Coffee. Coffee would be good. Her usual fix of an extra-large vanilla soy latte would be even better.

Aimee dragged a pillow over her head to block out the bright late-summer Rocky Mountain sunshine.

Reality slowly returned, and she became aware of the tenderness between her legs and the fact that her nipples were slightly sore.

She rolled over and pushed up onto one elbow. She saw the indentation on the pillow Trace had used. Even without that, she would know it hadn’t been a dream. The scent of him lingered in the room. A discarded T-shirt hung from one of the bedposts. His presence dominated the space, even though he wasn’t in it.

A pot clattered in the kitchen.

Then Eureka chimed in. “Get up. Get up!”

Aimee slowly realized that coffee wasn’t just a dream or a need. The richness of its brewing scent had awakened her. She could get used to someone more ambitious than she was getting out of bed and brewing the first pot.

She’d always considered the idea of having someone in her space to be detrimental. But then, she’d never put together an official pros-and-cons list on the idea of living with someone. Until Trace, there had been no point. Being put to bed and awakened by the scent of coffee could potentially outrank ten negatives, like doing someone else’s laundry.

“Morning.” Trace stood in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb. He held a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Her mouth watered, and not just from anticipation of her own cup of coffee, but from the sight of him.

He smelled fresh, of spicy soap, citrusy shampoo, and first-of-the-morning air.

Black T-shirts were made for him, and he could have walked out of a magazine ad for those blue jeans. Just open the top button and…

Aimee sat up, dragging the sheet with her. She tucked her hair back as he studied her, as if he intended to know all of her secrets.

He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Even from yesterday, their level of intimacy had changed. It wasn’t just her bedroom…it was theirs.

She accepted the proffered drink and took a long sip. “Thank you.”

“Drop the sheet.”

Instead of waiting for her to comply, he captured the high-thread-count cotton and pulled it away from her body. Her nipples hardened instantly, in response to the room’s chill and the heat of his gaze.

“I’d keep you naked all day if it were up to me.” He cupped her left breast gently, and dampness flooded between her legs. “Careful with the coffee.”

He was a master. He had her exactly where he wanted her, as usual.

Watching her intently, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and continued until she gasped.

“You are so amazing to play with,” he said. He tweaked her nipple one final time. “Get dressed. Breakfast awaits.”

She blinked the world back into focus. “Breakfast?”

“The meal between dinner and lunch.”

“You’re leaving me like this?”

“I like my subs hungry in all ways.” With only a glance over his shoulder, he exited the room.

She sank against the headboard to collect herself, once again. Resisting him was easy when it was a theory, another when he was in her space, breathing the same air as she was.

After a few sips of the hot brew, she climbed out of bed. She’d never before woken up naked. In summer, she generally slept in long shirts, and she had a few favorites, several with pictures of Einstein along with some of his more famous quotes, a couple bearing the likeness of Richard Feynman, and a purple one from Neil deGrasse Tyson’s recent tour. Some women went to rock concerts. She attended science lectures.

Reminding herself that she needed to keep her emotions safe from him, she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

The scene in the kitchen shocked her. Trace stood in front of the stove, his back to her as he sang in Spanish. She could get used to that, she decided. Any man who could operate a paring knife, a frying pan, a toaster, and a coffee maker, all in the same morning, was her hero.

But it wasn’t only that.

Eureka stood on top of his cage, his foot wrapped around a slice of apple. He glanced at Trace occasionally, but that Trace had let the bird out of the cage and fed him… It was doubly difficult to keep her distance.

“Thank you.”

He turned to face her. “For the coffee?”

“Mainly for Eureka,” she said.

“I figured I should plump him up, put some meat on his bones, before we roast him for dinner.”

“Bombs away!”

She looked over her shoulder and pointed at the bird. “Eureka, no.”

He picked up the piece of apple that he’d discarded.

“Tastes like chicken,” Eureka repeated. “Tastes like chicken.”

“Oh my God, Trace. What have you been saying to him when I’m not around?”

“I thought it was a private conversation.”

“Bombs away!”

She glared at the bird again, but he was eating, obviously having made his point. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Omelets,” he said, reaching for a spatula. “With avocados and cream cheese. I also made fresh salsa.”

“I mean it, if the security, gun-carrying thing doesn’t work out, you’re welcome to apply for a job with me.”

His eyes darkened. “I’ve got a different proposition in mind.” Before she could react, he had dropped the spatula and had her against the counter. His right leg was between hers, her crotch against his thigh. He dug his hand into her hair, holding her captive for his kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and responded completely. She had no resistance where he was concerned. As he’d obviously intended, she moved her pussy against his leg while he devoured her mouth in a demanding kiss.

