The orange sun was just cresting the mountains, smudging the sky with purples and pinks as Dan steered the squad car down his long, twisting driveway.

When was the last time he felt this bone tired? Baghdad...or maybe that rescue mission in Libya?

He gripped the wheel tighter and bit back a curse.

He'd come to Montana for a quiet life.

A life outside the military. A life that didn't include zipping body bags over the faces of dead kids in their early 20s.

He’d joined the Army on his eighteenth birthday. It turned out to be a shit-show from the word go. From a tragic friendly fire accident that left a drill sergeant maimed during boot camp, to an ill-fated paratrooper training exercise that resulted in the death of his best friend, he'd known then that he was some sort of magnet for darkness.

For a while, a switch flipped inside him and he had embraced it. An angry young man in a job perfect for angry young men. Focused his energy on doing his best to ensure that if violence was to be his constant companion, it came to those who deserved it. But after dozens of missions and rivers of blood, even that had lost what little charm it held.

Now, at age thirty-two, he just wanted some fucking peace.

The Sheriff before him had sworn his days here in Styx, Montana would be filled with disputes over cattle, bar fights and the occasional domestic disturbance. And for a while, he'd been right. But Dan had been here less than a year before the shit had hit the fan.

He gripped the wheel tighter and flicked a glance to the sleeping form in the passenger's seat next to him. Even pale and exhausted, after a horrific night, Mina Silva was still the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders, highlighting the almost pearl-like skin that, in spite of everything, made his hands itch to touch her.

She wasn't what she seemed, and he was fairly certain that at least half of what she'd told him was a lie, but she'd been balls-on about one thing.

He'd known the second he'd seen her at the bar that she was trouble.

Dumbass that he was, though, he'd assumed she'd only be a threat to his sanity and his libido. Instead, it might turn out that she was a threat to his people. And that? He couldn't abide.

Now, he had to keep her as close as possible until he answered the million-dollar question.

How bad was she?

A sizzle of unrest ran through him as they reached the front of his house. He slid the car neatly into its space, and shifted into park.

"Mina? We're here," he murmured, reaching out to pat her shoulder before stopping short. He'd touched that silky flesh before, and he'd do best to avoid touching it again.

She stirred and, after a few moments, her lashes fluttered as she blinked up at him, revealing sleep-softened, blue eyes.

"Sorry," she rasped, sitting upright quickly and running a hand through her tousled hair. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

He could believe it. It had been a hell of a night. Between the drinks and all the stress, he was surprised she'd made it more than halfway into the thirty-five minute drive to his house. Now that they were here, though, and he was faced with spending the immediate future in his tiny cabin with her, he found himself wishing he'd let her sleep a little longer.

"It's good," he managed with a nod. "Your brain needed the break." He turned off the car and opened his door. "Let's get you inside and get some hot food in your belly and a few hours of rest. That will help clear both our heads."

And a clear head would be a blessing right now.

His stomach clenched as he closed the car door behind him, knowing what the coming day held. According to a long-term guest at the motel, Paulie the clerk was an out of town-er, here for spring and summer work with a couple of friends. Rip had radioed Dan on the ride over to tell him that she'd located his family in Wisconsin. Once they'd had the owner of the motel come out to the morgue and ID the body, a call would have to be made to tell those parents that their son had been murdered, and he would be the one to make it.

He strode up the stone pathway, glancing back to ensure that Mina was on his heels. She followed close behind as he made his way up the rickety wooden steps to the front door. Guilt pricked him at the sound of the mournful yowl that greeted him as he unlocked the door.

Poor Susie Q hated being alone at night. But she was a sweet and forgiving soul, and the second she set those hangdog eyes on him, the yowling stopped and her whole wrinkly body quivered with excitement.

"Hey baby girl," he murmured, dropping to a squat to pat the bloodhound's velvety head.

As usual, she sensed his mood and calmed instantly, nuzzling closer to lick his hand, almost as if comforting him. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, carry her over to the bed, and fall into an exhausted heap with her on his chest until morning.

But they had a guest. He patted her head one more time before straightening to face Mina, who was milling in the doorway.

