Chapter 8

Grace looked down at herself and sighed. It was just as bad as she’d imagined it would be. Worse, even. After all, there were coveralls. Between those and the knee-high rubber boots that were two sizes too big, Grace knew she looked more unattractive than she ever had in her entire adult life.

At least no one except Nan, the kennel owner, would see her like this. Telling herself to suck it up and be thankful that she was still alive, Grace tromped over to the power washer, passing one of the overhead doors. Both were open to let in the sunshine, and Grace could see the dogs playing in their various exercise yards. Despite the coveralls, she had to admit that some parts of the job weren’t that bad, such as watching the dogs, especially two six-month-old puppies that romped and tumbled over each other. Cleaning up what they’d left behind, however, was not fun…not fun at all. She’d never had a pet as a kid. She liked dogs just fine, but taking care of them had never really been a part of her reality.

Now it was. And a dirty, stinky reality it was.

The empty, smelly kennels weren’t going to clean themselves, though. Resigned, she gave one last mournful thought to her wonderful job at the college where she could dress up in pretty clothes and work her fund-raising magic and change people’s lives. Then she lifted the power washer and got to work.

A squad car pulled up outside, and Grace held her breath. When Otto climbed out of the driver’s side, however, she relaxed and ignored a silly pang of disappointment. He lifted a hand, returning her wave, before heading toward one of the exercise yards where a shy and scared Belgian Malinois huddled against the fence. Nan had told her that the dog was Otto’s special project.

Grace caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She returned her gaze to the squad car and felt a rush of excitement that refused to be squashed. Hugh must’ve been in the front passenger seat, because now he was standing, leaning on the car and watching her. After hearing about the explosion, about how he almost died, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She stared at him, unreasonably glad to see him in one piece. Her gaze rose to his face. Even from a distance, she could see his annoying smirk, and her relief dispersed, aggravation taking its place. She resisted the urge to make a rude gesture.

Determined to ignore him, Grace turned away from the squad car, momentarily forgetting the stream of water still jetting from the power washer. It hit a corner of the kennel wall and reflected right back at her, soaking her through in an instant.

With a bitten-off shriek, she turned off the water. Although she didn’t even want to know, Grace couldn’t stop herself from glancing down at her now-drenched coveralls. It was bad. Patting her loose bun, she tried to shove wet, bedraggled strands out of her face, but she knew that was a futile effort, especially when she heard a muffled laugh coming from one of the open doors.

“Shut it,” she growled.

Hugh spread his hands in a gesture of pure innocence. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

How she wished she held a regular hose spray nozzle, rather than the power washer. After all, she didn’t want to damage him; it just would’ve been nice to wash that annoying grin off his face. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He laughed. “What fun is that? Talking is one of my favorite things to do.”

“Obviously,” she muttered. He couldn’t have just stayed quiet, swallowed his smirk, and walked away. He was Hugh. Obviously, the explosion hadn’t damaged him too much if he still felt up to teasing her. Her next words tumbled out of her mouth without her permission. “How’s your head?”

His smile dimmed just slightly before returning to full wattage. “Still where it’s supposed to be. I might have lost a few brain cells, but there were plenty to spare.”

Grace rolled her eyes. Of course he would joke about almost dying. Forget that she hadn’t been able to sleep or think about anything else for the past five days since Jules had told her about the explosion. She didn’t know why she cared, why she worried about him, why the idea of him almost dying made her heart hurt. It wasn’t like they were friends. Every time they saw each other, they argued. Even now, seeing Hugh all happy and smirky and healthy-looking, she felt her worry turn to annoyance. “Have you found out who planted the bomb yet?”

“Can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” he said lightly. “You know what we can talk about, though?”

“What?” she asked warily. He was just a few steps away, and she realized that she’d been moving closer without even realizing it. Stupid feet. Don’t they know he’s an ass?

Hugh gestured at her soaked coveralls. “This incredibly fashion-forward look you have going here.”

