Code Name: Baby. Christina Skye

      “And let you jump me? No way. You’re staying right there, and I’m staying right here with my rifle. I just called the state police on my cell phone. They should be here shortly.”

      Police were the last thing Wolfe needed. He moved away, slipping around the corner beyond the closet.

      “Where are you going?”

      Wolfe heard her stumble, her legs striking an overturned chair.

      He didn’t answer, moving silently through the darkness, staying low as he circled the counter. Then he stepped in fast, pivoted and knocked the rifle from her grip.

      All in all she had put up a pretty good defense, but Wolfe was still furious. Trace should have installed an adequate security system before he left, damn it. He should also have taught Kit a fallback plan in case of an attack. She was living miles away from neighbors or police and she was pinned against the counter, the rifle behind her on the floor. Anyone else could have done some real damage to her.

      Wolfe felt the dogs close in. Baby pressed against his leg, whining, and Diesel nuzzled his thigh.

      “What are you doing to my dogs?” Kit said sharply.

      Typical, Wolfe thought. Pinned to the counter, she worried about the dogs, not her own safety.

      “Nothing. Stop fighting and I’ll pull out my light so you can see my face.” Wolfe found his penlight and raised it slowly, shining it up at his head.

      She winced in the sudden blue-white beam, her eyes tracking to his face. Her breath caught. “Wolfe?”

      “I’m sure as hell not the Avon lady.”

      “You should have said something sooner.” Her voice sounded unsteady. “I could have shot you.”

      “Next time I’ll be sure to send a telegram and flowers,” he muttered.

      Her voice was tense. “Why are you here? It’s not Trace, is it? He hasn’t been shot or anything…?”

      “Trace is just fine.”

      Her breath hissed out slowly. “Then why—”

      “He wanted me to see how things were going here.” The lie slid smoothly off Wolfe’s lips. “So here I am.”

      She leaned back, trying to get a better look at his face. “I don’t believe you. Trace would have told me if you were coming.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind? You’re flattening me against this counter.”

      Wolfe silently cursed and moved a few inches back. “Reflex. Sorry.”

      “Why did you lock me in that closet? And who broke my window?”

      “We can discuss it later. Let’s get your power back on first.”

      She shoved against him, her body brushing him from knee to chest. When she turned her head, her lips were only inches away.

      Concentration deserted Wolfe for a moment. With an effort he managed to focus again. “Where’s your fuse box?” he asked gruffly. He sure as hell knew where his was.

      She didn’t answer, her cheeks touched with color as he backed out of reach.

      “Well?”

      “Beside the kitchen door.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’ll go outside and check.”

      “Hold on. Let me take a look first.”

      She turned slowly, her face pale in the half shadows. “What aren’t you telling me?”

      Wolfe shrugged. “It never pays to take chances. Trace should have taught you that.” Taking her arm, he steered her toward the far side of the kitchen, away from all the broken glass. “I’ll go out this way.”

      “You still remember your way around after all this time?”

      “I remember a lot of things.” Most of them were bad, but Wolfe didn’t mention that. “What’s with the body I feel against my leg?” She’d definitely expect him to be curious about her four dogs.

      “That’s probably Baby. She has to get her nose right in the middle of everything.”

      “Baby?” Wolfe managed to sound puzzled.

      “The four-legged kind. Shine that light down here.” Crouching near the door, Kit was instantly surrounded by eager, panting dogs. “Meet my newest pupils.”

      Wolfe ran his light from dog to dog, pretending to be surprised. “Four of them? You never do anything by half, do you?”

      Kit smoothed Diesel’s fur. “I’m a sucker for a beautiful pair of eyes.”

      “I’m a leg man myself.” Wolfe cleared his throat as the penlight flashed on her long, slender thighs.

      “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

      “I told you, Trace asked me to—”

      “You never could lie to me, Wolfe.” Kit jerked down her nightshirt as she walked to the side door. “The fuses are out here, by the way.”

      “I’ll take care of it.” Wolfe cut in front of her and checked the darkness. “Looks quiet enough.” When he glanced down, the dogs were right beside him, their noses pressed against the glass door. “Back, you guys.”

      “Down,” Kit said quietly.

      Instantly, all four dogs were on the floor, motionless.

      “Stay.”

      Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You and the dogs had better stay inside just the same.” As he held up the penlight, his other hand edged to the pistol hidden at the small of his back. “How far to that fuse box?”

      “About six feet. It’s just above the power meter on your right.”

      Wolfe opened the door and listened. Nothing moved. He felt no hint of Cruz or any other intruders. Silently, he followed the wall to the fuse box. “Circuits have been reset. Hold on,” he called.

      A moment later, light flooded from the windows. He closed the box and turned to find Kit staring at him. “Something wrong?”

      “You look…different.”

      As a welcome, it could have been worse, Wolfe thought. And it was true, he did look different—bigger, faster and harder. Now there was a coldness in his eyes that made people step out of his way.

      Inside the door, he turned to face her, ready for more arguments. But she surprised him again, gripping his chin and turning his head up toward the light.

      “You’re bleeding, you idiot. I’m going to kill Trace for not telling me you were coming.” Kit leaned closer, frowning. “What was that noise from the kitchen?”

      “Someone broke in. He was alone, and I handled it.” Wolfe tried to pull free, uncomfortably aware of the heat triggered by contact with her body. “Forget about my face.” His cheek was swelling from the one blow Emmett had managed to land. “It’s nothing.”

      But Kit moved closer, pressing him against the refrigerator door. “I’ll clean it better than you would.” She dodged under his arm, her long legs flashing in a way that left Wolfe’s throat dry. “Why didn’t you say something about it before?” she called.

      “There wasn’t a lot of time for conversation. It’s just a scratch anyway.” Distracted by what felt like blood dripping into his eye, he let her shove him down into a chair beside the sink. “Kit, you don’t have to—”

      “Shut up, Wolfe.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. He was trying not to notice the warm brush of her fingers, the pressure of her breast against his shoulder. He especially didn’t want to watch how her nightshirt rose over her thighs as she reached into cabinets and opened