Alias. Amy J. Fetzer

know too much, and right now, she felt weak enough to slip up.

      “Well at least you didn’t get arrested,” she said.

      He stared at her hard for a second, then pitched the smoke onto the pavement. “Don’t do anything that stupid again,” he said coldly.

      She didn’t need a reminder of the danger she’d put herself in. The bruise on her hip would do that. “I didn’t have a choice. And I can take care of myself.”

      He sent her an arched look that said after the stunt she’d pulled tonight, he wasn’t so sure. “Why do you keep doing this, Piper?”

      Piper. God, what she wouldn’t give to hear her own name. “Because no one else will help them.”

      “That’s what the cops are for.”

      She scoffed. They’d been down this route before. Ever since that night nearly two years ago when he’d busted through a door to apprehend his bounty and found her helping a woman escape, he’d appointed himself her protector. She almost laughed. If he knew the truth about her, he’d be outta here. Or hauling her in to the police.

      Darcy’s only advantage was that Maurice had never filed kidnapping charges against her. She knew why—it would mean giving up control of his life if he was investigated.

      “If that always worked, then they wouldn’t be calling me, would they?” Or you, bounty hunter.

      Jack moved away from the post, stopping inches from her. From under the dark hat, his China-blue gaze bored into her. He gently pinched her chin and turned her face to the side, looking for marks. “Did he hurt you?”

      She stepped back, yet was touched by his concern. He looked as if he’d just about burn rubber to go avenge her.

      “No, he never got the chance,” Darcy said. “I had the advantage of surprise and he was tanked already.”

      He folded his arms. The motion made him look bigger. “You should know by now that booze just makes them stronger, meaner—”

      “But slow and off balance,” she cut in. “Besides, you know that most of the time when I rescue a woman, the man isn’t home.”

      Jack snarled something she didn’t get, then said, “Were you thinking of Charlie when you confronted that ape?”

      Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t lecture me, Jack. You know I was. Charlie’s all I have. And if you don’t like the way I do things, then why are you always shadowing me?”

      She didn’t expect an answer. She’d asked once. He never explained and wasn’t open to prying. Neither was she, so she dropped it. Though she’d tried skirting around him, he always found a way to be near. It was simply less aggravating to include him in her plans, and she admitted she felt safer with Jack and his big gun close by.

      “Charlie needs his mother alive, not in a damn grave!”

      His sharp tone stung, felt chastising, and she stiffened. “You think? Jeez, Jack, you act like I wanted to face down Eli. I waited as long as I could! He was going to kill her.”

      “And then you.”

      “Then be on time!”

      His head snapped back, his expression taut.

      She arched a brow. The air between them felt charged. Darcy felt so brittle and angry, she was spoiling for a fight.

      “I’m capable of defending myself and you know it.”

      What he didn’t know was that she’d graduated from the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, a private high school in Arizona that recruited exceptional girls and trained them mentally and physically to become anything they could imagine. Many Athena graduates went on to do government work, or joined the military. Darcy knew more about survival, self-defense and investigating than the average woman. While she’d never thought of herself as exceptional, she had good reflexes, strength and a sharp mind. Of the rest of the Cassandra team, two worked for intelligence agencies, one had joined the police force, one had become a national newscaster who had been recruited for government operations on the side, and one was rising fast in the ranks of the U.S. Air Force. What Darcy did for abused women was dangerous enough, but her skills were in deception. By altering her face and hair and using her acting talent from UCLA Drama, Darcy could deceive her own mother. She’d never regretted not going into the CIA when they’d come to recruit her. She had Charlie because of that choice, and though the rest of her life wasn’t perfect, she wouldn’t trade being his mom for any of it.

      Maurice was her only regret now. He’d taken control after she’d married him, but then, she’d given some up for him to do that. Never again, she thought, even if it meant ignoring her attraction to Jack.

      “Yeah, but fast and agile doesn’t always match up against big and brutal.”

      “Don’t I know it,” she muttered. For a second the cool ice of his gaze softened.

      He was powerful without saying a word. His rare smiles made her stomach pitch, and Charlie adored him. That alone warned her that Jack Turner was in her life too much already. Yet Jack was so unlike Maurice. He respected her views, cared less what people thought and dressed more for comfort than style—his black hat was shaped with wear, his brown bomber jacket a relic from the fifties. He was rarely without either. Or his gun.

      Like her, he played everything close to the vest, as if testing people. He didn’t play games. Didn’t waste time or words. If she succumbed to even a scrap of her feelings, he would take her heart. And she’d made too many mistakes to invite more trouble.

      “You’re thinking too hard, I can tell,” he said softly, his gaze riveted to her.

      His gentle tone rippled over her skin, making it tighten. “Yeah, I know.” She shifted, hitched her bag on her shoulder, stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “I have a lot on my mind.” Before he could lend those big shoulders to lean on she said, “Go to your room, Jack. You must be tired, too. I’m fine.”

      He frowned, his gaze scouring her features as if he could see into her soul. It unnerved the hell out of her.

      “You sure? You haven’t been still for two seconds since you got out of that car.”

      She pushed her fingers into her short layered hair, unknowingly making herself look a little wilder. “Yeah, but it’s nothing that some sleep won’t cure.”

      He didn’t look satisfied, yet he took her room key, opening the door and pushing it wide then leaning against the doorjamb.

      Across the parking lot, the Sleep Easy neon sign sputtered and flashed, splashing blue light over him. He looked her over, long and slow, the single glance telling her he knew what she looked like naked. Darcy’s insides clenched with bubbling need, her nerve endings raw near him, her body too aware of his. Desire spiraled and she closed her eyes, wishing him away, wishing he’d come to her.

      She felt suddenly lost. Disconnected to everything.

      No Rainy.

      No freedom.

      No solutions.

      She raked her fingers through her hair again and gripped the back of her neck. Her eyes burned.

      Damn, damn, damn.

      “Piper?”

      She slammed her eyes shut, craving to hear her own name. Darcy, she wanted to shout at him. I’m Darcy Allen. I’m here, behind all these disguises and lies, I’m here!

      Then he was there. Up close. She didn’t have to look to know. She could feel him, warm and male. And oh, he smelled good. Hunger flushed through her body, begging for a man’s touch, to be a woman and not someone else’s savior when she couldn’t even be her own.

      She opened her eyes, snared by the blue patience in his.

      “I’m down there.” He gestured to the long corridor of street-front