Her finger hovered close to the trigger. So maybe he’d lose a little skin if she gave him a quick spray. Really, it was what he deserved. With a great effort of will, she kept the washer down at her side.

“You like it?” Posing with her free hand on her hip, she gave him her best sultry-model face. If she had to be stuck wearing wet coveralls and too-large rubber boots, then she was going to own the look.

He chuckled, although his gaze heated as he took her in. “Oh yeah. It’s kennel chic.”

“Right.” Dropping the pose, she frowned at him, trying to figure out why he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her. There was nothing appealing about her at the moment. She knew this even before she glanced down again, confirming the horrid state of her appearance. “I miss wearing pretty things.”

Immediately, his gaze sharpened. “Pretty things? Like what you used to wear to work? What did you do before in…Bangor?”

That slight pause reminded her that he was a cop—a cop who thought she was a liar. Tipping her head, she gave him a flirty look. “You want to know something?”

“Yeah. What?” He moved a half step closer, his inquisitive expression shifting to something a little…hungrier.

She smiled and leaned toward him. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I’m beginning to understand why someone would want to blow you up.”

To her surprise, he laughed. It made him even more stupidly attractive than usual, and Grace found herself unable to look away. “I’m told that a lot.”

Thrown off guard, she scrambled for a witty retort. “Maybe you should, you know, work on that.”

“Work on fixing my personality?” He leaned against the wall, and Grace gave a silent sigh. It looked as if he was settling in for a chat. As much as she welcomed an interruption from kennel cleaning, Hugh wasn’t her first pick. Whenever he was around, she felt strange, unsettled, almost jittery. He’d pop into her head at odd times, and just the thought of him sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. It was…uncomfortable.

She realized that he was watching her with a tiny, knowing smile, and she tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “Whatever.” Grace figured that would cover most potential topics. “Why are you here?”

“Otto’s working with his latest project.”

“That explains why he’s here. Why are you here?”

He smirked. The man was impossible to offend. “I was bored, so I tagged along. It’s a good thing, too. We haven’t talked much lately. I was going to stop by to watch Tattered Hearts with you again, but Theo gave me a little lecture about the importance of keeping my lockpicks in my pants.”

“What a shame,” she said flatly, proud of herself for not giving in and smiling. It was hard to resist Hugh’s easy charm. “Well, this was a nice chat. We’ll have to do it again sometime…or not.”

His grin grew, and it became harder to keep her deadpan expression in place. “Oh, our visit isn’t over. Otto won’t be done for a while yet. So tell me, Not-Grace, how long did you live in Bangor?”

“Almost two years.”

“And before that?”

“Austin, Texas.”

“For how long?”

“Eight months.”

“Before that?”

“Portland.”

“Maine or Oregon?”

“Oregon.”

“Do you ever tell the truth?”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

He smiled at her—a long, slow, easy, predatory baring of his teeth. “I can tell when someone’s lying. It’s my superpower.”

Grace shivered and immediately hoped he hadn’t noticed. By his expression, however, he’d seen it. He looked like a smug house cat, ready to pounce on a trapped mouse. “It’s none of your business. So I’ve moved around a lot. That’s not a crime. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why are you lying?”

“I told you.” To her annoyance, she couldn’t hold his gaze. Turning her head, she stared at one of the kennels. “I’m not lying. Go away. I have to get back to work.”

She started spraying down the kennels again. The entire time, she felt his gaze on the back of her neck, as hot as sunburn on her skin. It made her crazy that he could bring out such a reaction in her, when she was just a suspect to him. Every time Hugh was nearby, her skin buzzed and her blood flowed faster, and when he left, she felt let down and lonely. He was a cop, and an annoying one at that. Why did she allow him to affect her like this? When she reached the end of the row, she couldn’t take it anymore. Turning, she huffed, “Would you please just…”

He was gone.

She glanced around, but she was alone. Moving over to the door, she looked out and saw Hugh limping slightly as he made his way to the squad car.

