Undercover Colorado. Cassie Miles

lips as a chaser, she spit most of the tequila into the glass. Even with all these precautions, she was woozy. Clearly, Mac was trying to get her drunk. But why?

      He rested his elbow on the table and gazed curiously into her eyes. “How are you doing, Vanessa?”

      “Great,” she said defiantly.

      “Feeling a buzz?”

      “Nothing I can’t handle.”

      Drunk or not, she could nail his hide to the wall. If he was a dirty cop, she was the woman who could prove it. As she stared back at him, she was momentarily distracted by the devilish spark of amusement in his intense blue eyes. Being with his friends had loosened him up, and he almost seemed to be having fun. When the tension in his face relaxed, it was a very interesting face. Good bone structure. Strong features.

      Though he wasn’t as gorgeous as Jess and not as likable as Paul, she was intrigued by Mac. He was a man of many secrets. At the same time, he seemed straightforward and solid. Not the kind of guy who broke the rules. Was he dirty?

      “You know, Vanessa,” he said softly, “from the first time I saw you, you looked familiar. Have we ever met before?”

      “Nope,” she said.

      “It seems like you know me.”

      At the edge of her alcoholic haze, a warning bell went off. He was very subtly interrogating her, trying to get her to admit to a link between them. He suspected her.

      Easily, she slid back into her Vanessa persona. “You and me? Honey, we don’t run in the same circles.”

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “I just am.” Though she didn’t physically move away from him, she tried to create some distance. “And if you’re using this as a pickup line, it’s not very good.”

      “I don’t have to pick you up,” he pointed out. “You followed me.”

      There was no point in pretending she had come to the Sundown Tavern by coincidence. It had been difficult for Julia to arrange the logistics for this trip while still keeping the other safe house agents in the dark about Abby’s true identity. Though Abby didn’t see the agent who had acted as her chauffeur, she knew he was nearby.

      “I didn’t come here because of you,” she said. “I just wanted some fun.”

      “But you’re interested in me,” he said.

      “What an ego!”

      Across the table, Jess and Paul seemed to be observing their interaction with approval.

      “When a woman follows a man into town,” Mac said, “there’s usually a reason.”

      “What do you know about women?”

      She heard snickers from Jess and Paul, but Mac didn’t crack a smile. “I know this,” he said. “Women are good at manipulating. They have these secret agendas. Clever little plans. What’s yours, Vanessa?”

      “You know, there’s a word for that attitude. Men who don’t like women. Misogynist.”

      “Big word.”

      She tossed her platinum curls. “Just because a girl is pretty doesn’t mean she’s dumb.”

      “Ouch,” Jess said. “Score another point for Vanessa.”

      “Thanks.” When she stood, her knees were a bit rubbery. “I need to visit the little girls’ room.”

      She’d made this trip before they’d started drinking, and Abby wished she’d left a trail of bread crumbs to lead her back to the restrooms. The route led past the bar and a small dining area, which was empty, into a hallway. By the time she got to the door marked Gals, she was walking steadily.

      But her head was spinning. Mac seemed to suspect her of ulterior motives. Somehow, he’d seen through her cover story. A smart man. And attractive. She was dangerously close to wanting more from him than information.

      She had to stop thinking that way. She was a professional and had worked hard to climb through the ranks in the FBI. Mac was her target. There could never be anything between them.

      When she placed her hand on the restroom door, she felt someone clutch her shoulder. Acting on instinct, she whirled in her high-heeled boots to break his hold. At the verge of a karate chop, she checked herself. She knew this man. “Leo.”

      “I like the hair. You make a sexy blonde.”

      When he reached up to touch her curls, she slapped his hand away. Leo Fisher was no longer her fiancé; he had no right to touch her. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

      He gestured with a carved ebony cane. “No broken bones. I need some ligament repair on my knee, but it’ll wait.”

      “My sympathies,” she said coolly.

      His voice lowered. “How long has it been, Abby?”

      “Fourth of July. Last year.” The moment when she broke up with him was still vivid in her memory. There was no way she’d ever forgive him. “Tell me why you’re here. And make it fast. I need to get back to the table.”

      “I wanted to keep an eye on your boy, Mac Granger. If he’s one of the dirty cops, he might contact the guy I’ve been looking for.”

      “This is my assignment.”

      “I’ve been working this case for six months, and I’m close to getting enough evidence on the man at the top of the drug distribution chain. He owns a place in Vail. If your friend, Mac, tries to get in touch, let me know.”

      “Forget it,” she said.

      “Come on. For old times’ sake?”

      He was almost pleading, and that worried her more than if he’d come on strong. “Are you supposed to be on this investigation? Does anybody know what you’re doing?”

      “I’m undercover. You know how it gets.”

      “Yes, I do.” She worried that Leo had come unhinged and was acting on his own as a rogue agent. “I suggest you go back to Denver and get that operation on your knee. Take some time off. Schedule a visit with a counselor.”

      He handed her a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it. “Call me on my cell phone if Mac Granger goes to Vail.”

      She crumpled the paper and threw it on the hardwood floor. Then, she turned away from him. “Finding your drug lord isn’t my problem.”

      Her assignment was Mac.

      Chapter Three

      In a shabby little diner in Denver, three people hunched around a small circular table. Though it was late and nobody was seated nearby, they spoke in low, secretive tones. The topic of their conversation was Mac Granger.

      “If he figures this out, he could screw up everything.”

      “Forget about him. He’s stuck in the mountains.”

      “My point exactly.” The speaker took a long drag on a Marlboro Light. “He’s close to Vail. If he gets suspicious, he could start making connections.”

      Nervous tension wrapped around them like a gloved hand. For the moment, they were safe and warm. At any moment, the hand could open, and they’d be exposed.

      “Well, what do you think we should do about Mac? Kill him?” A strangled laugh underlined the absurdity of that idea. “We’re not murderers.”

      But the thought had been planted. To kill Mac Granger was the simplest solution. Better him than us.

      “I don’t know him,” the smoker said. “You both do. Is he the kind of guy who gives up easily?”

      “Never.”

      “Then