Deep Cover. Sandra Orchard

hill beyond the site.

      “Here she comes now,” Laud said, motioning toward the car.

      Rick’s heart slammed into his aching ribs. He’d know that car—and its driver—anywhere. Ginny Bryson. The one person who could blow his cover wide open.

      She may not know what he really was, but she knew he was no construction foreman. Rick braced his hand on the nearest stud and razored a breath into his lungs. His ex-girlfriend couldn’t have picked a worse time to careen back into his life. How was he supposed to keep her safe this time?

      She parked next to Laud’s BMW, and the instant her sleek legs dropped into view below the driver’s door, Rick’s mouth went dry. The sight of her roused memories he’d been trying to forget for fifteen long months.

      The wind tousled her hair and reflexively his fingers curled. He could almost feel the silky caress of her blond tresses. In those moments when he let her take over his thoughts, he could still breathe in her lavender scent and hear the sweet ring of her laughter.

      Laud tiptoed through the mud to greet his niece, and then led her across strips of plywood toward the building.

      Instinctively, Rick limped into the shadows; the second Ginny looked past his new mustache and bristly hair and recognized him, she’d rat him out to her Uncle Emile. The uncle she’d claimed to never see.

      Rick glanced skyward and prayed for a miracle.

      A lone backhoe loomed on the horizon, silhouetted against the steel-gray sky, its tires caked in mud. Too bad the machine wasn’t big enough to dig him out of this mess.

      The last thing he wanted to do was lie to Ginny. Again.

      He’d relived her betrayed expression too many times during the lonely months since the last time. Rick slapped on his hard hat and steeled himself against his regrets. He’d been undercover on another case when they met and he’d made the choice not to tell her he was a cop. There was no going back now.

      Laud’s hand slid like a snake across Ginny’s shoulders, and Rick wanted to hurtle across the boards, rip her away from his grasp, sink his fist into Laud’s pretty face and scream the truth—the man killed people. People like Tom, and that old woman, trapped in her wheelchair as smoke ate the breath from her lungs.

      Instead, Rick shoved his fists into his coat pockets and hobbled toward them, trying to conceal the pain still crushing his ribs. If only his partner hadn’t run back into the burning building, he’d still be alive.

      Rick shook the image from his mind. Given the trail of dummy companies and insurance claims he’d unearthed following Tom’s death, Rick had no doubt that Laud torched his real estate for the insurance money, but Ginny would never believe his story. Her uncle had done too good a job covering his tracks by playing the town philanthropist. And in Ginny’s eyes, Rick was nothing more than something she’d scrape off her shoes.

      He’d let her keep that misconception, too, because once again, he had a job to finish. A job she could jeopardize if she knew what he really was—an undercover cop who wanted to dump her uncle in the dankest, darkest, dirtiest prison cell the province had to offer.

      Ginny turned and, for an instant, Rick forgot his mission as he drank in the flush of her cheek. The sparkle in her eyes. The ever-present smile.

      He took a second to enjoy the fact she still looked wonderful, uncontaminated by the scum he crossed paths with on a regular basis. The scum he’d wanted to protect her from. Yes, he’d made the right choice when he let her walk away believing he was a lying lowlife.

      He’d been fooling himself to think he could shield her from the danger of his profession. While out at dinner with Ginny, he hadn’t been wearing the acid-washed jeans and tattooed jacket that flagged him as a fellow gang member, but that hadn’t stopped Snake from recognizing him. And if the thought of what Snake might do to her if he’d figured out Rick was a cop hadn’t convinced him to let Ginny walk away, her horrified who-are-you expression would have.

      Ginny blinked once and then again more deliberately.

      He’d forgotten how strikingly green her eyes were, like a forest he could get lost in for hours. Only now they seemed to be measuring him and finding him wanting. Her smile wilted, and just once he wished he could see trust in those eyes again. Laud’s next words obliterated that hope.

      “Duke, this is my niece, Ginny Bryson. Ginny, meet my foreman, Duke Black.”

      Ginny’s gaze snapped to her uncle, then locked on Rick. “Duke?” she said, and then clearly struggling over how to respond, repeated stupidly, “Duke?”

      The memory of her parting words—you lied to me—knifed through his thoughts. All these months later, nothing had changed.

      Rick thrust out his hand and put as much enthusiasm into his voice as he could muster with the black clouds looming overhead. “Good morning, Miss Bryson. I look forward to working with you.” He held his breath, praying she would play the game.

      Her hand met his easily. Too easily.

      He’d forgotten how delicate her fingers felt, how soft against his work-worn palm.

      “I used to know a guy …” she said slowly, as though savoring each word. “He looked a lot like … you.”

      “Really?” He struggled to sound unfazed even as the specter of a saboteur targeting Ginny strangled his breath. “I get that a lot.”

      Ginny pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, his name was Rick.”

      Shivers of frustration and anger played havoc with Ginny’s insides as Rick, or Duke, or whatever he called himself these days, darted a glance at Uncle Emile. This project was too important to her to put at risk. Why should she care if Rick got into trouble?

      She should’ve blurted the truth about his alias on the spot, not let his pleading eyes win her sympathy. How dare he put her in this position? It was Uncle Emile—deceived by Rick’s lies—that she should be worried for. When she dropped Duke’s real name, her uncle had been too distracted by the sudden arrival of his secretary to hear. But the beads of moisture on Rick’s forehead didn’t look like raindrops.

      Good. Maybe he’d do the smart thing and quit before she really blew the whistle on him.

      Uncle Emile’s secretary handed him a file folder through her car window, said a few words and then drove off.

      Tucking the folder under his arm, Uncle Emile returned to Ginny’s side. “I have to go. Duke, I’ll leave you to discuss that other matter with my niece.”

      A light that said “with pleasure” glimmered in Rick’s eyes.

      Ginny grabbed her uncle’s arm. “There is no way I’m working with him.”

      Her uncle gave Rick-slash-Duke a once-over, while Rick had the gall to just stand there—the picture of innocence. “He looks a little rough, but you’ll like him once you get to know him.”

      Rough? Her uncle should’ve seen Rick with his head shaved. This new soldierlike buzz cut made him look almost decent.

      But she knew better than to trust appearances. She’d give him one more chance to bow out, and if he was too cocky to take it, he’d be sorry.

      Uncle Emile paused at the door of his BMW. “It’s not as if the two of you will work together that closely. But for today, Duke’s your man. He’ll answer all your questions.”

      Oh, she doubted that.

      As soon as Uncle Emile drove away, she turned on Rick. “What are you doing here?”

      His steel-blue eyes searched hers, slowly, thoroughly. “It’s good to see you again, Ginny.”

      Her name toppled from his lips with a huskiness that made her skin tingle. Long-buried feelings resurfaced, more fervent than ever. She dug her fingernails into her palms and fought