“How does Nathan Hawkins do it?” she asked John when she came over, straddling the bench of the picnic table to sit in front of him. “Most people would give up. Blind, and running a company like this? It’s probably unheard of. Who would trust a man who can’t even see?”

“We see for him when he needs it.” John spread his legs and loved how she so easily scooted into the space and turned her back to him. “I swear, it’s like he doesn’t need eyes half the time, though. He knows stuff.”

“I heard how he took out Cortez.”

“What? You heard about that in your little town on the coast?”

“I might have maintained a few friends over the years.”

“Ah, confessions of a former sniper.”

She chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Not so unaffected as you claim, then.”

The sky was beginning to dim, and Willy—Hawk’s youngest child—ran around with sparklers. The middle one, who’d been kidnapped, yelled to her brother to be careful. Hawk talked about how she still had nightmares. And John had to wonder if there was ever really an “over” in this business.

When Emily shivered, he rubbed his hands up and down on her arms.

“You okay?”

“What’s going to happen to Jenny and Tyler?”

“Hopefully?” John took a pull from his beer. “I don’t know. The police will make an investigation, of course. We’ll probably see them again in the next week—”

“You mean more questions?”

She’d already been questioned up the wazoo. “Part of the job?” he answered.

“I’m not used to working in the private sector. It’s different.”

He nodded. “You get used it.” He hoped she would get used to it.

He sat in the twilight as the air cooled around them. When her head fell back onto his shoulder, he glanced down into her face. Closed eyes. John checked his watch. “Twenty-two hundred. No wonder.”

“Mmm,” she said, but didn’t move.

“I can drive you back to the house—”

The negative sound she made stopped him.

“Drive you back to my place?” Like hell he was going to lose the opportunity to get her on his turf.

“Hey, guys. Look at this.” Craig was on the back porch, watching the television above the outside bar. The eleven o’clock news was on, and John could see they were featuring the hostage situation from earlier today.

Emily sat up straighter in between his legs, turning slightly to catch a glimpse. Her entire body went tense, and she slowly stood. In the aftermath and cleanup, word had leaked to the press and they’d dealt with some of the local reporters. The images weren’t close up, but in the middle of it all, Emily stood out. The only blonde. One of very few women. There one instant and gone the next.

A stricken look came to her eyes. He cursed the luck. She wouldn’t be used to this part of working in the private sector either. “It’ll blow over quickly. I promise.”

Her gaze went back to the television, but the worried look remained. “I should go. I’m tired anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Emily. I should have warned you.” But he hadn’t thought about the secretive life of a sniper or government sharpshooter.

“Don’t apologize. It’s just—” She shrugged. “A little scary, to be honest.”

“I’ll take you home.”

They said goodbye to Hawk and Stacy. And the guys, too.

Stacy pulled Emily into a hug that would have been funny because of their height difference except that Stacy hugged everyone—all the time. It was her thing. No biggie to her if she only came up to Emily’s collarbone.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in all sincerity. That was the other thing about Stacy—she was sincere, truthful. And most of all, she was kind. “Hawk will work on the press angle. We protect who is ours. Okay?”

Still looking a little shell-shocked, Emily nodded. “Thanks.”

John drove her back into town. “So your place or mine?”

“I think…mine, but mine mine, not yours mine.”

He laughed. “Got it, I think.”

She smiled halfheartedly.

Her eyes were closed when they arrived, and he shut the car off and gave her a little nudge. She stirred, humming as she woke up. “Thank you.”

John got out and went around his truck to her door. “Would you like me to stay?”

Her sleepy face turned up in a smile. “Is that a come-on?”

Heat rose on his neck and he cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, well, it’s more an offer of moral support.”

She tilted her head and looked into his eyes, a question in hers.

He shrugged, too uncertain with where he stood, where she stood, and how things would work out between them. Besides, it seemed wrong right now. He hated himself for that…

There were times he wished he could jump in with both feet and not think.

Instead, he cupped her face with his hands and kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he realized his mistake. He didn’t have to jump in; she would drag him under and pull him down as she dove. He moaned when she nipped at his lips. And he gripped her arms, pulling her tightly against him.

Her tongue teased his mouth open and then he was drowning, completely and utterly.

Making out with Emily Rogers on the street in front of the safe house.

He’d dreamt of it, or something like it, and he fantasized. But the reality was so much better.

She tugged at his shirt.

John pulled away, breathing hard. “Holy crap, woman.”

She wiped a hand across her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He took her hand and wouldn’t let go when she wanted to pull away. “Don’t. I want to kiss you. Believe me.”

Her hand stilled in his and then squeezed it, and he walked her up the path to the front door.

“Will you come over for breakfast in the morning?” she asked.

“I’d love to.” He’d scared her off. Apparently, he was good at that. She’d be accusing him of mixed signals next. He wasn’t trying to; he just knew that as soon as he dove in with her, it was going to be for everything.

He wanted it all, not only this visceral reaction to the job and the adrenaline rush.

It was too clichéd.

No. When he finally made love to Emily Rogers, it was going to be the best thing that happened to either of them.

* * *

After a night sleeping like the dead, Emily woke to thoughts of John and their goodbye the night before. As she did a full body stretch, she grinned. Wanting to express that basic instinct, that need to release the adrenaline rush through physical contact, would have been her outlet before meeting John.

But for the first time in years of doing her job, her mind was clear the morning after.

A laugh escaped.

The strangest thing was that she liked the fact that he might—could possibly, if rumors were true—be a virgin. She was still having a hard time believing that a man like John made it through college without getting laid.

