Wise Moves. Mary Burton

stomach tightened a notch. Reason tried to rein in emotion. Surprises always made her nervous. She was far, far away from Benito and Sheridan had said a carpenter was coming.

      Being ten minutes early didn’t mean he was a trained killer. She studied the man. He pulled off his cap and smiled at her.

      “I’m looking for Sheridan,” he said through the glass. “I’m the carpenter.”

      She relaxed and moved to the door. She clicked back the latch. “Sorry,” she said through the glass door. “You surprised me.”

      His expression changed to sheepish, almost boyish. “Sorry. I got a habit of showing up early when I go to a new job. I’d hate it if I got lost and was late for my first day on a job.” His southern accent charmed her.

      She opened the door. His thick black hair looked in need of a haircut. This close, she could see the sun-etched lines at the corners of very blue eyes. His nose had a ridge in the center, as if it had been broken. There was a ketchup stain on his shirt.

      His deep, raspy voice had her pulse scrambling. And that was a surprise. She’d not looked twice at another man since Carlos.

      “You must be Kristen Rodale,” he said.

      “How do you know my name?”

      “Sheridan told me. She said she might have to go out of town for a few days. Said a pretty blonde worked for her.” He winked. “And I’m guessing that must be you.”

      She ran her hands through her short blond hair. “Right.”

      His suntanned hand was tucked casually in his pocket and his shoulders were relaxed. “Sorry again about startling you. I figured you must have heard my old truck pull up. The muffler is shot and makes a heck of a racket.”

      He seemed like a nice guy. And she was being overly paranoid. “I was lost in thought. Please come into the studio.”

      He chuckled, wiped his feet on the mat and came inside. “No worries. I zone out all the time.”

      She held out her hand. “I’m sorry, can you tell me your name again?” She knew the name but wanted to hear him say it first. Security always came first.

      His large callused hand enveloped hers. Even white teeth flashed. “The name is Cambia. Dane Cambia.”

      Dane had used his real name. Something he hadn’t done with the other leads Lucian had given him. Sloppy. Especially now, as Dane held Kristen Rodale’s hand, he feared Lucian had gotten it wrong again. She looked nothing like Elena Benito.

      This woman did not have Elena’s long dark hair, and the bleached-blond hair was a startling surprise. The short cut accentuated high cheekbones, pale skin and large brown, wary eyes.

      Kristen wore loose-fitting black yoga pants that skimmed her calves. A snug electric-blue top hugged her full breasts. Like Elena, she wasn’t tall—no more than five-one or-two—but she lacked Elena’s curves. Kristen’s body was lean. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy makeup Elena was so fond of and her nails weren’t polished. She looked more like a teenager than a woman in her midtwenties.

      Over the last two weeks, Dane had investigated three of the five identity hits Lucian’s computer program had generated. When he’d seen the other women, one glance had told him they had the wrong woman. But to be thorough, he’d hung around each woman for a day, playing out the alias he’d fashioned for himself until Lucian could run the prints.

      Now as he stood in the yoga studio, he thought about the time he’d waste today pretending to be a carpenter as he waited for an opportunity to get something with her prints on it. He never took shortcuts and he’d go through the motions, but already his mind was looking ahead to the next woman, in Kansas City, who Lucian had identified as a possible match.

      “Mr. Cambia, welcome to the studio.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, no hint of an accent.

      “Thanks, ma’am.”

      She took a step back. “Sheridan said she gave you a tour yesterday.”

      “Yeah. I missed you.” He’d been disappointed because he’d missed Kristen by seconds. In fact, he’d seen her walking down the street away from the studio. She’d been going to lunch and running errands for Sheridan.

      “I usually get the middle of the day off.” She didn’t elaborate.

      He smiled, projecting a relaxed appearance that was as fake as the accent. “Oh, no worries.”

      Kristen glanced toward the rooms Sheridan wanted renovated. “You know what needs to be done?”

      “Oh, I sure do, ma’am. Sheridan told me.”

      She smiled and to his surprise his gut tightened a notch. Elena or not, this woman was a stunner. Her soft brown eyes reminded him that he’d been alone for a long time.

      “Then I’ll let you get to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

      He moved into the first room off the reception area. Like the one it connected to, this room was very small and unusable for anything more than storage. Sheridan wanted to knock out a wall between the rooms and turn the spaces into one large room. He flipped on the light.

      Dane had done carpentry work with his foster father when he’d been a kid. The old man had made his living building houses and often took Dane and Nancy along to help.

      “So have you been at the studio long?” He kept his voice even.

      Kristen went behind the counter and turned on the computer. Beside the computer was a stack of blue forms that needed to be logged in. “Not that long.”

      He made a point of not looking directly at her when he spoke. A direct, assessing gaze signaled a predator for most women. “How do you like Lancaster Springs so far?”

      “It’s great.”

      Dane hated small talk, but it was necessary. “So Sheridan is about to be an aunt?”

      The mention of the baby had her relaxing more. “Her sister went into labor early this morning. She’s two weeks early. Sheridan had hoped to be here to supervise the project.”

      “Ah, my brother and his wife have five kids,” he lied. “They are a wild bunch, but good kids. Every one is a joy. Does Sheridan’s sister know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

      The remaining tension in her face faded. “Girl.”

      “They pick a name?”

      “I didn’t ask.”

      Now that was odd. Women usually asked about that kind of stuff. Nancy always had. But it made sense. She didn’t want to connect with anyone in case she had to take off soon.

      He moved toward the desk. His six-foot-two frame loomed over her. Immediately, he sensed his height made her nervous, so he stepped back to allow her more space. It wouldn’t do to spook her before he got a positive ID on her.

      He glanced into the studio off the reception area. Soft recessed lights shone on thick carpet, a pile of rolled up mats and a stack of blankets. “So you into this yoga stuff?”

      “I just started taking it from Sheridan.”

      He scratched his head. “I don’t know a darn thing about yoga. But it seems a little odd to be stretching your body in every direction. For me a workout involves sweat.”

      She laughed at that. “There’s more to it than you realize.”

      “You look like you could be a teacher. What do you need, a license?”

      “Centeredness.”

      “What’s that?”

      She shrugged. “The ability to push the outside world from your mind and focus on one thing.”

      So she was distracted. Interesting. He shifted his gaze back to the room