"This is Susie Q. I don't know if you're afraid of dogs, but she doesn't bite."

Mina shook her head and bent low, hand extended. "I'm not afraid, but for some reason, animals usually don't like me."

Susie Q cocked her triangular head to the side and regarded Mina through bloodshot eyes with something akin to confusion. She sniffed the preferred hand and shot a glance to Dan before turning and scurrying off toward her doggie bed.

Mina's pale cheeks flushed a little and her lips quirked into a tight smile.

"See? I don't know what it is."

He did.

Animals could sense danger. Susie Q had recognized just as quickly as he had that this woman was trouble. Only difference was, the dog had played it smart and walked away. If only he had that luxury now.

He kept that observation to himself as he tossed his keys onto the side table and waved for Mina to follow him into the galley-style kitchen where he flipped on the overhead light.

"I don't keep a lot in the house," he said, heading for the fridge and yanking it open. "I've got the fixings for bacon and eggs, or I can heat up a couple cans of chicken soup. What do you prefer?" He shot a glance over his shoulder and found himself once again caught by her beauty.

She stood leaning against the doorjamb, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she mulled over his question, and all he could think about was replacing her teeth with his own and testing the softness of that lip.

He was one serious asshole. The scent of blood from the crime scene still lingered in his nostrils and here he was hot and bothered by the woman at the center of this whole mess.

"To be totally honest, I really don't think I could eat right now. But you go ahead," she said softly.

He straightened and let the refrigerator door close, squeezing his eyes shut as the last of the adrenaline that had been keeping him going drained away. He had been up for twenty-four hours now and suddenly it felt twice that long.

She was right. Food could wait.

"Let me change my bed-sheets for you quick and grab some pillows so I can make up the couch for myself, and then we'll try to get some shut eye."

He led her into the living room and gestured toward the sofa.

"Have a seat."

She sank down with a weary sigh and he headed into his bedroom. He paused to pick up the dirty clothes on the floor, and then quickly stripped the bed. It took him a few minutes to find a clean set of sheets, but once he did, he made short work of getting everything ready for his guest.

He crossed the room to the linen closet to grab himself a spare blanket and pillow before making his way down the hall back toward the living room.

"I left one of my shirts on the bed for you. And if you get cold in there, there's a thermostat on the wall by the--"

He stopped short as the sound of soft snores reached his ears. Mina was sprawled on the sofa, flat on her back. One arm was thrown over her eyes, the other rested on her chest. Her bustier had ridden up to reveal a few inches of taut stomach, and he had to tear his gaze away.

What to do now? She was fully dressed, boots and all, which would hardly allow her a comfortable sleep. Plus, he preferred to have himself between her and the door in case anyone tried to break in.

Or she tries to break out, a little voice in his head cautioned.

She shifted slightly, snuggling deeper into the cushions, and he made a judgment call.

He closed the distance between them and laid the blanket in his hands over her. She was clearly shot and in desperate need of rest. As long as he kept his bedroom door open, he'd be sure to hear if she stirred. And if anyone came to the door, Susie Q would start caterwauling.

Exhaustion settled over him like a woolen blanket. It would be fine. It might not be a safehouse, but he had full confidence in his ability to protect Mina if the need arose.

He went and flipped off the kitchen light, pausing to deadbolt the front door as he passed.

By the time he climbed into bed a few minutes later, he could hardly see straight. Despite his exhaustion, though, when his head hit the pillow, the grisly scene from the night before filled his head, dragging with it another thought that had been dogging him from the second he'd opened that motel room door.

Why?

Why here?

Why now?

Styx had been a quiet little town since its inception, and now all of a sudden everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. People missing, and now a second murder in his town that hadn't seen a murder in five decades, all within a few months’ time. What were the odds of them being totally unrelated?

Slim to none.

Which meant his houseguest might be more than just a garden-variety troublemaker. She might be the lynchpin to this whole thing.

The next time he closed his eyes more than an hour later, he willed the horrific images to come again so they would remain etched in his mind and keep him focused.

The blood.

The crime scene.

The expression on young Paulie's lifeless face.

But as he drifted off to sleep, the last face he saw was Mina's.