Straight to the Heart. Samantha Hunter

      “Three weeks. Keep him safe, let us know if there’s anything else going on—if you think he’s hiding something, if there’s a threat he’s not telling us about, some other reason he would refuse protection, anything. He can’t find out who you are—this is our only shot. If he makes you, we could lose him altogether. Don’t downplay this, Jo. And if things get messy, you call for backup—not like the last time.”

      “Of course,” she said, crossing her arms. “But for the record, I did call for backup. It’s in the report. It’s not my fault they took forever to show up and I had to try to handle things myself.”

      “Got it. But what happens next in your career rests on making this assignment work. I don’t want to lose you, so, like I said, make it work.”

      Joanna could only nod. She was a professional, and an assignment was an assignment, but God help her, the next three weeks couldn’t pass quickly enough.

      On her last case, she’d made a mistake. She’d decided not to wait for backup during a takedown—there wasn’t time, in her assessment, if they didn’t want a serial rapist to get away—and she’d taken a bullet for her trouble.

      It was the only time she’d ever been shot, and it had almost been the last time. Missed a major coronary artery by an inch. She would have bled out so quickly she wouldn’t even have known what happened. The guy had been apprehended a little later, but it hadn’t been by her. That stung almost more than the gunshot.

      Now, there was penance to be paid, and hers was babysitting Ben Callahan.

       1

      BEN CALLAHAN PAUSED IN THE doorway of the Lucky Break, the bar that he’d inherited from his grandfather, trying to figure out what was different. Scanning his surroundings, his senses honed by nearly eleven years as a navy SEAL, his gaze finally landed on the source of his curiosity.

       Her.

      A good deal of smooth, shapely feminine thigh was exposed by the short denim skirt that also showed off a spectacular bottom line. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Men filing in for the lunch hour bestowed appreciative glances on the new waitress as she walked from table to table taking orders.

      Dark-brown hair was caught in a loose ponytail that swished around her shoulder blades as she moved. The movement drew his attention to her strong, slim shoulders, tight waistline and long, graceful neck.

      As she turned, he saw she wasn’t big on top, but she sure made the most of what she had. A tall drink of water, was the phrase his mother often used; it came to mind as he watched his new waitress.

      Charlie, his best friend and second in command at the bar, had been in charge of hiring while Ben was out of town talking to the Feds. He didn’t want to be away any longer than he needed to, given the circumstances, but now he could stick close to home.

      Fortunately, Charlie had been lucky with finding a new waitress for them. Interviewing new help wasn’t a job Ben relished, even as owner of the place, mostly because his mother was too likely to send in the daughters of her friends, who were better candidates for marriage than waitressing. Then there were former girlfriends who came around since he’d been back, some of them still single, others divorced.

      That was the problem with returning to the town where you grew up. He still wasn’t completely used to it. It had only been a year, and leaving military life behind hadn’t been an easy choice.

      Family, legacy and land often went together in Texas. Those ties meant something—it was a lesson he’d learned in the SEALs, where connections to your team meant everything. They meant your life. Connections to your family worked the same way, that was how Ben saw it, anyhow. He had served his country and now he served his family.

      As well as copious amounts of beer to the locals.

      When his grandfather had died, Ben hadn’t been home in over two years. He couldn’t change that, but he could do his granddad proud now.

      Ben was slowly getting used to civilian life and he enjoyed it, for the most part. He’d moved into the old house behind the bar, and he had picked back up with rodeo, mostly bullriding and some roping. He was used to regular adrenaline highs, and rodeo satisfied that urge as well as possibly garnering championships for his parents’ ranch.

      The last show he had been in had provided a little more excitement than he’d been looking for, though, when he’d seen a murder. One of the judges from the rodeo was shot, execution style. Ben had been in the wrong place at the right time, witnessing the whole thing—though he hadn’t been able to stop it.

      It turned out it wasn’t a crime of opportunity, but had been connected to organized crime’s attempts to control large rodeo purses by drugging animals and by pressuring the judges. The man they’d killed had been one of the judges who had refused to play along. His three kids were now left without a father.

      The killer was now in San Antonio, and Ben’s testimony was going to put him away. Or, as the U.S. Attorney’s office would have it, Ben’s testimony would give them the leverage to make a deal that would lead to the bigger players the killer worked for. The FBI was involved, and the U.S. Marshals, and who knew who else? That split second had turned Ben’s life upside down.

      He knew from his military experience that a smaller evil was often the price of stopping a larger one. It was how the world worked, but he didn’t have to like it.

      He was also perfectly aware that, because the deal or the conviction rested on his testimony, he was in a certain degree of danger right now.

      So he’d canceled his late-summer rodeo appearances for this year, claiming he needed to be home to run the business. The government had offered him protection, which meant living at a safe house until the trial, but that wouldn’t help his family or friends. They’d even offered him Witness Protection, but he wasn’t about to leave the life to which he had just returned.

      Besides, SEALs didn’t run.

      The trial was in three weeks, the Justice Department had done a good job of keeping his identity out of circulation; they’d squelched any news stories about the incident, so Ben hoped they would get to the end of this without trouble. So far, so good.

      “Welcome back, boss,” Charlie said, closing the space between them as he walked out of the kitchen, spotting Ben standing by the door.

      Ben smiled and clasped his friend’s hand tightly.

      “Good to see the place still standing, Charlie.”

      “It was a lonely four days. We did okay. Good to have you back, though.”

      “Thanks,” Ben said, and looked at the new waitress again.

      This time, she noticed him too. Looking at him with big, dark-brown eyes, she smiled slightly and then turned back to her customer. “New girl?”

      “Yeah. She’s doing a great job, so far, though it’s only day two.”

      “Don’t recognize her from around here,” Ben said neutrally, but his mind was on immediate alert.

      Anyone new was a question mark. Normally Ben wouldn’t question a stranger showing up for a job, but right now, things were a little touchier than usual.

      “She broke up with her boyfriend, came down from El Paso looking for a job and a place to stay. Seems capable enough, and she sure is nice to look at,” Charlie said with a grin, his eyes noting some of the same attributes that Ben had been admiring. “Um, I rented her the apartment upstairs, too. Figured, what the heck? At least we know she won’t be late for work.”

      Ben’s frown was his response to that news. Of course, Charlie didn’t know about Ben’s situation. Ben didn’t want anyone to worry when there might not be anything to worry about.

      “I had to do it, Ben,” Charlie said, reading his expression. “When I came in yesterday, she was sleeping in her car