But there was something in his touch, his kiss. And it made her nervous as hell.

“Just ask him, you dolt,” she whispered to herself as the coffee streamed from the pot in her hand to the large mug on the counter. “This is the twenty-first century. Two consenting adults. ‘Have you ever had sex?’ See?” She rolled her eyes. “No problem.”

In her back pocket, her phone rang. John’s number showed on her screen. “Where are you? You’re supposed to be here for breakfast.” Intimidated by his alleged celibacy or not, she liked him. His presence calmed her.

“I’m stuck at headquarters.” But his voice wasn’t calm now. He sounded annoyed.

She took that first sip of coffee and groaned.

“What? Are you okay? What’s going on over there?”

“Coffee.”

Silence met her response.

Emily cleared her throat. “Sorry. It’s…um, coffee.” And wishing you were with me. “Coffee helps—”

“Look, I can’t make it,” he interrupted her. “And I don’t want you coming over to headquarters today.”

“You don’t want me? Look,” she said. “I pretty much do what I want these days. Ya know?”

He growled a little, and she bit the smile from her lips. She wasn’t trying to tease him, but she would need a better explanation than he didn’t want her to. “What’s the matter, John?”

“There’s a media frenzy. Overnight, the parking lot is filled with reporters, vans…you name it. They’re here. Not only the local news, either. You made national news yesterday with your saving shot.”

“Well, shit.”

A knock sounded at the front door.

“Double shit.”

“What?”

“Someone’s at the door.” This was the safe house, though. No one knew she was here—not anyone who mattered, right? “Who could have found me here?”

“No one. Sit tight. I’m…calling someone.” Frustration was a low, gravelly tone she’d never heard from him before. “If I try to get over there now, they’ll follow me. Have you met Elizabeth Whitney?”

“Sure. She’s Tancredo’s—wife?”

“Girlfriend, yes. Okay. I’m sending over her brother, Jay. I’ll send you a text with his photo.”

The pounding got louder. There was no way a neighbor was causing such a racket.

“I think the jig’s up, John.” She moved into the living room and pushed aside the curtain on the front window. A bright flash blinded her and she dropped the dark material. “Damn it.”

“What?”

“The media whores found me.”

“Be there in three.”

“Ms. Rogers, a few questions,” some tenacious journalist said loudly through the door.

Emily wouldn’t call it yelling. Oh no. Too professional for that, and she had to give him a little credit. “They have my name,” she said.

“They know your name?”

Emily remained cool, even as she could feel the panic building in the back of her mind. This was her new world. A new job meant different expectations, different parameters. The idea of having her name out there was scary. “Scary shit,” she whispered, and then watched as John’s truck pulled past the house and went around to the alley out back.

Ignoring the reporters, she sipped her coffee again and turned back to the kitchen where John would come in. Looking down, she shrugged. Sweats. Bare feet. Old t-shirt that had a hole under one arm. “Great, Emily. Way to make an impression.”

The door out back opened and shut quietly a moment before John walked through the door.

And his gaze found her; he looked her up and down with eyes that about ate her up.

“Geez, John. If you keep looking at me like that—”

“Sorry. You look really good.”

A laugh escaped. “I shouldn’t be laughing.” But he looked good, too. “Right back at’cha.”

His smile came slowly, making her heart flutter. The silence of the moment struck.

“Hey. I think the vultures are gone.” As if the living room held its breath, the stillness gave an eerie chill to the air, and the quiet—pregnant with what’s-next—sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m sorry to cause so much trouble,” she said.

“Forget it. I should have known.”

“How? Are you psychic?”

Staying off to the side, he lifted the curtain, same as she had, and glanced out. “No. I just never thought—”

The glass window shattered in front of him and Emily screamed as instinct forced her to duck and cover.

“Stay down,” John yelled to her.

She crouched and came around the large couch. He caught her gaze, and it was so intense, her heart pounded.

“I said stay down,” he growled.

“I’m down.”

“Fucking snipers—again.”

She swallowed. She knew the feeling. “This has happened before?”

“Man came after Hawk last year. Shot out headquarters.” John slowly rose.

“John,” she said with a frown.

“We’re going to make a run for it,” he said, staying crouched and heading toward the front hall. “Get your go-bag. My truck’s out back.”

She ran for the stairs and took them two at a time. When she hit the landing, a shot came through the window and embedded into the wall next to her. She squeaked, embarrassingly.

“Emily?”

“Fine,” she yelled as she ran to her room and grabbed her bag from the closet floor. Instead of going toward the front of the house, she took the hallway to the narrow set of stairs at the back.

She’d only been there a little over a week, but she had a go-bag. Maybe that should have been her first clue that things weren’t as easygoing at Hawk as they seemed. During the first day, when she’d filled out paperwork and taken the time to write up a will and get her paycheck direct-deposited into her account, a go-bag had been on that list.

She made it to the kitchen and heard the deep, throaty start of John’s truck out the back door. A quick glance showed he had the passenger door open for her and was sitting behind the wheel. Waiting a minute to take account of herself, she saw all the vulnerable spots in the small backyard—the house to the south on the opposite side of the alley that had an attic window, glaring down at her, and even the office building two blocks north that rose ten stories and looked over the entire neighborhood.

A sniper could be anywhere.

Didn’t she know?

She knew.

And she ran. Eight long strides to the picket fence along the property line at the back, where she jumped and dove into the truck as the dirt kicked up behind her.

“Go,” she ordered at the same time as John stepped on the gas.

She fell back into the seat, quickly turned, and strapped herself in.