A Breath Away. Wendy Etherington

from the cops. The restaurant manager told Remy.”

      “Convenient. What about press coverage?”

      “Light. Unfortunately, a shooting isn’t big news in Atlanta unless somebody famous is involved. This particular restaurant insisted the cops keep everything quiet and had the pull to make it happen. ‘A local diner was shot last night’ was as much as the media got.”

      Something positive in this mess, and yet the most important question was as yet unanswered. They might as well get to it. “Who suggested hiring me—you or him?”

      “You know him from…before, don’t you?”

      Jade shook her head. Her past was something Lucas knew she didn’t—couldn’t—discuss.

      Eyeing her, he stroked his chin. “He asked me to hire you. He called from the hospital emergency room, in fact.”

      “You’re that close?”

      “No.”

      Her cousin was a smart man. Brilliant, in fact. He’d sensed way more than was wise for him. He had a nice life and a beautiful new wife. He didn’t need the complications Tremaine had laid at his doorstep.

      Some friend.

      “He’s not really an art dealer, is he?” Lucas asked into the charged silence.

      No. No, he certainly wasn’t.

      Remington Tremaine was many things—arrogant and bold high among them. He was sneaky and obsessively private. He flouted rules and codes, and seemed to operate by a morality that made no sense to anyone but him. He was obscenely handsome and knew it. He was a dark mystery, the kind that inspired feminine sighs of longing and male snorts of envy. The kind whispered about by the very few who knew his true history.

      The two most important things Jade knew about him, however, were the two things she absolutely couldn’t share with Lucas. One, Remington Tremaine was a former international art and jewel thief. And two, he currently was an undercover agent with the National Security Agency.

      In this day of dedicated searches for terrorists, some of the “softer” crimes went unnoticed. Thieves were pushed aside in favor of tracking whispers about major terrorist attacks. But a small portion of NSA bosses suspected the spoils of certain burglaries were being funneled into terrorist groups, so there was still a group of agents who focused their talents on investigating that connection. Tremaine was part of that group, and the one most speculated about.

      None of the other agents knew how the NSA had lured him away from his cushy life of crime to the side of law and order, but he’d apparently done enough to keep the directors from prosecuting him for his previous transgressions. She’d always thought he was one of those forgive-you-to-get-the-bigger-bad-guy deals that were made with criminals all the time.

      What the hell had the NSA been thinking giving him a cover as an art dealer? That was like giving the drunk the keys to the bar.

      “Dammit, Jade,” Lucas said as he stood, “I have a right to know what’s going on.”

      Bracing her hands against the wooden arms of her chair, Jade rose slowly. At only thirty-three, she suddenly felt old and tired. But she was also furious. How dare Tremaine bring the NSA and God only knew what kind of criminals from his past to her doorstep? To Lucas’s doorstep—his supposed friend?

      The past never really leaves us, her business partner and mentor, Frank Williams, had once said. How right he was.

      “No, you don’t have a right,” she said, her gaze burning into his. “As of now, this is my problem. I want you to go back to work, back to helping people who actually need it. I want you to forget about Remington Tremaine. If anybody asks, you arranged the sale of some artwork for him, and that’s it. You know nothing else. Got it?”

      Green eyes so like her own flashed back at her. “I won’t sit by and let you do this by yourself.”

      Though she appreciated his blind support, she didn’t soften her gaze. “Where is he?”

      “Someplace safe.”

      “Dammit, Lucas, I don’t have time for games.” She leaned over his desk. “Where is he?”

      “You’re not cutting me out.”

      “Oh, yes, I am.”

      “Then I have no idea where he is.” He turned his back on her.

      She’d kill Tremaine for this, for involving her family in their sordid world of intrigue. Whoever was after him didn’t need to worry. She’d eliminate the problem and relish the act. Mr. Tremaine should look up her records. After reading the file about what had happened to the last idiot who’d messed with her family, he’d undoubtedly change his mind about getting to her through Lucas.

      She hated herself for scaring her cousin, but she did it anyway. Lucas had no training and belonged nowhere near the danger surrounding Tremaine. “What about Vanessa?” she whispered to Lucas’s back.

      Predictably, he spun to face her. He didn’t look so confident anymore.

      This is what you do, girl. Find a weakness. Exploit it. Get the mission done.

      “What about her?” he asked, his gaze hard and furious. And anxious.

      “Your wife isn’t part of this.”

      “Of course not.”

      “But she will be if you persist.”

      Lucas’s hands fisted at his sides. “Are you threatening me?”

      “No.” She walked around his desk and stopped just inches from him. She looked up into his handsome, trusted, beloved face. “But they will.”

      “Who?”

      Whatever scum from her old life that seemed determined to follow her into this one. Why had Tremaine contacted her? If he’d been shot on the job, why hadn’t he gone to the NSA? Had his cover been blown? Had he lost faith in the agency?

      Or was this shooting personal? Was that why he’d involved Lucas? To scare or intimidate her into taking his case?

      Once upon a time she’d been an NSA agent, as well, so she could understand the disastrous implications of any of those scenarios. But she’d retired—and not on the best of terms. Even though she now owned a security and investigations company, and could protect the average John Q. Citizen, she didn’t have the power or contacts of the agency.

      So why did Tremaine want her?

      “Who would threaten me?” Lucas asked, bringing her thoughts back to him.

      In disgust, she knew the vow of secrecy to her government only expired on her death, and no matter how bitterly she and the agency had parted, she owed them her silence about their ways and their world. She trusted Lucas, but she couldn’t share this with him.

      “Whomever shot Tremaine.” She laid her hands on his shoulders. “This is outside your realm, Lucas. Admit it and let me deal with it.”

      He shrugged off her touch.

      She fought against the hurt of his rejection. “Where is he?”

      “Gone.”

      Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. She goggled at him. “Gone?”

      “No one knows he left. They think he’s holed up in his hotel room.”

      “They?”

      “Everybody but me—including the police.”

      Resisting the urge to pull her hair out by the roots—she’d save that bit of torture for Tremaine—she paced the room.

      Damn the arrogant man. He should have let the NSA take him underground until the whole mess could be sorted out. Yet she knew, and not just because he’d called Lucas, that he’d abandoned protocol and forged