It was her turn to watch him. Crazily enough, she felt slightly deflated now that he’d left. Shaking off her idiotic thoughts, she firmed her jaw and turned back to the kennels. Forget Hugh, she told herself firmly. There’s poo to clean.

Even so, she couldn’t resist a final glance out the open door.

* * *

“Do you hate working there?”

Grace opened her mouth to tell the truth, but what came out was the complete opposite. “No.”

The relieved look on Jules’s face made the lie worth it. “Oh, I’m so glad! Nan loves you already, said you’re such a good worker and that she is already hoping that you’ll keep working there forever.”

With a forced smile, Grace mentally hunted for something positive to say. “Nan’s nice.” True. “And the dogs are cute.” Also true.

Jules beamed at her, giving her arm a pat with the hand that wasn’t holding the coffeepot. “That’s wonderful! I’m so glad you found a job you like.”

It took considerable effort for Grace to keep her false grin from turning into a grimace. “Sure is.” Her cheeks were starting to ache from the effort. “I think that family over there is trying to get your attention.”

After glancing over her shoulder, Jules turned back to Grace. “I’d better actually, you know, work. You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Her smile became a little more genuine. Jules was just so sweet. She never seemed bitter about giving up her life to move to this pokey little town to play mom to her siblings and keep their disaster of a house upright using only strength of will and duct tape. Sometimes, Jules would make a joke that reminded Grace of Penny, and she’d miss her friend so much that it felt like her heart was being yanked out of her chest. “Go on. They look hungry.”

With a final arm pat, Jules headed for the family’s booth, and Grace could finally slump down and wallow like she’d wanted to do since she’d started her new, poo-filled job several days ago. One of the hardest things about living with five other people—four of them kids—was that she couldn’t just mope around the house after work, eating ice cream and watching trashy television and fully indulging in a flat-out my-life-sucks sulk. Her room wasn’t much of an escape. When she’d tried to hide the previous night, Dee had knocked, asking if Grace was okay, if she was sure she was okay, if she was absolutely positive she was okay, sounding more and more worried until Grace had plastered on a smile and emerged from her room to prove she was indeed okay. Dee had then talked her into playing one game of checkers that had turned into four.

Shortly after Grace had escaped, one of the twins had pounded on her door, saying that they’d been playing a modified game of curling in the dining room, during which there had been an incident with one of the broom handles, and now there might be a tiny hole in the ceiling that they really were hoping to fix before Jules got back from a parent-teacher conference.

After a semi-decent attempt to fix the dining room ceiling that involved homemade papier-mâché and some of Dee’s white poster paint, Grace had ended up watching television with the kids for the rest of the night. It had all been so very…domestic.

Staring into her coffee cup, Grace wondered how this had happened. How had she gone from her wonderful, sparkling life to where she was now, sitting in a VFW-turned-diner in the shrinking town of Monroe, Colorado, and dreading her upcoming shift at a dog kennel?

“What’s wrong?”

No. Please, no. Grace pushed her coffee out of the way so her forehead could hit the counter with a thump. Why do you hate me, God?

“Are you sad because Oliver’s evil twin cheated on Constance with Tatiana?”

“Stop!” Sitting up abruptly, Grace covered her ears and glared at Hugh. He looked all amused and hot and cheerful sitting there on the stool next to hers—right next to hers—and that made her even crankier. How could he look so good when she was always such a mess around him? “Quit it, you nasty spoiler!”

He lifted his hands, palms out, as if to protect himself from her eye daggers. “Sorry! That was yesterday’s episode, so I assumed you saw it. Oh, wait… That was during coverall fashion-show time, wasn’t it?”

Since she could still hear his stupid voice, even with her ears covered, she dropped her hands and reached for her coffee again. She sipped it, pretending it wasn’t as cold as Hugh’s rotten, spoiler-y heart. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away.

