And Able. Lucy Monroe

country that could have done it without the code, which he had not given her on purpose. And according to the stats he was now looking at, she’d done it a lot faster than even she should have been able to.

      “How do you know I did?”

      “I ran a diagnostic.”

      “Oh. You mean you have my security system hooked up to your computer?”

      “Yes.”

      “That’s how you knew it had gone off?”

      “Uh-huh. I didn’t leave instructions for the cops to call, but maybe I should fix that.”

      “Don’t you dare. This was humiliating enough as it is.”

      “The alarm can’t do you any good turned off.”

      “I’m not having the police out here every other day because I accidentally set it off. That’s just not okay, Hotwire.”

      “So don’t set it off.”

      She was silent on the other end of the line.

      “Come on, sugar. I know you struggle with focusing on the world around you sometimes, but you can train yourself to remember the alarm.”

      “Why do you call me sugar? I’m not a piece of candy.”

      “You taste as sweet as one.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      “Trust me. I’d rather suck on your tongue than a peppermint stick any day of the week.”

      “You’re flirting with me,” she said accusingly.

      “And I bet you’re blushing.” She acted tough, but she reacted to the attraction between them with more vulnerability than he was sure she wanted to admit to.

      She sighed, the soft sound shivering through him. “Maybe.”

      “You’re awfully innocent for a woman of twenty-eight.”

      “Innocent is one thing I’m not.” The cynicism in her tone was absolute. “And how did you know how old I am? Did you hack into my identity records?”

      “No. I found out the old-fashioned way. I asked Josie.”

      “Oh.”

      “You’re not going to sidetrack me from the issue at hand.”

      “I wasn’t trying to sidetrack you.”

      No, it probably hadn’t been on purpose. She just had a tendency to jump from one subject to another. “I’m turning the alarm back on and this time I want you to leave it that way.”

      “If it goes off again, I’m cutting the wires.”

      “You’ll do no such thing.”

      “Watch me.”

      “You do not have authorization to dismantle the alarm.”

      “This is not the military. I don’t need authorization. I’m the one living here. If I don’t want an alarm disrupting my life, I don’t have to have one.”

      “Then move out, but as her renter, you have no right to circumvent measures Josie has put in place to protect her property. The alarm and the house it safeguards belong to her, not you.” The words were harsh, but he had no choice.

      He couldn’t force her to keep the alarm enabled from several hundred miles away, and he’d already used the argument about Claire’s own safety to no avail. She refused to give credence to his concerns, but that didn’t make them any less real. And he refused to dismiss them because she didn’t want the inconvenience of remembering the alarm.

      “You’re right,” Claire said, her voice subdued. “I’m just the renter. This isn’t my home. I won’t disconnect the alarm again. If that was all you needed…”

      Josie was going to kill him. He’d hurt Claire’s feelings and he wasn’t all that happy about it himself. “Claire—”

      “Thank you for calling to check on m…the house. As I said, everything is fine.”

      “Sugar—”

      “I’ll try not to inconvenience you again. Good-bye.”

      The phone went dead in his ear and he swore pungently, glad his mama wasn’t there to hear him. His army drill sergeant had never intimidated him like her five-feet-nothing of southern belle charm.

      He hadn’t meant to hurt Claire, and he had not called to check on the damn house. His jaw ached from clenching it as he reset the alarm. He checked his messages and e-mail, but couldn’t get the hurt tone of Claire’s voice out of his head. Finally, he gave in and called her again.

      She didn’t pick up, and he checked her schedule only to realize she had a class and would be working later that night. He left a message telling her he had rearmed the system, but didn’t know what to say to undo the damage he’d done to her feelings, or even if it was a good idea to try.

      Choking back tears, Claire unlocked her front door.

      Lester was dead. She couldn’t believe it. He’d been at Belmont Manor practically since she started working there three years ago. There had been other deaths over that time. How could there not be, with the average age of the residents seventy-five years? But Lester was different. Lester was special. She’d loved him like family.

      For a woman who had known as little family as she had, that meant something.

      Just the night before, they had sat talking for over two hours and he had been mostly lucid. He’d told her more about his life as a paid assassin and she was convinced now that most of what he told her was real. He’d only started telling her about it this last year, since his senility had worsened, so it had taken a while to sort truth from hallucination. Unless he hallucinated the same things consistently, the stuff about his dark alter ego was real.

      She’d told him she was surprised he’d lived so long, considering what he did, but he said he’d kept his real identity a strict secret. The government and clients for his private jobs had only known him by the name Arwan…Celtic god of the dead. It was fitting for what he had done.

      Only she didn’t care what he’d been in his past; he had been an important part of her life now and it hurt so much that he was gone. He was the closest thing she’d ever known to a father figure she could respect, which was pretty darn pathetic, but there it was.

      She shut the door as the tears started to fall. She swiped at them and belatedly remembered the alarm. Saying a word she rarely used, she rushed across the room to its hidden keypad and coded in her entry before it went off again. She made it just in time and disarmed the system through the veil of moisture blurring her vision.

      It was a good thing she really did plan to move, because she hated having to remember the alarm. She would miss this house, but just like everywhere she had ever lived…it wasn’t her home. It wasn’t permanent. She was just a renter.

      She’d lived a lot of places in her life, some of them scarier than others, but they’d all had one thing in common…they had been temporary stops, and this house was, too.

      She wasn’t hungry and she couldn’t face studying. She was exhausted from grief over Lester and working after almost no sleep for the second weekend in a row. She stumbled down the hall to her bedroom, stopping along the way to reset the alarm.

      That should make Hotwire happy.

      Claire was dreaming. She was sleeping in the front seat of the old Buick she and her mom had called home for a few months when she was twelve. Part of her knew it was a dream, that she was a grown-up woman now, living in a house, not a car, but everything felt so real. She could even smell the must of the perpetually wet floor carpets.

      She could hear her mom’s slow breathing from where she slept in the backseat and she could hear a siren’s