Sex with Teagan would be dangerous. Explosive. Above all, it would be memorable.

After Teagan, her life could slow down. She'd have her babies-- with a man who'd be-- good enough. And while she made them with the faceless, acceptable banker-- she'd remember the wild, amazing sex she'd had with Teagan.

It was a win-win. Twenty-four days of perfect. For T, it would be three weeks of no-strings sex. For her-- the chance to reclaim her life. Banish the emptiness. Twenty-four days to rediscover herself. Teagan was her chance to exorcise the ghosts.