With a groan that Grace knew was for dramatic purposes only, Hugh stretched out his leg. Since their stools were so close together, that put his foot right under hers, which were hooked on the bottom rung of the stool. For some dumb reason, her heart rate sped up.

From rage, she told herself, even as she recognized the lie. Sheer rage.

He shifted, and his knee bumped hers. When she transferred her glare from her coffee to his face, Grace caught the tail end of his smirk. That little knee touch had been intentional. “Respect my personal-space bubble, please.”

“Did I…nudge you?” His eyes widened with completely unbelievable innocence. “So sorry. My leg—the one that was shot, you know—was feeling a bit stiff.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she saw the corner of his mouth quiver. Even after knowing him for such a short time, she was perfectly aware that he was holding back a laugh. “So sorry your leg is stiff. Maybe you should walk a little to loosen it up.” She gestured toward the door. “How about that way?”

He laughed, and Grace turned her gaze back to her now disgustingly cold coffee so she didn’t reveal how much she liked the sound. “So, Grace Robinson…what’s your birth date?”

“Why?” The seemingly random question made her glance at him again. “Are you planning to steal my identity?”

That look of fake innocence was back, but this time there was a harder edge hiding beneath it. “Of course not.” He absently rubbed his thigh, and Grace wondered if his leg really was hurting. Three people—Dee, Jules, and Ty—had told her the story about how Hugh had been injured while heroically rescuing Sam during a school shooting. “Just wanted to make sure I knew when to bring over a birthday cake…and how many candles to put on it.”

“That’s okay. You won’t be invited to my birthday party anyw—You weasel!” It had taken her several confused seconds to realize why he wanted to know her birth date. The ass wasn’t just trying to get her to spill her secrets; he was actually investigating her! A reflexive surge of anger quickly morphed into fear. A cop was looking into her background, possibly checking databases and whatever other tools police had at their disposal. What had he found out about her? What did he know? Did Monroe share information with other police departments? Would Officer Jovanovic figure out that “Grace Robinson” from a small Colorado town was actually Kaylee Ramay from Los Angeles? Grace had no idea how police searches worked. All she knew was that she was screwed.

“I have to go.” She twisted off her stool so quickly that she lost her balance and was forced to stumble back a few steps. “I’m late for…” It was like her anxiety had made her brain shut off. She couldn’t be acting any more suspiciously if she’d tried. “Whatever. It’s none of your business anyway.” Her attempt to put more snap into her words failed when her voice quavered. It was time to walk away from this disaster before she made it worse.

“Hang on,” Hugh said, but the need to escape overwhelmed Grace. She couldn’t even pretend to act calm and unflustered. If she stayed, she was going to give herself away—even more than she already had.

Pivoting in a half circle, she scanned the viner for Jules, raising a hand in farewell when she caught her eye. Grace ignored Jules’s stay-there-I’ll-be-over-in-just-a-minute hand gestures and speed walked toward the door.

“Wait, Grace.” Hugh was behind her…right behind her. If she walked any faster, she’d be flat-out bolting, so she went for plan B—the women’s bathroom. The door was right next to the exit, so it only took her a few hurried steps to dodge inside. “Grace!”

The door closed behind her, shutting out Hugh. After quickly pushing in the button lock, Grace leaned back against the tiled wall. It was a tiny space without any stalls, just a sink and toilet. Grace’s stomach fell when she didn’t see any windows. It wouldn’t have helped, though. If she crawled out a restroom window to escape from Hugh’s questions, she’d only look guilty—guiltier.

A knock on the door made her jump. “Grace?” When she ignored him, the knocking increased in volume.

“Give me a minute!”

Thankfully, Hugh went quiet. She dreaded leaving the bathroom and facing him. The memory of how she’d checked him out, how his laugh had warmed her and her heart had sped up at his proximity, how comforting it had been to sit next to him while watching a soap opera, how stupidly safe he made her feel, brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. He was investigating her as if she were a criminal, at the same time that she was thinking how attractive he was. It was humiliating.

