Hours later Garrett walked next to Lauren on their way back to her house after picking up takeout Thai food from a place a few streets away. To him delivery had sounded sensible but he lost that battle when she’d insisted on getting out for a few minutes. He now knew that was code for walking until Garrett’s balls freeze.

He’d been in town for about an hour and they still hadn’t talked about it. Carl stepping back into her life understandably threw her off, made her more quiet than usual. Since arriving Garrett had gotten little more than a steady drumbeat of silence from her.

She wasn’t ready to talk. Fine, he got that. Having a not-so-dead husband spring up, making demands, had to be a shock. Garrett wasn’t handling the news that much better. The killing rage inside him had subsided but the idea of punching Carl in the face still sounded good. He’d already called Wren and put him on this Carl guy’s trail.

If Carl thought he was just going to pop up and rekindle his stalled marriage . . . Jesus, Garrett didn’t even want to think about that. His relationship, or whatever it was, with Lauren had barely moved past “Go” but damn if he didn’t want to fast-forward them to something beyond friends who saw each other once or twice a week and texted every day.

Hell, he dreamed about her. Thought about her out on that boat and working on the marina and it was all he could do not to bolt from his office an hour away and come see her. A strange unseen string connected them. He didn’t get it, couldn’t explain it, but he’d experienced her fierce loyalty and stark determination up close and he wanted to see more.

The biting December wind nipped at his skin through his black driving gloves as they walked. His boots thudded on the pavement as the heavy scent of burning firewood hung in the air. He’d bet every house on the street put their fireplace to use tonight.

It was after eight and dark clouds filled the sky. He figured there would never be a better time to launch into an unwanted conversation, so he took the plunge. “What did Carl say when he came to the house?”

She sighed as she tucked her hands into her jacket pockets. “Nothing.”

They were one question into this topic and already it was sputtering out. “I’m betting that’s not true.”

Her focus stayed on the sidewalk in front of her. “We didn’t talk about anything.”

Garrett bit back his annoyance as he stopped. The move forced her to face him, which was exactly what he wanted. “You’re saying that your not-so-dead husband showed up alive and well and talking and shit, and then—what?—just stared at you?”

“Of course not.” She bit her bottom lip as her glance grazed his chin then wandered off into the distance behind him. “And technically, he’s not my husband.”

Yeah, he had some bad news for her on that. “We’ll come back to your marital status in a second.”

She made a hissing sound. “Lucky me.”

Pain echoed in her voice. She rocked back on the heels of her sturdy work boots but didn’t bolt as he expected. He knew from his frequent visits to see her and their time out on her boat and the hours spent at the diner dive by her office drinking coffee that she didn’t exactly do well with confrontation. He had known her for more than six months, had asked her out on a real date about three months ago and had settled for spending time with her pretending not to date ever since.

She was practical and driven and so hot she made his brain shut down. The combination of the shoulder-length blond hair she generally wore pulled back in a ponytail and those big brown watchful eyes burned through his usual defenses. Sleek, sexy muscles earned from hours of hard work on the boat had his mind spinning with how good she would feel—taste—if he ever got her naked. Even now, deep into cooler weather, her smooth skin carried a hint of a tan and he ached to see the tan lines under her clothes.

Growing up he might have called her a tomboy. He was a dumbass back then. Self-involved and caught up in sports and being popular and shit that stopped mattering to him more than a decade ago. He had just turned thirty-one and was smarter now, or so he liked to think.

He looked at her and saw this ass-kicking mix of athletic, powerful and so fucking feminine. She had it all. Stunning face. Full lips. Eyes that telegraphed intelligence and experience and a sort of hard earned wariness. Smoking hot body. Killer legs. He was in for all of it.

He appreciated women who knew what they wanted and fought for it. He was fine with messy and difficult. The idea of dating someone who agreed with everything he said or hung on his every word bored him. Other guys liked that and good for them. He craved a challenge. From the first time he met her, he wanted to learn more about what shaped who she was and how she thought about things. And touch her. Sweet hell, he really wanted to touch her. But not tonight. Maybe not soon thanks to her idiot husband and his piss-poor timing.

“Walk me through his visit. The guy comes to your door and . . . ?” Garrett started walking again. She kept step with his long strides but she didn’t say a thing. “The dramatic pause is your cue to talk, by the way. What happened next, Lauren?”

