A Breath Away. Wendy Etherington

don’t want to hear about it.”

      Though his heart pounded, he watched her with the appearance of calm. The Arrow probably never stepped outside the lines. “Perhaps I bought it with my ill-gotten gains. Maybe everything I have is tainted with greed and deception.”

      Her gaze slid back to his. “Maybe it is.”

      “I’m a legitimate art dealer.”

      “I’m sure you are.”

      “I need your help, not your judgment. I can’t share my past with the police, and I’m not telling the NSA any more than they already know.” He rose to pour more coffee. “Are you taking my case or not?” He thought he’d assured himself of her participation by going through Lucas, but maybe he’d been wrong about their bond.

      “I’m going to have to dig deeply into your past.”

      “I know.”

      “You’ll have to give me names, dates, places.”

      “The disk contains plenty.”

      “I also want your impressions of people. Not just a scroll of data.”

      He nodded.

      “I’m taking your case.”

      “Thank you.”

      He was going to have to share things he’d rather not. He was going to have to relive times better left buried. He might even have to trust Jade Broussard.

      She didn’t respect him, and obviously abhorred his illegal past. He especially didn’t want to face her judgment, because then he might have to admit that in the black-and-white of the world, he’d spent most of his life in the dark.

      JADE KNEW the idea of sharing didn’t sit well with her client. Well, at least they had that in common.

      Very little else, but they had that.

      “Let’s start with the present. You’re sure the shooting isn’t job-related?”

      “That’s the most logical conclusion.”

      Again, she noted the careful choice of words. He didn’t exactly agree, didn’t answer her question, but he didn’t disagree, either. He kept the flow of conversation going without revealing his thoughts. She’d bet it served him well—in both legal and illegal situations.

      “Have you talked to Hillman?” she asked, expecting him to say he hadn’t.

      When Tremaine nodded, she suppressed her surprise and asked, “What did he say?”

      “What you’d expect—come in from the field, we’ll protect you.”

      “And you said no?” She was trying to picture anybody—even the man next to her—disobeying a direct order from Jordan Hillman, a high-level director at the NSA, who oversaw every active undercover operation and was one of the most secretly powerful men in the country.

      “I said nothing.”

      “Naturally. You’re good at that.”

      “It comes in handy at times.” He slid his hand along the back of the leather sofa they shared. The move was a sinuous caress, one that made her blood hum even as part of her remained professional, observing how well he fit into the contemporary decor of the room, though she was sure he’d look equally at home among oxblood club chairs and gas lanterns.

      He was a dichotomy.

      A mystery she longed to unfold. Much to her frustration.

      “So, he thinks you’re coming in?” she asked in an effort to force her brain to concentrate fully on her job.

      “I imagine he’s figured out by now that I’m not.”

      Great. Talk about a war on multiple fronts. “So we have them after you, too?”

      “No. I’ll call him and tell him I think I have a handle on who’s responsible.”

      “He’ll expect a full report—names, motives, etcetera.”

      “Not from me.”

      What was he holding back? She had little doubt he was only pretending to cooperate. He had an agenda here that went beyond the botched shooting.

      As she was mulling over the possibilities—maybe the shooting was NSA related, and he and Hillman were trying to draw her back into the agency—he reached out and stroked her jaw.

      She jerked back.

      “I wondered if you’d be hard and rough,” he said, seeming unaffected by her retreat. “You’re not. Somehow, you still have compassion and tenderness. I wonder how twelve years at the NSA didn’t stamp it out of you.”

      She was surprised to realize her throat was dry, and her face was warm where he’d touched her. “How do you know I put in twelve years?”

      “I know a lot about you, Jade Katherine Broussard.”

      His silver eyes turned to the color of smoke, and the heat emanating from his body slid around her like a cashmere wrap. There had been times in her life when her spirit had been so cold and lonely she’d have given anything for that sensation.

      But she’d found strength and purpose in her work. She had loyal friends and colleagues and didn’t need anyone to hold her hand when she ran into trouble.

      There were times, though, when she longed for something more. For a relationship like the one her parents had shared. For someone who both understood and challenged her. For white-hot passion that overwhelmed her, burning down the walls she’d so carefully built.

      “You’re very beautiful,” he said, leaning toward her.

      She blinked. What had she been thinking? Had she actually been daydreaming in the middle of an interrogation? The man was a client, an admitted thief and probably a master manipulator.

      She ignored his compliment—which was no doubt empty, anyway. “When did you last talk to Hillman?”

      “I called him last night.”

      The chief guy took his call? Another oddity in an already strange case. “You didn’t detour to Washington on your way to Puerto Rico?”

      “No.”

      She planted her boots on the floor and sat forward, her forearms resting on her thighs. “You talked to him? Not his assistant?”

      “Yes.”

      “Yet you said you were pretty much between cases. Just doing a little research. If you’re consulting with the top man, you’re doing a great deal more than that.”

      He said nothing for several moments, then he smiled. “Perhaps I am.”

      “That’s it?” She stayed in her seat and held her temper by the barest margin. “Look, I’ve had about enough of your evasive answers. And your mysterious past doesn’t intrigue me, it annoys me. If we’re going to make this…”

      “Relationship?”

      “…unconventional partnership work, you’ve got to trust me.”

      Still smiling, he shook his head. “Isn’t gonna happen.”

      He trusted no one. She understood, since she felt exactly the same way.

      “But—just so you know—there isn’t a big case or mystery,” he added. “I always work directly with Hillman. That was part of my agreement when I signed on with the NSA.”

      She got over her irritation long enough to be impressed. “Convenient.”

      He shrugged. “Mostly it was a power thing.” Grinning, he added, “I like having it all on my side.”

      The guy wasn’t just slippery good, he was amazing good. He charmed and disarmed, even as he