Wanted: Bodyguard. Carla Cassidy

town but around the country.”

      “You sell it on the Internet?”

      She nodded. “Right now most of my sales come in through my Web page, Designs by Lana. Speaking of jobs, as my husband, what exactly is it that you do?” She unplugged the soldering iron and leaned back in her chair once again.

      He liked that she had a directness to her gaze, that there was nothing flirtatious or simpering about her. “I’m an investment broker. I do most of my work at home.”

      “Where’s all your furniture and personal belongings?”

      It was apparent that she was thinking, working all the elements of their subterfuge around in her head. He couldn’t help but admire the intelligence that shone from her eyes.

      “Right now it’s all in storage,” he replied. “I couldn’t wait to get out here to be with my bride, so I stored everything and decided that once I got out here I’d figure out what to do with my stuff.”

      “Where exactly did we get married? We need details if we’re going to make it sound real.”

      “You’re right,” he agreed. “We got married by Elvis at one of those little white chapels.”

      She shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not the type and all of my friends would find that odd. A little white chapel is fine, but Elvis, as much as I loved his music, is definitely out.”

      For the next few minutes they discussed their wedding, deciding the name of the preacher and making up those little details that would make their story ring true.

      Twice he made her laugh with his silly suggestions, and he was stunned by how much he liked the sound of her laughter. It did amazing things to her face, lighting her eyes and making the freckles dance across the bridge of her nose.

      “It must be tough being a single parent,” he said when they’d sobered and felt as if they’d solidified their story.

      She shrugged and began to pack her jewelry items into the drawers of a large tote on wheels. “Sometimes it’s rough,” she replied. “Being alone is the worst part, but I imagine you don’t have to worry about that much.” She cast him a sly, knowing gaze.

      “When I want company, I can usually find it.” It wasn’t a boast; it was merely a statement of fact.

      “Finding company is different than finding somebody to share things with,” she countered.

      “I gather from that statement that you don’t intend to be alone forever, that you will probably eventually remarry?”

      “I would be open to the possibility. There were a lot of things about being married that I loved.” She glanced down at the table but not before he saw a whispered pain darken her blue eyes.

      An uncharacteristic softness swept through him. He knew what it was like to grieve, to miss somebody so badly you almost lost the will to live. “You got a bad deal,” he said gruffly.

      She looked at him once again and this time there was a steely strength shining from her eyes. “I’m not the only woman in the world to lose a husband. Bad stuff happens and you just have to deal with it. What about you, Riley? Ever been married?”

      “Nope, and I have no interest in getting married. Footloose and fancy-free, that’s the way I like my life.”

      “Sounds lonely to me.”

      He grinned. “Trust me, I’m never lonely.”

      “It’s a good thing this marriage is just pretend, otherwise I have a feeling we wouldn’t last together a month.”

      “A two-week marriage, that I can probably handle,” he replied.

      “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself with anything more lasting.” She got up from the table. “And now it’s time for me to say good night. Fresh towels are in the bathroom closet along with anything else you might need.”

      He stood as well. “No good-night kiss from my bride?”

      “In your dreams,” she replied with a wry grin. “Good night, Riley.”

      He watched as she left the room and then he walked over to the kitchen window and peered outside to the house next door.

      It was dark and silent, as if Greg had already turned in for the night. All the FBI agents had assured Lana that there was no danger to her, but Riley knew that no operation was without danger.

      Certainly he couldn’t foresee what Greg’s reaction might be if he discovered Lana was working with them to put the man on death row, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a positive thing.

      He sighed and turned away from the window, his thoughts returning to the woman whose life he’d interrupted.

      He’d been relieved to realize she had a sense of humor. That would certainly make things easier for both of them. And he was surprised to realize that he liked her.

      Not that it mattered. Even though he was flirting with her, he wouldn’t lose sight of the fact that he had a job to do here and that his time with her was strictly temporary.

      Stifling a yawn, he turned out the kitchen lights and headed for the guest room. Haley’s door was open and on impulse he stopped in her doorway and gazed at her.

      He didn’t want a wife and he certainly had never considered having a family, but he had to admit that Haley was one of the cutest kids he’d ever seen.

      He left her doorway and glanced down the hall to Lana’s door. He’d only guessed that she occasionally wore an old shirt of her dead husband’s to bed. He’d heard somewhere about widows doing things like that. On the nights she didn’t wear that to bed he guessed she was probably a nightshirt or pajama kind of woman.

      He frowned, wondering what in the hell he was doing even speculating on what she wore to bed. He went into the guest room, and after checking the cameras to make sure everything was on autopilot, he shucked his clothes and got into bed.

      His day had begun at the crack of dawn with a meeting in the field office to get this all set up. Now, even though it was just after ten, he was exhausted. He knew that part of it was because his body was still healing from the bullet that had slammed into his shoulder three months ago.

      He’d grab a couple of hours of sleep, knowing that the agents in the neighborhood would cover Greg’s house. He rubbed his aching shoulder as he tried to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed.

      Who knew that the creep he’d gone to interview would suddenly pull a gun and start firing? If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of Agent Morrel, Riley wouldn’t be alive.

      Fortunately, the near-death experience hadn’t changed his views on life or love. He hadn’t had a sudden epiphany that made him want to jump into a relationship or make babies to ensure the survival of his lineage.

      He closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep and began to dream and in his dream, he was back in that place and time where the nightmare resided and horror called to him.

      He watched himself enter the house and immediately smell something odd, something underneath the faint scent of baked cookies. The unusual smell caused his stomach muscles to knot. Bad. He knew something bad had happened. He called out to her, and when she didn’t answer the anxiety inside him grew stronger.

      Even when he saw the bloody handprint on the wall next to the kitchen it didn’t make sense, and he had no warning of what he was about to experience.

      He walked into the kitchen and the first thing that struck him was the blood. It was everywhere. Splashed on the walls, streaked across the floor. His brain began to scream at that moment.

      He found her on the other side of the kitchen island, sprawled on her back on the floor, her eyes staring unseeing and a knife protruding from her stomach. It was only then that the scream that had been trapped inside him released.

      “Riley!