Even though she’d had half a dozen orgasms last night, another was right there, gnawing at her.

He moved his free hand to her lower back, and the pressure he exerted changed her position a bit, bringing her in more firm contact with his leg. He had to know what he was doing, had to know its effect on her…

She came, hard, and with a whimper that was muffled against his mouth.

“Now,” he said, “it’s a good morning.”

When her head stopped spinning, she nodded. It was.

“Set the table before I burn breakfast.”

While she put colorful place mats on the table, she kept glancing at him. He was more than competent in the kitchen. He was at home. It frightened her, more than just a little bit, to realize how comfortable she was with him here. “More coffee?” She offered the drink as if having a man in her kitchen at this time of the morning were the most natural thing in the world.

“Black,” he said. “Although after tasting the cream on your kiss, I’m tempted to have you put some in mine.”

She refilled his mug, then grabbed herself a new one from the cupboard, adding a huge dollop of half-and-half.

He brought two plates to the table, and after she took the first bite, she sighed. The flavors melded on her tongue, complemented by the bite from the jalapenos in the salsa. “Trace, this is amazing. Thank you.”

After breakfast, he said, “Are you working today?”

“I thought I’d get in a couple of hours and then go get a latte?”

He nodded.

Some semblance of normalcy…and keeping them out of the bedroom. “And a run this afternoon?”

He nodded. “Go to work. I’ll take care of this.”

Her cell phone rang, and she went to answer it while Trace cleared the dishes. When she heard her sister’s voice, she said, “I’ve been offered half the money in the pot if I just cough up your name. I hear there’s enough for a nice trip to the Bahamas.”

“Won’t matter if I kill you. You have to be alive to enjoy the trip.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Aimee laughed, but her sister didn’t. Her body chilled. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m going to talk to Agent Romero, but I wanted to speak with you first. He’ll have some instructions for you, and you need to follow them.”

“What happened?”

“Aimee—”

“I need to know.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, in her normal no-nonsense way, she said, “Jason Knoll was found dead.”

Aimee dropped into a chair.

“I don’t have many details. I’ll pass along anything I find out.”

Trace was already walking over to take the phone from her. Numb, from the inside out, she gave him the handset. He strode to the patio door, and she retreated to her office.

She powered up her computer, then logged into the system. Within seconds, messages flooded her screen with the news that they’d lost Jason.

How was it even possible? Just yesterday he’d been alive and vibrant at Hawkeye headquarters. In silence, she stared at the screen, unblinking.

Trace knocked on her doorjamb before entering the room.

“He was there, yesterday. You saw him. The one with the long hair, the ridiculous colored T-shirt.”

“Bare feet?”

“Yeah. Always. Kind of a trademark.”

He came up behind her, then gently spun her chair so that she faced him. “I’m sorry, querida.” With amazing tenderness, he took her by the shoulders and helped her from the chair.

She sank her head onto his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, sharing his strength. For a long time, she stayed there, protected, and he said nothing, maybe guessing that she didn’t want to hear anything meaningless or trite. He simply offered his support. “Jason wasn’t even twenty,” she said. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, and she valiantly blinked back the tears swimming in her eyes. “He was funny. Genius. Wanted to make the world a better place.”

For long moments, Trace stroked her hair, saying nothing. Memories of Jason flashed through her mind in a random, senseless order. She continued to lean on Trace, to inhale his scent and draw from his steadiness. How had he become so important to her, so fast? “Did they get any of his work?”

“Inamorata believes so. His computer is missing.”

She pulled back so she could study Trace’s features, appreciating that he didn’t try to lie to her or soften the news. Grief collided with reality. “Then the rest of us will have to work doubly hard to get the project finished.”

“We’re moving you.”

“What? No.” She shook her head, pushing away from him. “We need to finish the project. It’s more important than ever.”

“You’ll be able to continue your work. But this isn’t negotiable, Aimee.” Steel made his voice implacable.

“Think about it. There are dozens of people on the team. You can’t keep everyone safe. We just need to get it finished.”

“You’re my responsibility. The one who matters to me.”

“Wait… I can’t. I need to think. Some space. Time.”

“You’ve got thirty minutes,” he said. “I’d prefer you get ready in twenty.”

“Trace—”

“Take it up with your sister. Or Hawkeye. I have my orders. And we will be out of this house in half an hour or less, Aimee. Whether you’re ready or not.”

She stared at him. “There’s too many considerations. Eureka?”

“Can one of your neighbors—”

“Don’t even go there, Agent.” If he was going to withdraw, so was she. “If I go, so does he.”

