Enticing The Dragon. Jane Godman

a houseguest.” His smile dawned, swift and dazzling. “I’ll get you some clothes, as well, although I don’t claim to be an expert in women’s fashion.”

      Hollie laughed. “I’ll be glad of anything I can wear with dignity. Your sweatpants fall down when I walk.”

      “There is one important thing we need to talk about.”

      “There is?”

      “Underwear.” Torque rummaged in the drawer of the bedside locker and produced a piece of paper and a pen.

      Hollie placed her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m sharing my bra size with the man I’ve worshiped from afar for most of my adult life.”

      Torque’s face changed from laughter to seriousness, his eyes darkening to a slate-gray color.

      “What is it?”

      He shook his head. “Just that expression. Worshiped from afar. It makes me uncomfortable.”

      She waited for him to elaborate, but he switched the conversation to practicalities. Pointing her in the direction of the kitchen, he explained that there was fresh coffee already made and the toaster could be temperamental.

      “I won’t be long.” She sensed he wanted to say more, almost as if something was troubling him. Whatever it was, he shrugged it off and headed toward the door.

      “Can I make a call?”

      “Of course.” The moonstone glitter was back in his eyes. “My God, I never gave it a thought. Your family...”

      “I don’t have any family. I’m an only child and my parents are both dead. But I have a friend who looks out for me.” Although it was stretching a point to call McLain a friend, it was the best explanation she could come up with. “She can be a bit of a dragon, but she worries.”

      Torque’s rich, warm laughter poured over her. When she raised questioning brows, he shook his head. “There are worse things than having a dragon to watch over you.”

      * * *

      When the call went straight to voice mail, Hollie’s stomach did a bungee jump. This was the secure line Vince King had set up when she went undercover. McLain was her designated handler. The agreement was that she would be available on this number 24/7. Hollie had memorized the number so carefully she was actually able to recite it in her dreams. Her nondragon dreams. Voice mail was not an option.

      Maybe she had gotten one of the digits wrong. Taking a steadying breath, she ended the call without leaving a message. Slowly, deliberately, she tried McLain’s number again. And got the same bland voice mail message once more. Panic gripped the back of her neck like a mugger’s hand.

      Breathe. Think. After a moment or two, the mists cleared from her mind and some of her usual calm returned. She was letting the Incinerator get to her. Somehow she was making this about him, turning it into something personal. There could be a dozen reasons why her call wasn’t connecting. There could be a fault with McLain’s cell phone. A signal problem here in Torque’s house.

      She ignored the little voice that tried to tell her those arguments weren’t plausible. Even so, she wasn’t in any danger. If she wanted to, she could walk out of Torque’s home right now. Okay, she was barefoot and she would have to hold up his sweatpants with both hands, but the point was, she wasn’t a prisoner. She could go to Addison, get in a cab and get the hell out of here. Getting back to Newark wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it. No one was after her. There was no reason to look fearfully over her shoulder...

      The thought immediately made her cast a fearful glance behind her. No. She wasn’t going to do this. She had no proof that the Incinerator had set fire to the Pleasant Bay Bar, no proof that anything had happened to McLain. Her imagination was working overtime as a result of shock. Pure and simple.

      Her cell phone had died in the fire, taking all her contacts with it, but there was someone else she could call. It wasn’t part of the undercover protocols they’d agreed, but things had already veered so far off script she’d lost sight of the original plan. One colleague calling another wasn’t against the rules. There were other problems attached to calling Dalton Hilger, but they were personal. And they were in the past, she reminded herself. Her history with Dalton was something she preferred to forget. Unlike his cell phone number, which, for some strange reason, was imprinted on her brain.

      She knew he hadn’t changed it. Dalton was one of the agents on the Incinerator task force and she’d called him just last week to check some minor details. Her businesslike approach always jarred with his wounded pride. Five years ago, ending their brief relationship had been difficult. Even now Hollie always finished a conversation with Dalton feeling like she’d kicked a puppy...which was why her finger hesitated for a moment over the call button. But she trusted him, and that was what she needed right now.

      “Hilger.” The word was a hoarse mumble. A glance at the clock confirmed it was still early. Dalton wasn’t a morning person and Hollie guessed she’d just woken him on an off-duty day.

      “Dalton, it’s Hollie.” Sliding open full-length glass doors, she carried the phone and her coffee out onto a terrace that ran the length of the house. Torque had a rock-star view over the bay and she sank into a cushioned chair, drinking in the stunning vista.

      “Hey, Hols.” He yawned loudly down the phone. “McLain briefed the team that you were away on some Incinerator-related business.”

      “I am, but I need to get in touch with McLain and she’s not answering her cell phone.”

      He yawned again and Hollie could picture him. Tall and handsome, with brown hair that never quite did what he wanted it to, endearing in so many ways...just not right for me. Unfortunately, only one of them had been able to see that.

      “McLain’s away.”

      “What do you mean ‘away’?” The word came out as an undignified squeak and prompted another coughing fit.

      “Damn it, Hols. Could you warn me next time you plan on squealing like that? I have very sensitive ears.”

      “Where has McLain gone?” She regained enough control over her voice to infuse a warning note into it.

      “How would I know? She’s the boss. She doesn’t share her itinerary with me.”

      Hollie’s mind was racing. This was all wrong. No matter how urgent McLain’s business might be, there was no way she would have left Hollie without a contact. So what should she do now? Share her suspicions that McLain’s absence was linked to the Incinerator and the fire at the Pleasant Bay Bar? She knew how preposterous it sounded inside her own head. Trying to explain it to someone else, even someone she trusted as much as Dalton? Not happening.

      Unprompted, her thoughts turned to Torque. Maybe her perspective had become skewed when he walked through fire for her. It had certainly added another layer to the whole mystery. She faced a stark choice. Do the sensible thing. Tell Dalton about the blaze at the bar and end her undercover status here and now. Or play with fire—the analogy brought a grim smile to her lips—for a little longer.

      There was more. It was something she couldn’t define. Hollie was gripped by a powerful conviction that she needed to be with Torque. It wasn’t to do with him; it was about her. She had no idea where it was coming from, or why it had taken such a powerful hold. Maybe it was that old crush, or the shock of the fire. All she knew was she had never felt anything so strongly.

      Torque was the link to the Incinerator. She was sure of that. Did Torque know it? If she walked away from him now, she might never find out.

      “Are you still there?”

      “Yes.” She drew a breath, ignoring the pain in her lungs as well as the misgivings. “When McLain gets back I need you to give her a message. Tell her my cell phone has been damaged, but I’m fine and I’ll keep trying to call her.”

      “Okay, but I don’t know