Navajo Justice. Aimee Thurlo

idle remark, in this instance, made a very graphic and vivid image form in his mind. His body grew instantly hard.

      “Keep me posted, Burke.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “I’ve e-mailed you the information you asked for on the license plate of the suspect’s vehicle. You’ll find it next time you log on.”

      As he placed the receiver down, Burke leaned back in the chair. Handler’s electronically altered voice had originally bothered him, but he was getting used to it now. As far as he was concerned, it was a small inconvenience that came with a job he loved. His years with Gray Wolf had been good ones, and once he’d become supervisor, he’d given up his code name to remain the only traceable operative at the firm.

      He was the number one operative of an elite team, took on the most dangerous assignments himself, and, best of all, he’d avoided working a nine-to-five job—something that ranked close to getting a case of malaria on the Burke Silentman scale of really bad news.

      The house was still and the hour late, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. As was his habit, he switched on the computer at his desk to check his e-mail, and while the program booted up, considered the events of the last few hours. This whole case was a strange one, and had been from the beginning. Since that day three weeks ago when Doug had sent him an e-mail from West Medias, a country in Europe known for its warring factions—an e-mail that had been mysteriously cut off midsentence—things had been far from normal.

      Burke fished his wallet out of his back pocket, then reached for a photo of him and Doug. It had been taken shortly after they’d completed Intelligence training in the Special Forces.

      He smiled, looking at the younger version of himself and his friend. Throughout his entire life, after the death of his brother, Hoops, he’d only had one close buddy, Douglas Begay. Like him, Doug had seen hard times on the rez. They’d joined the Special Forces together as soon as they could to escape the poverty of the Navajo Nation.

      Over the years, they’d managed to stay in close contact. But all Burke really knew of Doug’s life now was that he officially worked in Europe for a legitimate publishing house—a job Burke had deduced was nevertheless a cover for what he really did. His buddy was heavily involved with Freedom International, a privately funded watchdog organization that championed human rights.

      Then, out of the blue, he’d sent that e-mail letter hiring Gray Wolf to protect the writer, Laura Santos—someone Doug had never met, as far as Burke knew. Unfortunately, the e-mail hadn’t only been incomplete—it had been impossibly vague. The only thing Burke knew for a fact was that Doug wouldn’t have hired them to protect Laura unless it was imperative that they do so. Recent events seemed to bear that out.

      Yet the only connection he could see between Doug and Laura was that Doug worked for a small publisher abroad—and Laura was a romance novelist. Laura’s background hadn’t revealed any link to West Medias.

      He needed to contact Doug and find out more, but there wasn’t any way for him to do that without heading overseas for a visit, and that just wasn’t possible. He was afraid to try and send an e-mail or a letter, or attempt a phone call, in case Doug was in as much trouble as he suspected, and was being monitored.

      Checking his e-mail, Burke found only a message from Handler informing him that the license tag was stolen, and probably the car as well. Finding nothing from Doug, Burke turned the computer off. It was time to call it a night. He walked down the hall silently, leaving Wolf to guard them, and went inside his room, closing the door behind him.

      Burke stripped off his clothes, letting them fall on the floor. He preferred sleeping in the nude, but considering the events of today, he decided to wear a pair of jogging pants for pajamas in case of an emergency.

      Setting his weapon on the nightstand, within easy reach, he crawled into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. The cool touch of the sheets against his chest reminded him of the silkiness of Laura’s hair and the smoothness of her skin. He’d never forget her taste and the way she’d felt in his arms.

      Annoyed with himself, he pushed her out of his mind. He had normal, healthy urges, just like any other man, but he’d never found it this difficult to keep anyone out of his thoughts, particularly a woman he’d just met.

      Of course, he’d known from the moment he’d kissed her that things would be different with Laura. This case would test him, but the real danger would have little to do with the men that might come after them before it was all over.

      With a groan, he shifted to his side and closed his eyes. No more thoughts. Not tonight.

      As he drifted off to sleep, his mind filled with vivid images of spring blossoms, a dark-haired beauty and a passion that wouldn’t be denied.