The seconds ticked by, and Grace knew she had to leave the bathroom, had to walk past Hugh and get to her car. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the wall and took a step toward the door.

The doorknob jiggled. She was opening her mouth to tell what was most likely a woman needing to use the bathroom that she’d be out in a second, when the button lock popped out.

Grace stared at it, horrified, as the knob turned and the door began to open. Suddenly, she was back in that bloody basement, watching the stairs. The torturers were coming back, they were here, and she was trapped. They were going to tie her up, and cut her, and beat her, and rip out one of her eyes, leaving a gaping, bloody socket—

“You okay?” Hugh asked, sticking his head and one burly shoulder through the opening.

Just like that, she jolted out of her waking nightmare, and her fear switched back to anger. “No! I’m not okay!” Her words came out in a screech. “You just picked the lock on the women’s bathroom and stuck your big, stupid head inside while I was in here!”

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth turning up. “It’s just a button lock. A two-year-old could’ve opened it. And it’s not like your pants are off or anything.” His gaze flickered down, and rage flared so strongly that her skin tingled. With a sound that came close to a roar, Grace shoved past him and stomped to the viner door.

“Grace,” Hugh called after her. The ass sounded like he was trying not to laugh. She didn’t even bother turning around, but slammed outside instead. The morning sunshine blinded her, and she stopped, blinking rapidly.

I’m not crying, she told herself, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. It’s just the sun. Hugh Murdoch is not getting to me.

The door opened behind her, bumping into her back and pushing her forward a couple of steps. Knowing exactly who was standing behind her, she whirled around and glared.

Her glare must’ve been on point, because Hugh actually stopped right outside the door and winced. Laughter was still there, though, bubbling just under the surface of his contrite expression, and that brought Grace’s rage up another notch, burning away any residual tears.

“You,” she said through gritted teeth. Her jaw actually ached from how hard she was clenching it.

Taking a step closer, he let the door swing shut behind him. “Yes?”

“You are the most aggravating person I have ever met!”

“Really?” Although he looked relaxed, there was a sharp edge to his gaze. Grace couldn’t tell if it was interest or excitement or just the look of a bloodhound on a trail—her trail. “Most people find me rather soothing.”

“Liar.”

With a shrug, he took another step. Although Grace wanted to stand her ground, she wasn’t sure what would happen if he were within reach. Her hands itched to either punch him or grab him. Both would end badly, so she retreated a step.

The gleam in his eyes intensified, and he moved closer. As desperately as she wanted to bolt, she knew it would just make him chase her. “I have to get to work,” she said, turning away and walking as casually as she could toward her car.

“Now who’s the liar?” He was just a half step behind her. Even though she was running away in slow motion, his predator instincts had apparently been triggered. “You don’t have to be at the kennel until eleven today.”

Stopping abruptly, she whirled to face him. “How do you know my schedule, stalker?”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a stalker.” Turning around had been a mistake, Grace realized. They were just inches apart. If she took too deep a breath, there would be chest touching. “I’m just…well informed.”

With the way his face was tipped down toward hers, she could actually feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. Unexpected heat roared through her, and she rocked back. Unwilling to take a step away and give up ground again, Grace crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to create a barrier between them. It didn’t help; Hugh was still much too close for comfort. She scrambled to catch the thread of their conversation. “Well, stop being informed.”

Even before he grinned, she knew that hadn’t made any sense.

“About me. Stop informing yourself about me.” That was even worse. Struggling to find her usual composure, Grace shifted back a step. That gave him the advantage, but she couldn’t think with him so near. Stupid Hugh with his stupid, muscly body was distracting her.

“Sorry, Grace.” His grin took on a shark-like cast. “I’m not planning on stopping. You’re a puzzle, and I don’t like things to go…unsolved.”

The last of her equanimity disappeared, evaporated with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to quit investigating her. Beneath her anger and the anxiety about what he’d discover, there was a hard kernel of disappointment. She didn’t want to be interesting to Hugh because she was some sort of unsolved puzzle. Despite herself, she wanted him to be interested because she was fascinating to him.