“It’s not practical to haul a parrot—”

“You’re not listening.”

He sighed. “You’ve got twenty-nine minutes. We’re headed to the mountains, so bring a jacket.”

“Don’t I get any say in this?”

Without replying, he left the room.

She resisted her immediate impulse to drop back into her chair and interact with her colleagues, friends. People who would understand the magnitude of the loss.

Instead, she pulled back her shoulders and forced herself to focus, creating a mental checklist of everything she needed.

After powering down her computer, she loaded it into her backpack, along with power cables. Then she hurried into the master bathroom to pack toiletries. Focus. She fetched a suitcase from the closet, then grabbed workout clothes, jeans, T-shirts, hiking boots, running shoes, sweatshirts, a jacket, and a pair of gloves.

The front door closed, and a car engine hummed.

Trace joined her in the bedroom a few minutes later. He was dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a radio beneath it. “Are you getting close?”

“Not sure I thought of everything.”

“We can have someone bring it to you.”

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to slow down her tumbling thoughts. “Eureka’s travel cage is in the office closet. And he’ll need fresh fruit. Nuts. His regular food also.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks.” Aimee double-checked all the things she’d packed, added some warm pajamas, then zipped her suitcase. She slung her backpack over her shoulders and wheeled the luggage toward the front door.

Trace was in the dining room, and Eureka was hiding in his regular cage, against the far side, facing away from them. Most often, when they traveled, it was to the vet. It was no wonder he didn’t want to cooperate.

“I’ll start loading up.”

As he turned away, she noticed the gun tucked into his waistband. She should be easier with this by now, but she wasn’t. “Time to go for a ride, Eureka.” Tamping down her stress so that she didn’t make him more anxious, she slowly put her hand in the cage. “Step up.”

He ignored her.

It took several minutes of coaxing to get him out of his cage and into the smaller one, and the entire time, she was aware of Trace’s return and rising tension as the minutes ticked past.

“Ready,” she announced when Eureka was finally settled.

“You and I will be taking my vehicle. Eureka will ride in the backseat. Agent Laurents is waiting on the porch. Barstow will get you settled. They’ll travel behind us. Riley and Mallory will be in front of us. This needs to happen as fast as possible. Any questions?”

Swimming in a surreal sea, she shook her head.

“Are you okay carrying the cage?”

Which probably meant he wanted his hands free. “It’s not a problem.”

“Ready?”

She unclenched her hands in an attempt to relax. “Let’s roll.”

“Whee!” Eureka cried out when she picked up the cage.

He lifted his hand and pressed a button on his high-tech watch. “Falcon’s on the move.” With a tight nod, he opened the front door.

“Ma’am,” Laurents greeted, falling in step next to her.

Barstow stood near the tanklike SUV, and the doors were already open. Both men wore long-sleeve black shirts, black pants, and boots, and no personal items. They were both within an inch height wise, with dark hair, brown eyes, and athletic builds.

As she approached, Barstow extended his hand for the birdcage. “If he can go on the floor, it might be more secure,” she said.

“Of course, Miss Inamorata.”

She reached for a strap to pull herself up into the front seat, and Laurents sealed her in.

Trace jumped in next to her, gave her a quick once-over, made sure Eureka was situated, then told Barstow, “Clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the door slammed, Trace dropped the transmission into drive and accelerated out of the driveway.

Close to the end of the street, a vehicle pulled in front of them, and a check in the side view mirror showed that Barstow and Laurents were already on their tail. “I’m freaking out a little,” she admitted as he rolled through a four-way stop without slowing down.

“Good.” He glanced at her. “A little I can deal with. Nerves will keep you sharp. We need that.”

Tension hung thick in the compartment as they drove, and Trace’s grip on the steering wheel only loosened when they were on I-70, west of Denver where the traffic thinned out. Even Eureka had been silent, as if he understood the urgency. “Am I allowed to know where we’re going?”

“My family’s cabin. It’s between Granby and Grand Lake.”

“Oh?”

“My father built it right after they had their first kid, in the early days of their marriage. He wanted a place for the family to gather, keep us all close. Get away from the heat of a Texas summer.”

“Sounds nice.” The response was automatic, not thought out.

“It is. We try to get up there every year, still. Not all of us at once, but it’s nice to know it’s always there.” He checked his speed and the mirrors before speaking again. “Your sister has rented a couple of other cabins in the area so the operatives can be close, and so that we can limit the number of people legitimately in the area. She’s arranged to have the refrigerator stocked.”

“This feels like I’m suddenly living someone else’s life.”

“It’s difficult, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

She turned slightly so she could look at him. “Proud of me?”

