One Eye Open. Karen Whiddon

      “Don’t you now?”

      Ignoring his skepticism, she continued doggedly. “Alex and I are different in a lot of ways. Of the two of us, he is calmer and more rational.”

      “Alex is an unemotional man,” he agreed, the savagery in his voice surprising her. “And I still don’t believe you’re his sister.”

      She leaned forward to peer at him through the dim light. “Did you ever see his birthmark? The one on his arm?”

      Surprise briefly lit his face. “Yeah, I did,” he said grudgingly. “I thought it was a tattoo at first.”

      Turning her back to him, she lifted her shirt, pushing down the waistband of her jeans so he could see. “The shape of a wolf,” she said, giving him a clear view of her own birthmark above her left hip. “Maybe you’ll believe me now.”

      He swore at the unmistakable evidence. “He never mentioned family. Any family. At all.”

      Ignoring that she let her shirt fall back into place, turning once more to face him. “You never told me. Where do you know Alex from?”

      “DEA.” He spat the single word. “We were undercover together. Alex was my partner.”

      Chapter 3

      “Partner?” For a moment she didn’t understand. Then, once she realized what he meant, she wanted to call him the liar. “You’re telling me that my brother was working for the FBI?”

      “DEA.”

      “Whatever.” She swallowed. “He would have told me.”

      With a wry twist of his mouth, Carson shook his head. “He couldn’t. Right after we graduated from Quantico, we were sent out together. We were both undercover.”

      Her heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

      “Very.” From the hitch in his voice, she knew he was thinking of his murdered family.

      “No wonder he didn’t mention me,” she said. “He didn’t want to put me in danger.”

      With a pointed glance at the clock, which now showed 2:45 a.m., Carson made a rude sound. “Who knows? Who cares? Turn off the light and go to sleep.”

      Stung, she glanced away. No matter what precautions her brother had taken, she’d managed to put herself at risk by traveling with Carson. Judging from the shooter and the men in the Hummer, danger had found her.

      Reluctantly she clicked off the light and closed her eyes.

      Morning came quietly, with bright sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. The second she opened her eyes, Brenna lay motionless, instantly alert, and listened for activity outdoors.

      “The snow’s stopped.” Carson spoke from near the door. How had he known she was awake?

      Slowly she raised her head. Even with his five o’clock shadow and sleep-mussed hair, the man looked devastatingly attractive. Dangerous. She licked her lips. “I haven’t heard the snowplows.”

      “They haven’t made it through yet.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think we got maybe a foot.”

      Forcing herself to look away, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Powder?”

      “I can’t tell. Probably, under the crust. We’ll find out. There’s a coffee shop across from the motel office.”

      She stretched, yawning. Though her jeans were snug, they were comfortable and she’d slept well in them.

      “I’d like to take a shower.” She rubbed the palms of her hands on the faded front of her jeans. “That way I’d feel more human.” Now there was a laugh.

      Carson opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he’d been about to say was drowned out by a burst of static as the clock radio alarm on her nightstand went off.

      The previous occupant must have set it. Shocked, she saw it read 10:00 a.m. They’d slept late.

      “Breaking news.” The radio announcer’s stern voice broke into the dying strains of the music.

      “Drugs were involved in a multiple murder in the small town of Welkory near the Vermont border.”

      They looked at each other. Swallowing, Brenna grimaced and reached to turn up the volume.

      Details followed. In the midst of a bank robbery less than an hour earlier, two groups of people had opened fire on each other, killing several innocent bystanders. One of the getaway cars had been captured, trunk loaded with cocaine. Supposition was that the robbery had been an attempt to gain money to pay for the drugs.

      “Damn,” Carson said as the news announcer switched to another story. “That’s north of Hawk’s Falls. We need to check it out.”

      “The Claws?”

      “Hades’ Claws,” he corrected absently. “And yes, I’m willing to bet they had something to do with it, especially since Welkory is so close to their hideout. Add the cocaine, and it’s pretty much a given.”

      Again she met his gaze, letting him see her fierce determination. “You think Alex was involved, don’t you?”

      He shrugged, turning away. “No doubt.”

      Brenna took a long look at the man who’d claimed her as his captive. In the small room the pain radiated from him so strongly it made her own heart ache with sympathy she could ill afford. She needed to focus only on finding her brother and ensuring his safety.

      “Let’s go,” Carson said.

      “Wait.” She held up a hand. “We need to get something straight. Your family is gone. You want revenge. I’ve got that. But I want to know the truth. You said you knew Alex well, that he was your partner. Well, why would he go bad? Is it possible there was some other explanation why he was at your house when it happened? Some other reason he had a gun?”

      The absolute silence in which he glared at her was the embodiment of rage. Though the muscle that ticked in his clenched jaw should have been adequate warning, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing.

      “What do you think he did? Really? Murder, rape, torture?” The mere notion of someone thinking her twin could hurt anyone for no reason, anyone at all, made her furious. “He’s incapable of those things. You should know that, too—if you truly know him as well as you say.”

      Despite her taunts, Carson said nothing. His features seemed cast in stone. Implacable. Angry. Hurt. She noticed he, too, wore the same faded jeans and dark flannel shirt as the night before. And boots. The man wore cowboy boots made of some kind of exotic leather.

      “Somehow I have to prove to you that my brother is not the devil incarnate.”

      “You only have to prove it to yourself.” Bitterness coated his words with acid. “Grab your coat. We’re hitting the road. Since the robbery was less than an hour ago, the investigation will be in full swing.” He consulted his watch. “The interstate should be plowed. If we leave now, we’ll get there in time to talk to them.”

      For the space of a heartbeat, she merely looked at him. “Logic,” she drawled. “The one thing I can’t argue with.”

      A few minutes later they were back on the road. He’d been right about the snowplows. Piles of snow lined the one open lane on each side. Carson constantly pressed the Seek button on the radio, looking for more news about the robbery.

      The farther north they went, the less deeply the snow appeared to blanket the ground. The highway opened up, too, all lanes, though the traffic seemed considerably lighter than the day before.

      Welkory, Exit One Mile.

      As they approached the turnoff, he reached behind him and yanked a wrinkled black jacket from behind