A tiny, dumb part of her wished that he was as attracted to her as she was to him.

When she realized she was just staring at him, thinking silly, useless thoughts, Grace abruptly turned and walked—well, stomped—toward her car. She was parked on the other side of the building, and she cursed herself for not picking one of the front spots instead. If she had, she’d already be inside, away from Hugh’s looming presence. Having her car sitting exposed, for anyone to see if they drove past, bothered her, though, so she tended to pick the most hidden spots she could find. It didn’t matter that the car wasn’t registered to her real name. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she just didn’t want to take any chances. One screwup, and she would be dead.

She turned the corner. Although she couldn’t hear footsteps behind her, she knew he was there, and close. Shooting him a narrowed-eyed look over her shoulder, she snapped, “Don’t you have something better to do than follow me?”

“Not really.” Although his words were light, the usual humor wasn’t there. Instead, he met her gaze with an intensity that made her whip her head around so she was facing forward again. Jokey Hugh was one thing, but smoldering Hugh could be a serious problem.

“Grace.” He caught her hand, bringing her to a halt. Although her feet stopped moving, almost of their own accord, she kept her gaze focused on her car. “Grace, look at me.”

She couldn’t do it. If she looked at him, she wouldn’t be able to think. It wasn’t good that the man who had the drive to discover her secret made her incapable of rational thought. A tug at her hand made her realize that she was stuck. Until she met his eyes, Hugh was going to stay there.

I can do this. She’d faced worse than Hugh over the past two weeks.

Setting her jaw, she turned around. Her gaze traveled up his solid chest, over his serious face, and locked on to his gaze.

“Why are you running away from me?” he asked, sounding completely sincere. “You can trust me.”

Unable to look away, she just pressed her lips together. She couldn’t trust anyone. Martin Jovanovic’s reach was too extensive. She’d made that mistake already, and it had left her hunted and crouching by a dumpster.

“I can help you.” He tugged her closer, and her traitor body gave in to his pull. His head tipped down, and air from his words brushed her cheek. Her breath left her in a shuddering rush as her eyes closed. He felt so safe, so solid, so strong…

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, directly in her ear. “Your real name?”

With a frustrated sound, she jerked her hand away. He was playing her, using her attraction to him to get the information he wanted. “You are such an ass!” She started to stomp away, but Hugh caught her again, around the waist that time. He pulled her tightly against him, her back pressing against his front.

“It would make things a lot easier for both of us if you’d just tell me the truth.” The rasp in his voice and the way his breath brushed her ear distracted her, tempting her to sink into the heat and strength of him—but then the meaning of his words hit her.

Clenching her teeth to hold back a frustrated scream, she yanked out of his grip and spun around. “I am not your puzzle to solve,” she gritted out, poking him in the chest with each word. “I’m not one of your suspects. You do not get to interrogate me.”

He caught her jabbing finger in a firm but gentle grip. Their eyes met, and his were hot and shockingly hungry. “You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.”

Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t say anything else. Was he serious this time, or had that just been another way to distract her, to disarm her? “Quit trying to butter me up. It’s not going to make me tell you anything.”

“I mean it.” His expression was completely earnest. There wasn’t a hint of laughter to be seen.

She stared at him, fury and anxiety and desire all swirling together in a molten mixture that burned her from the inside. This man was going to be the death of her. “You are so…”

“I’m so…what?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Hot?” The lilt of humor had returned to his voice.

“Arrrgh!” She started to turn away, fully prepared to stomp to her car, after which she would perhaps run him over several times, but his fingers closed around her arm, tugging her back around. Grace opened her mouth, ready to tell him off, but then her gaze collided with his. All amusement had been erased from his expression. The heat, the hunger burning in his eyes erased all thoughts of their latest argument and lit an answering inferno inside her.

Then his lips were on hers, and Grace was lost.