“He wanted in the house. He talked about coming back to work.” She made a noise that sounded like a frustrated groan. “Basically, he talked to me like a demanding, jerky boss would talk to one of his employees.”

Garrett’s hand tightened on the handle of the takeout bag. “So he’s still an asshole.”

She glanced over at him and smiled. “I never told you he was an asshole.”

As if Garrett needed to be walked through that definition. “He pretended to be dead and screwed you both financially and emotionally. The asshole part is implied.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. It was the first glimpse of lightness since they’d exchanged texts hours ago. “In the past five minutes you’ve talked more about him and said more negative things than in the entire six months I’ve known you.”

They’d met when he was in town on an assignment connected to her best friend, Kayla. She had been the one to mention Lauren’s “missing” husband. Garrett had tiptoed around the subject of Carl ever since because Lauren had insisted right up until her surprise he’s-alive text that Carl was dead. The reality was people generally didn’t disappear at sea and Carl was more experienced than most, which made it even less likely for him.

Garrett knew how fraud worked. He worked for a company that collected information and solved problems. He was second in command to the man people called when they needed confidential assistance. Washington, D.C.’s elusive and mysterious fixer, Levi Wren, known to only a few and even then known only as Wren. The position provided Garrett with a front row to investigation intel, and he knew that as far as ways to die went, disappearing into the sea was a suspect one. But when it came to leaving your spouse and running out on a lot of debt, it seemed to be many people’s bizarrely ineffective go-to plan.

They turned the corner and started down her street. They were only a few houses away, which was good because grayish-white puffy clouds filled the sky and the air hinted at incoming snow. His feet were frozen. He’d been packed for a trip to California and not really thinking about facing this weather.

She pulled her keychain out of her pocket and bounced it in her palm. The sound of clanking metal served as background noise. “I was being—”

“Lying.”

Her head shot to the side and she stared at him. “What?”

“You were lying.” When she frowned, he decided to try a little tact even though every cell inside him yelled for him to push her to get through this story. “Fine. We’ll use the word pretending. You were pretending Carl died in a freak, horrible accident.”

“As far as I knew, he had.”

Garrett whistled. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Your denial. Did you take a class in that? Because damn, woman.”

She shook her head as she opened the latch on the small gate leading to the pathway to her front door. “I forgot how difficult you can be.”

Garrett didn’t follow. He stopped, watching those legs and that fine ass and wondering if she realized how hard she was running from the truth.

“You know, you’re allowed to be angry with him. To think he’s a piece of shit. That doesn’t make you a bad person.” Garrett had a feeling he could spend the rest of the week saying those simple words and she’d never believe him. Her blank look suggested her denial was pretty deeply entrenched. “Or you can just stare at me.” Which she did. Stared and didn’t say a word. “Fine, we’ll pretend his being alive is a surprise, and we’ll ignore the fact you don’t seem even a little happy about having a husband again.”

Yeah, that last part was a bit of a shot, but it was true. She’d found out her long-lost husband was back just a few hours ago and instead of reconnecting with him she’d texted Garrett. His ego exploded at the thought, but her decision carried a message. He wasn’t sure why she couldn’t see it or wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m not married to him anymore.”

Okay, not the response he’d expected. Garrett had expected a fight on a different topic. “Because you had him declared dead? I’m not up on family law but I think having him declared dead is not the same as being divorced.”

Her mouth dropped open and stayed there for a second. Then the uncharacteristic stammering and fidgeting started. “I can’t . . . No. There’s no way . . .”

Even in the dim beam from the porch light Garrett could see all the color drain from her face. Her body seemed to list to one side for a second. He felt sick for her but he also felt some relief.

He nodded. “There you go.”

“What?”

“A show of emotion. It’s about time.” He half wished she would yell. Not at him. No, they could find a better target, like Carl.

Her head shot back and for a second she didn’t say anything. “Are you afraid I’m dead inside?”

That was too far. She was closed off and careful, and he was determined to break through to her. “I never said that.”

“Oh, really?” She snorted. “You’ve repeatedly asked me out and I’ve said no. You don’t think maybe I’m all out of energy for emotions and feelings and whatever it is we’ve been doing that we’re not calling dating.”

