Closer.... Jo Leigh

called again, Boone wanted a record.

      After running a quick check to make sure everything was running properly, he went to the living room and decided the couch was too narrow, so he stretched out on the floor. Milo joined him, not touching, but close. Boone closed his eyes, and he was gone.

      3

      CHRISTIE HEADED TOWARD THE GUEST ROOM, tightening the belt of her robe and wondering just how much of last night was real, when she saw him on the floor.

      He was on his back. No pillow, no blanket. Just flat out, his mouth slightly open, his right arm flung across his chest. Milo, who was curled up next to Boone’s hip, looked up at her questioningly, as if defending his choice of sleepmates.

      Okay, so the Boone part hadn’t been a dream. Which meant the bugs and cameras weren’t, either.

      She headed to the kitchen and got busy making coffee. She felt odd, and not just because of the stranger in her home. After the fourth scoop of Sumatra Mandheling, it dawned on her that she felt rested. Not week-in-a-spa rested, but it was the first morning in ages she could actually see clearly. More than that, the panic that had become her heartbeat was gone. No, not gone. Dampened. Definitely dampened.

      In theory, Boone could be the bastard. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. He would have tried something last night. She’d crashed in bed, he’d disabled the phone and she had no weapons. He already knew that if she were too scared, she passed out like a little girl. Instead, he’d gone to sleep on the floor of her living room. She didn’t understand that part at all. There was a perfectly nice guest bedroom just down the hall—so, what, he had a bad back?

      What she needed was coffee and an explanation. She desperately wanted him to be just what he said he was. It embarrassed her to realize how badly she needed to be rescued. Her, the woman who’d built her life around the fact that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That the knight in shining armor was nothing but a myth. And a destructive one at that.

      She poured the water into the coffeemaker and pressed the On button. The gurgle was a welcome sound, as was the click of doggie nails on the bamboo floor. Turning to face a very guilty-looking Milo, she crossed her arms and gave him the glare. “Breakfast time and who loves Mom now, huh? Didn’t your new best friend bring kibble, too?”

      “Nope. Forgot it.”

      Christie looked up to find Boone, his hair sticking up and his shirt wrinkled, standing just outside the kitchen.

      “Is that coffee?”

      “It is.”

      “You have cream?”

      “Milk.”

      “It’ll do. I’ll be back.” He turned and headed toward the bathroom.

      She looked at Milo. “What do you see in him? Besides his big bone?”

      Milo wagged his tail, but that was probably more to do with the fact that she’d picked up his bowl than any prurient interest in Boone.

      As she gave Milo his two scoops, she had yet another revelation. She’d made a joke. An admittedly poor joke, but still. Nothing had been funny, not since that first phone call. She put the dog dish down and when she stood, she pushed her hair back. It was longer than she liked it, and she hadn’t had highlights in four months. Hair care, along with other nonessentials such as eating and sleeping, had slipped away as she’d been forced into her nightmare existence. Seems, however, that like her sense of humor, she’d discovered she still had some vanity left, and she wished she’d showered before coming into the kitchen.

      When Boone joined her, he’d changed into a plain white T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Her idea of him as a businessman fell away as he reached down to pet Milo. The muscles of his back strained the shirt, making her wonder how he kept in such good shape. Of course, her gaze shifted downward and his jeans were just tight enough for her to see the curve of his small, tight, high rear end. Not that she had any prurient interest, either.

      He stood and she blushed.

      “Coffee?”

      “Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself. And don’t leave. We need to talk.”

      “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

      She headed to her room, curious, concerned, confused. But she couldn’t interrogate someone while in her bathrobe. After gathering her clothes, she went into her shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it. She’d had three nozzles installed, not just one, and they hit her in all the right places. Head, upper back, lower back. Perfect to release tension. Maybe today it would do just that.

      THE PHONE RANG WHILE SHE WAS in the shower. Boone went to the living room and checked that the answering machine was on. After four rings, the message played—Christie’s voice, no nonsense, nothing provocative. Just a request for a name and number after the tone.

      The voice he heard after that wasn’t so benign. He knew immediately that it was distorted by a digital signal processor, and there was a low electronic hum in the background so that nothing could be traced.

      “Naughty girl, Christie. You know we can’t let your friend come between us. If he leaves now, he won’t get hurt. And neither will you.”

      There was a click, and then the dial tone. Boone opened the answering machine and lifted out the tape. Despite the tricks the prick had used, Boone was going to let Seth give it a look.

      He went back to the kitchen, debating the wisdom of telling Christie about the call. She was upset enough. What she needed now was confidence. The decision made, he went back to his duffel and put the tape in a small bag, ready for Seth. He’d drop it off later.

      He poured her a cup of coffee as soon as he heard her in the hallway. He’d already had one, but another wouldn’t go to waste. If he was going to be here for a while, he’d have to get to the market. She didn’t have much, and he was a stickler for his coffee his way. Besides, she needed to put on some pounds.

      She walked in, changed from her robe into a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that he guessed used to be her size. The jeans were big, and where the shirt had a V he could see too much bone and not enough flesh. Shopping, definitely. After he’d done another sweep outside. He wasn’t taking any chances. By tonight, he’d know everything the geek had planted in or around her house. He’d check out her car, too.

      “Is this for me?” She nodded at the mug he’d poured.

      “Yeah.”

      Her look was more suspicious than grateful.

      “You had questions?” he asked.

      She went to the fridge and got out her low-fat milk, then to the cupboard for a packet of sugar substitute. When the coffee was to her liking, she sat down across from him. “Tell me about you and Nate.”

      “We met at Fort Bragg. We’d both been recruited into the First Special Forces Operational Detachment, and we trained together. He became a team leader, I was the radioman. There were four of us, basically, and some UN personnel. We were all together in that picture I showed you. We did a lot of hairy missions. Never lost a man. Never fell short of the objective.”

      “Nate would never tell me what he did. Just that he was working for God and country.”

      Boone could hear him say just that. In bars, mostly, when he was trying to impress the ladies. As if he’d needed a line. The women fell all over him. Not that Boone had done so badly, but he’d never been the magnet Nate was.

      “Why are you smiling?”

      He hadn’t realized he was. “Just remembering.”

      Christie leaned forward, and he could see the hunger in her eyes. The need to hear about her brother, lost so young.

      “He was hell on wheels when we were out of pocket. It didn’t matter where we were. D.C. or Kenya