“You’ve kept it together when most wouldn’t be able to. You’re doing good.”

He took the exit for Winter Park, slowed down through Empire, then began navigating the harrowing twists and turns of Berthoud Pass. On some days, the view went on forever, but today, low clouds obscured the view. It was fitting.

At least an hour later, he turned off the pavement onto a dirt road. Eureka squawked.

“Sorry, guy,” she told him. “Has to be a rough trip in a cage.”

“It’s going to get worse,” Trace said by way of apology as he followed the SUV that Riley was driving.

“Aimee! Aimee!” Eureka protested as the vehicle traversed the bumpy road.

“Almost there.” She was gritting her teeth by the time Trace pulled off the bumpy road and slowed to crawl up what appeared to be a barely maintained driveway.

When she thought the trip would never end, a two-story cabin came into view. It was much bigger than she’d pictured, more of a second home than a weekend getaway, and it appeared to have been constructed from hand-hewn logs. The numbers next to the front door were painted on colorful Mexican tiles.

Off to the right side of the family home was a small grotto accented with wildflowers, with a red hummingbird feeder hanging from a pole. The nearby pine trees cast long, towering shadows.

Trace turned off the vehicle’s engine but left the keys in the ignition. “Stay put until either I or one of the operatives comes for you.”

She nodded and released the latch to the safety belt. He reached into the back to grab something, and Eureka growled.

“Who the hell taught him to do that?”

“I’m told that the owner who surrendered him also had a rottweiler.”

“Get up. Get up,” Eureka insisted.

“Five minutes,” she promised.

After parking behind them, Laurents and Barstow each went around the back of the cabin in different directions. Trace headed into the house with Riley, while Bree Mallory, hand on the pistol strapped to her waist, stayed near Aimee.

A minute or so later, Riley emerged from the house, followed by Trace, whose shoulders were not as tense as they had been earlier.

At Trace’s nod, Mallory opened Aimee’s door. “I need to get Eureka.”

Mallory looked to Trace for her orders.

“It’s fine.”

He stood guard while she grabbed the birdcage.

“We’ll get everything else, Miss Inamorata.”

“Thank you.”

Mallory walked just behind Aimee into the house.

She surveyed the surroundings and decided to place the cage on the gigantic wood-carved dining room table.

Within minutes, Mallory and Riley had unloaded the vehicle and wished her a good day.

“I want to talk with the team,” Trace said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When he left, the silence became a shroud. Not even a clock ticked in the background. The cabin was chilly, not surprising at this altitude.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she explored her temporary home.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms, all large. Two had sets of bunk beds. And the master had a nice ensuite bathroom.

Downstairs, the main cabin was very much open. A large stone fireplace with a pine mantelpiece dominated the space. There were plenty of wingback chairs, a couple of inviting overstuffed couches, and large windows—unfortunately with the blinds closed. If her guess was right, Trace would keep them that way.

Against one wall, a built-in bookcase held board games, dice, dominoes, and multiple decks of cards. Throughout the place were plenty of female touches, from the dried flowers in a brass water pitcher to the bright serape thrown over the arm of a chair. A colorful handblown glass bowl sat atop the woven runner on the dining room table. A few family photos hung on one wall. Some of the shots looked as if they’d been in their places of honor for years, and the frames were mainly wood, in bright primary colors, although a couple were constructed from hammered tin. Framed snapshots adorned almost every surface.

She wandered over for a closer look. One appeared somewhat recent and had been taken outside the cabin. Trace stood next to an older couple. His parents, no doubt. All the loving memories—holidays, birthdays—were such a contrast to her past, where her sister had struggled to support her.

Restless, she walked to the kitchen. As promised, the refrigerator was full. And there was a gigantic bowl overflowing with bite-size candy bars.

She filled Eureka’s water and placed a few pieces of fruit in his bowl. He ignored them as he tried to walk onto her hand. “Get up!”

“In a while.”

He needed time to adapt to the surroundings, and she wanted to be sure he was comfortable before letting him out.

As she powered up her computer, she was very much aware of the murmur of voices outside the cabin, with Trace’s being the dominant one.

A few minutes later, there was silence again.

Bree Mallory entered the cabin. “Agent Romero asked me to hang out here for a while.”

“Hang out? You mean babysit.”

“Pretend I’m not here, ma’am.”

“Where’s Trace?”

“Checking out the other cabins, surveying the land. Since it’s his family’s property, he knows it better than anyone.”

“Makes sense.”

