Deadly Hunter. Rachel Lee

himself. He’d made his choices. But it sure got irritating at times. Even the most casual of conversations felt like a minefield. He’d probably get used to it, though. He’d gotten used to a lot worse.

      So he had some decisions to make and some learning to do. First off, he could have handled that encounter with the woman—Allison—with a minimum of common courtesy. Damn, it wasn’t as if his name was classified. Would it have been so hard to say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Jerrod”?

      Except that it might have been taken as an invitation to get to know him better. So he’d been rude. Not even helping her up after she’d slipped could make up for his cold response to her friendly greeting.

      Time to learn to get through those simple courtesies without keeping his guard so high that he failed at the smallest aspects of daily life.

      It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how. During his service, there had been plenty of opportunities to practice the social graces, at least to a minimal extent. Certainly the academy had drilled them into him. But then covert operations had kind of drilled them out.

      Still, it was no excuse. What was going on inside him? No longer in uniform, he was feeling like some kind of sham. Because at heart he was still a long way from being a civilian.

      He sighed and pressed his forehead to the icy window glass. When his career came to a close, thanks to shrapnel lodged near his spine, he hadn’t dreamed that he’d feel so much like a stranger in a strange land. Or that he’d be so ill prepared for a so-called normal life.

      His old normal was no longer normal, and he needed to get his act together. Traipsing around the countryside all day, every day, might ease the need for action, at least a little, but it wasn’t moving him forward in any useful way.

      He had a lot of years ahead of him, and he needed to do something worthwhile with them. If worse came to worse, he supposed he could return the call from the CIA, but did he really want a covert future where his ability to act would be hemmed in by pretending to be a diplomat? Was he even certain that he would do any good? At least what he’d been doing for the military—well, damn near all of it—had sure as hell seemed necessary.

      The CIA was a whole different can of worms, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to open. At least in his former capacity, he hadn’t usually needed to lie and gain the trust of people who shouldn’t trust him at all.

      There it was again, that whole lie-and-trust issue. Kind of late, he thought almost bitterly, to be developing moral qualms.

      Or maybe not too late. Not too late to want to do something productive rather than destructive. The only question was what would satisfy him. What did he feel equipped to do that didn’t involve sniper rifles and C-4?

      Maybe he just needed to take it in small steps. One little thing at a time.

      He glanced at his watch and saw it was only eight o’clock, still early, although the winter had made it dark as pitch out there.

      Maybe he could rectify one small rudeness. Just a small step, but a right step.

      One foot in front of the other. That had gotten him through more than he cared to remember. One step at a time.

      * * *

      The ringing of her rather sickly sounding doorbell startled Allison. Her friends seldom dropped by unannounced and solicitors were rare on cold winter nights.

      She dropped her red pen, tossed her reading glasses on the stack of papers and walked to the front door, rubbing her neck as she went. It hadn’t taken long for the first seeds of eyestrain to start making themselves felt from her forehead to the back of her neck. She wondered at the tension, then decided she was probably more worried about tomorrow than she wanted to admit, even to herself. Tracking down a poison so dangerous that many countries had declared it a chemical-warfare weapon would be no picnic, no matter how carefully she collected her samples. One slip might be her last. Unfortunately, she was the only one available with sufficient expertise to do this. Her fault for taking training with a decontamination team while she had been in graduate school. Curiosity had led her to this point.

      She opened her door and felt her heart skip a nervous beat, even as her jaw dropped. She didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly not the enigmatic guy from next door who had barely answered her earlier greeting. Up close like this, she saw that while he was lean, he was also larger than she had thought, and both the porch and hall lights cast his harshly angled face in high relief.

      For the first time, she realized he looked dangerous. But as the wind whipped snow into her door, stinging her face, she knew she couldn’t stand at the door like this for long. He might be wearing a parka, but she sure wasn’t. Should she let him in?

      “I wanted to apologize,” he said gruffly.

      She blinked as snow crystals melted on her face and made a quick decision, possibly a stupid one, but time would tell.

      “Come in,” she said. “I’ll freeze standing here.”

      He hesitated, as if he considered his purpose here completed, but then gave a slight nod. She stepped back, letting him in and closing the door against the frigid night and blowing snow.

      She wiped her sleeve across her face to get rid of the wet, then caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. Her grungies. A great first impression. But as she raised her gaze again, she met eyes that looked about as black as a starless night, and just about as cold. A little shiver passed through her.

      “Coffee?” she asked.

      Again he hesitated. “Sure. But I only wanted a minute of your time, not to disrupt your evening.”

      “Anything that takes me away from grading papers is welcome.” She didn’t know whether she was being brave or brainless, but manners were deeply ingrained.

      She almost waved him into the living room, then changed her mind midmotion. Living rooms were too comfortable. They invited people to stay. She wasn’t at all sure that would be a good thing, so she led him into the kitchen. Coffee tasted the same at a table.

      Behind her she heard him unzip his parka, but when she turned around as she reached the coffeepot, she found he hadn’t removed his jacket. He pulled out one of the chairs at the round oak table and sat on its very edge. A man poised to get the hell out...or to move quickly.

      “How do you like your coffee?” she asked.

      “Black as hell and hot as Hades.”

      She blinked. “Okay. I’m not sure it’s that hot, though.”

      He closed his eyes for just an instant. “Sorry. I’ve been living too long among guys. I guess I could have phrased that more politely.”

      “It’s okay.” She quickly filled two mugs, getting a fresh one for herself rather than trotting back to her office. She sat on the opposite side of the table from him, as far away as she could get. Unsure about this visit, she, too, sat on the edge of her seat.

      “So why should you apologize?” she asked.

      “Let me start at the beginning. Hi, I’m Jerrod Marquette. Nice to meet you. Sorry I was rude when you said hello earlier.”

      “Nice to meet you, too,” she said, although she wasn’t absolutely certain about that yet. “Allison McMann. Or did I tell you that?”

      “You told me, which makes it even ruder that I didn’t respond.”

      Since he seemed to be making an effort, she sought for a way to make one herself. “Well, maybe you weren’t too happy to be greeted, but you were sure fast to the rescue when I fell. Thanks for the concern.”

      He shrugged one shoulder. “It was nothing.”

      “But it would be something for someone who isn’t too keen on meeting the neighbors.”

      He looked away from her, his gaze growing distant. “Training. Instinct. All of it.”

      “All