Covert Christmas Twin. Heather Woodhaven

up? Have you noticed any injuries?”

      She focused on her breathing, and the fog that she’d operated in for the past fifteen minutes began to fade. Her bones and muscles ached from the sheer force of the explosion, but other than that, she felt fine. “No. What about you?”

      He glanced down at his thumb as the garage door started to go up. “I think I got a nasty splinter but other than that—”

      She snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Do yourself a favor and don’t lead with that injury at the next academy reunion.”

      He flashed the good-natured smirk that made him seem five years younger, and she found it contagious. She needed to choose to trust that Joe knew what he was talking about and keep moving forward.

      The garage opened to reveal an old-fashioned cruiser bicycle with white-rimmed wheels and a basket. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ll tell you right now I’m not sitting on the handles while you steer.”

      He waved her toward the interior door. “This is my place, a rental. The bike came with the house. I thought we could wash up, and I’ll ride this to pick up my car and come back to pick get you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to grab a bag before we travel to Caltech.”

      The statement brought back the sense of urgency. “You have a go bag ready, right?”

      He nodded. “Some habits die hard.”

      She suspected it was more that he wasn’t really ready to leave the FBI, but she didn’t want to start that discussion again. “Between the shooting on campus and the house exploding, I would imagine all the ways out of town will be guarded checkpoints in no time flat. While I think we could pass inspection, I’d rather not increase Masked’s chances in discovering I was the Fed who contacted Beverly.”

      “I’m not worried about the checkpoints. I know of a farm with an access road that leads clear out to a highway. I’ll be shocked if anyone thinks to monitor that.”

      She reached up and brushed the soot off his cheek without thinking. He stiffened but looked down, a kindness in his eyes that made her heart beat faster. She pulled her hand back as if burned. “Sorry. I’m sure you can take care of that yourself.” What was wrong with her?

      “I’ll take all the help I can get.” He shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to my appearance.”

      As if. His clothes always looked brand-new, crisp and fresh. She gestured toward his button-down shirt that amazingly, despite the soot covering it, didn’t look wrinkled.

      “I find ironing to be relaxing, and I like starch.” He opened the door inside his house. “Restroom is to your left. I’ll grab my car first and we can either leave town or get your rental, though I think the campus will be on lockdown.”

      “I parked on a side street.”

      “Smart. Should’ve known you would’ve.” He strode in the house and up the stairs while she stepped in the spotless washroom. Her apartment was barely lived in and wasn’t this clean. She didn’t think the adage “cleanliness is next to godliness” was actually in the Bible, but it probably didn’t hurt as a quality trait on his résumé if he really was making a transition to being a pastor. Kendra made sure all evidence of ash and grime was removed from herself and the sink. Once she got her bag from her car she would have to change clothes at the airport to ensure no one smelled smoke on her before boarding.

      She stepped out and Joe stood waiting, holding a bag in one hand and offering her a water bottle in the other. It was as if they’d both switched on autopilot. Within fifteen minutes, they’d returned his car to the garage and managed to escape town in her rental, even though they’d passed plenty of parked police cruisers and black SUVs, likely assigned to federal agents. They both kept their hats and sunglasses on despite the overcast skies, until Joe found the dirt access road on barren farmland that had already been harvested.

      Another sixty minutes later, they returned the rental at the airport and bought separate tickets on Southwest with direct service to Los Angeles. Since there was no assigned seating on the airline, they could sit together without fear of someone looking at the manifest and connecting the dots. By the time the attendant announced boarding, they’d gone three hours without speaking, which was fine with her.

      “You know what I remember most at the academy?” Joe asked, as if he’d heard her thoughts and wanted to correct her. He leaned back in his seat, ignoring the flight attendant’s safety speech. “Boxing.”

      She cringed. “I have a lot of memories of Quantico, but that’s one of many I definitely choose to forget most of the time.” The boxing test was a necessary, but painful, part of training. All trainees had been paired up in a boxing ring, men against women, and told to beat on each other in order to prove they could defend themselves. “I’ll never forget that poor accountant. Cynthia, was it?”

      He groaned. “Brandon popped her right in the nose, and that was it. She quit.” He shook his head and sneaked a glance at her. “I wouldn’t have lasted, either, if I hadn’t been paired with you.”

      “Maybe.”

      “No, I’m sure. I’ll never forget tapping you on the shoulder while the instructor yelled to hit you harder. If you hadn’t made it clear you knew how to defend yourself with that fake-out jump punch to my jaw, I wouldn’t have passed.” He shook his head. “I still don’t agree with that part of our training. If I’d actually made any contact with you or caused any bruises like some of the others...”

      “You can thank my three older brothers and my Tang Soo Do instructors. I had to be an expert in wrestling and blocking maneuvers.”

      “I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me back then, too.”

      She found herself smiling, not at the memory of having to fight each other, but from remembering what happened afterward. “I never thought I would be consoling a guy who tried to hit me—even though I totally know you took it easy on me—with burgers and fries.”

      He laughed. “I felt horrible. Never thought I would ever try to hit a girl, even if it was for training.” His smile morphed into a frown. “I think that was when I first questioned whether I’d taken the right path.”

      There he went again, implying he was serious about leaving the FBI. She refused to believe it. “I’m sorry I got you wrapped up in this. Obviously, it’s not normal FBI work, so you can’t really judge—”

      “You heard Beverly. She had this in mind for me ever since I met her, just shortly after I arrived as the interim associate pastor. I was just too trusting to see it.”

      Kendra chose her words carefully because she knew—despite the loud aircraft noise—that someone might overhear bits and pieces of their conversation. “But if you hadn’t needed to help me this morning, she might not have been able to manipulate you into coming with me. For that, I’m sorry.”

      He leaned slightly toward her so only she could hear. “There’s no need to apologize. While I stood in line, I realized that it wouldn’t have mattered.” His voice was soft and caring. “All Beverly would’ve needed to do was mention your name, and I’d have come running. I think she knew that.”

      Kendra felt her eyes widen but didn’t reply. What did he mean? Because they could never, ever, be more than friends no matter how strong the attraction. Agents together as a couple never worked.

      He clenched his jaw and looked down as if he’d said too much before he leaned back and closed his eyes.

      Joe thought he managed to act nonchalant the rest of the way to Los Angeles and even through the insanity of renting a car and driving to Pasadena from LAX in rush-hour traffic. Inwardly, though, he worried that his admission to Kendra sent the wrong message. Her eyes widened as if he’d just proclaimed romantic intentions, but if he tried to correct her and explain that