No matter how hard she tried to settle in to her work, she couldn’t, not with Bree walking around, looking out the windows, fingering the grip of her gun. “There’s candy in the kitchen.” Then she remembered the agent didn’t have a sweet tooth. “Or, other snacks. Nuts. Protein bars. Water. Soda.”

“Candy? I’ll take some for Riley.” But she didn’t. Instead, she jogged up the stairs to check out the rooms, banging doors open, boots echoing off the floors.

Pretend she wasn’t there?

Aimee stared at her computer screen. Her colleagues’ reactions were varied. Some were overwhelmed by grief and needed the connection of reaching out and talking about Jason. Others were nervous for themselves and their families, questioning every odd detail happening in their lives. A handful buried themselves in work.

A few minutes later, Bree came back down the stairs.

“I appreciate this,” Aimee said.

“Pleasure, ma’am. Anything for Ms. Inamorata’s sister.”

“It doesn’t start with the letter A.”

“That’s good to know.” She grinned. “Not that I would ask.”

“However much is in the pot, I hope you win. You deserve it for being up here.”

Trace returned, and he excused Mallory.

“Remember the chocolate for Riley,” Aimee said.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bree grabbed a couple of bars and tucked them into her pockets before leaving.

While Aimee worked—the best she could—Trace made lunch and carried it to her at the table. She absently took a few bites of the sandwich and moved the potato chips around the plate.

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m just…” She looked up. “Distracted.”

“I know. It’s critical to keep up your food and rest, though.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here, what to expect. The last thing you need is to be hungry or exhausted.”

On so many levels, what he said made sense, but she couldn’t force herself to eat anything else.

“I’ll take the luggage upstairs.”

Hearing an unspoken question in his tone, she cocked her head to one side.

“One bedroom or two?”

She couldn’t imagine wanting to be alone. “One. If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. Exactly what I was hoping for.”

Midafternoon, she allowed Eureka out of the cage, and he spent a happy hour flying from surface to surface before she ordered him back to base. He sat on top of the cage and played with a small plastic cup that Trace provided as a toy.

Somehow, they made it through the day, and in early evening, he lit a fire, then they sat together on one of the couches. Another time, this would by an idyllic retreat.

“Coffee?” he offered.

“Wine?”

“You could. But with the risk level, I’d rather we skip it.”

“I can’t get away from it.”

“It will be over eventually.”

She held on to that.

For the next hour, he regaled her with tales of the siblings’ adventures in the mountains, snowmobiling in winter, kayaking on Lake Granby in the summer, horseback riding near Shadow Mountain Lake, playing little putt golf in downtown Grand Lake.

Finally, exhausted, she excused herself.

“I’ll be up in an hour or so. I want to go over the nighttime sentry duty schedule.”

Always the reminder of his focus on his duty.

After putting Eureka in his cage, she went upstairs, took a bath, then waited for Trace.

It was closer to two hours before the sound of his footfall echoed through the quiet. He showered before slipping into the bed.

“Trace?”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. I was waiting.”

He took her in his arms and held her close. “You’re so damn brave, Aimee.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“I’ve seen it all. You can believe what I say.”

“I want sex.”

“Aimee…”

“I need the connection. Not tender. I want to be reminded we’re alive.”

“Yeah.” He breathed out, as if understanding exactly what she was saying. “Then you’d better get naked.” His tone was commanding, and response flooded through her.

“Yes, Trace.”

She sat up, and he scooped her T-shirt off, then tugged her shorts down.

He stood and pulled off his thin sleep pants before offering his hand. She took it, trembling from his strength.

“On your knees, preciosa.”

She cupped his balls with one hand, and she closed the other around his shaft, squeezing firmly before leaning in to suck the precum from his slit.

“Enough,” he ordered, and the gravel in his voice made her grin. “Bend over the bed, Aimee.”

He helped her up and moved her into the position he wanted her, with her body wide open, exposed to him, for him. “Wait there.” He grabbed a condom from his wallet, then sheathed himself before trailing his finger down her spine. “I love seeing you like this.” He toyed with her clit before sliding a finger against her pussy. “Love that you’re already wet for me.”

“Take me,” she pleaded.

He placed his cockhead against her entrance, and she thrust back, urging him on.

“You’re mine, Aimee.”

He’d said so before, but this time, there was a bar of possessive steel in the statement. He dug his fingers into her shoulders.

She lost track of time, of fear, of grief, and she was wrapped up only in him.

He wrung orgasm after orgasm from her, smacking her ass, filling the room with her whimpers and sighs and moans.

When he came inside her, his domination was complete. Aimee was his. Despite her best efforts and rationalizations, she’d fallen in love with Trace Romero.

As he shifted their positions so he could kiss her hard, she wondered how she’d ever survive him.