At least they could both admit the whole not-dating thing was getting old, especially when they really kind of were but without the side benefits of kissing, touching and generally getting all over each other. He’d never worked this hard to get close to a woman. He’d even had to convince her to let him clean her boat just to spend a Saturday with her one time. What the fuck was that about?

The whole relationship, friendship, want-to-get-you-naked thing they had going on was a constant source of confusion. He didn’t pine. If a woman wasn’t interested, he respected that and moved on. Problem was, Lauren made it clear she was interested but the no-trespassing sign still stayed up to keep him at a distance.

For anyone else, he would have given up and walked away. But there was something about her. The joy that thrummed off her when she was on the water or telling work stories. The stark loneliness he sometimes saw in those eyes as she stared off into the distance. He understood the constantly shifting emotions. They boiled and churned inside him as well.

She was complex, interesting and sexy as hell. She had him spinning in circles and rearranging his life just to drive from Washington, DC, to Annapolis once or twice a week to spend time with her.

Really, what the fuck was that about?

If his friends only knew . . . but they didn’t. Or they hadn’t before Carl showed up again. But his friends were smart and nosy as hell, so they’d figure it out and poke around in his private life. Just one more reason for him to despise Carl.

“I hoped you were playing hard to get.” He had to hold on to that theory or he’d completely lose his ability to be rational.

Her blank expression broke into a sunny smile. “Because you’re so irresistible.”

Her expressions actually rumbled inside him. He could feel her smile in his gut and he didn’t get the sensation at all. But he did want to encourage her change in mood. “There, see? We agree on something.”

They stood on opposite sides of the small gate, her fingers locked over the top in a death grip. She shook her head as she looked at him.

“Garrett.” That’s all she said. His name in that deep voice that drove him wild.

“Let’s go inside and we’ll figure this out.”

She hesitated for another second before stepping back and gesturing for him to follow her up the steps. “I suppose you think this is an official date.”

Compared to what they had been doing before tonight, they were practically engaged. “We picked up dinner. We’re going into your house together. You’re right. Clearly not a date.”

He ignored the idea of her having a husband and this amounting to cheating. In his head, whatever she had with Carl was long over. He just hoped she felt the same way.

“You think you’re so clever.” Amusement filled her voice.

He loved when she entered into verbal volleys with him. When the edge fell away and it was just them talking. “I’m going to be humble here and let you be the one to throw around descriptions like clever. Brilliant. Whatever means always being right. I think we can agree those fit.”

She rolled her eyes as she slid her key in the lock. “You never disappoint.”

“Let’s hope you hold on to that thought as we continue to date.”

“I never said . . .” She opened the door but didn’t even cross the threshold before slamming to a halt. “Oh, my God.”

The tremble in her voice hit him first. The lights were on, just as they left them. He didn’t hear a sound but he rushed to put his body in front of hers. That’s when he saw them. Men’s deck shoes. The legs.

A guy on her floor.

“What the fuck?” Garrett shot inside and held out a hand to keep her back. A quick check of the house, looking behind doors and scanning every inch for signs of struggle or a break-in, then he was back at her side.

Ignoring his warning, she’d walked up to the body and stared down with a face that had gone pale. Her gaze traveled all over the motionless form.

“Carl?” His name came out as a whisper as she started to slide to her knees beside him.

Garrett caught her just in time. “No.”

She looked ready to go around him if necessary. “But he’s—”

“Stop.” Garrett knew what Carl was. The still body, the unmoving chest and an expanding blood pool. Yeah, he recognized the signs. “Call 9–1–1. Use your cell.”

She fumbled with her phone, nearly dropped it as she grabbed it out of her jeans pocket. The extra seconds gave Garrett a chance to lean down and check for a pulse. He went through the motions but he knew he didn’t have to.

He could hear her talking, begging for an ambulance. The stream of words stopped as she tore her gaze away from Carl’s body to look at Garrett. “Is he okay?”

She had to be in shock because she was too smart to ask that question. Worse, he couldn’t figure out a decent way to answer. “Uh, not really.”

“What does that mean?”

Garrett prided himself on handling difficult situations. He balanced work issues and talked to people all day. His boss and best friend, Wren, wasn’t great with other humans, so it often fell to Garrett to explain things and deliver bad news.

But nothing had prepared him for this, for the panic in her eyes or the way her hands shook. He hated being the one who delivered the news. “He’s dead, Lauren.”

She almost dropped the phone. “He can’t be.”

“This time he really is.”