“I’m not finished with you. You’ve pushed me for years to kill her for you. Why do you hate Susannah Vartanian? What did she take of yours?” When he didn’t answer she grabbed his arm with her free hand. “Tell me.” She towered over him, blue eyes flashing cold fire, and for the briefest of instants he felt a tiny spear of fear.

Well done, he thought, proud of her once more. Carefully he removed her hand from his sleeve. “Sit down before you fall down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

She sat, shaky, pale, but still intense. “Tell me,” she repeated, more quietly. “If I’m going to kill her for you, I at least deserve to know why. What did she take of yours?”

Charles met her eyes. She made a fair point. “Darcy Williams.”

Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 7:45 p.m.

“Susannah, wake up. We don’t want to be late.”

Susannah fought her eyelids open, then sat straight up, looking around. “Why are we here?” Here was the airport and Luke was pulling into the parking garage.

“Surprise,” was all he’d say. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“Why are we here?” she asked again when he led her to baggage claim, toward the wall where the oversized luggage had been placed. “You had my clothes sent? But how…?” The question trailed as he took her shoulders and turned her. Susannah stared for a moment, then her heart flooded. “Oh.” She ran to the hard pet carrier sitting against the wall, falling to her knees to peer in the little wire door. A familiar face peered out, happy to see her. Thor. “How did you do this?”

“Al and I arranged it with your kennel.”

She opened the little wire door wide enough to stroke her dog’s silky coat. “Good girl,” she murmured. “I missed you. Soon. You can come out soon.” She locked the door, then looked up at Luke, and the tenderness on his face closed her throat.

“You missed her,” he said. “I thought it might be easier for you if she was here.”

She stood, swallowing hard. “You are a very nice man.”

His brows waggled. “And?”

She laughed. “And sinfully sexy.” And he was, reminding her of a pirate with his stubbled jaw, dark eyes, and devilish smile. Joy bubbled up and she surprised herself by throwing her arms around his neck. She’d surprised him, too, by the sharp intake of his breath. But he caught her to him, lifting her feet from the floor.

Then she sucked in a breath of her own as she felt him hard against her, suddenly, fully aroused. Her skin prickled and her body answered and that fast she wanted him.

You don’t have to stop this time. He knows it all. And he doesn’t care. So stop being a coward. She pulled back to see his face and her racing heart accelerated. The tenderness on his face was gone, replaced with raw hunger.

“Thank you.” Then she kissed him, full and lush, and felt his big body shudder.

He’d needed this, too. The knowledge made her want to kiss him again, so she did until he made a sound deep in his throat, relief mixed with frustration.

“Not here,” he said, leaning his head back and drawing a breath that pressed his chest into her breasts. New shivers shook her and she brushed her mouth along the strong line of his throat, feeling his pulse throb beneath her lips.

Behind them Thor yipped in the crate, yanking Susannah back to reality. “Oh.”

Luke’s lips twitched as he put her down, setting her well away from him. “Can you thank me again like that later when we’re not in a crowded airport?”

Her cheeks heated, but she refused to look away. “Yes.”

His hands flexed wide as if he’d reach for her again. Instead he shoved one hand into his pocket and pulled out a nylon leash. “It’s Darlin’s. We’ll have to stop and get another for…” He picked up the small crate and grimaced.

“Thor,” she supplied helpfully. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just not right. A dog named Thor should weigh more than twenty pounds.”

She smiled at him. “And ugly bulldogs shouldn’t be named Darlin’?”

He huffed. “She’s not that ugly.”

She laughed. “You’re just an old softie.”

“Thank me again when we get home,” he promised, “and I won’t be.”

Her heart started racing again and she found she liked the feeling, the anticipation. The thrill. “It’s a date.”

Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 7:45 p.m.

Bobby watched Charles methodically clean his surgical tools. He had quite a collection. She supposed some secrets he learned took a little more force to pry free than others. Having been on the receiving end of his scalpel today, she understood how he’d become so successful at breaking down his opponents’ defenses.

“So…” She tilted her head slightly. “Who was Darcy Williams?”

“She was one of mine.”

She nodded. He’d used that same terminology that morning. “Like Paul?”

He nodded. “Like Paul.”

“Is Paul your son?”

He smiled at that. “Of a fashion.”

“Did you raise Paul?”

“Yes.”

“And Darcy, too?”

“More or less.”

“But Susannah didn’t kill Darcy Williams.”

His eyes went cold. “She didn’t beat her to death, no. But Susannah made it necessary for Darcy to die.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t intend for you to.” He snapped his bag closed. “Call me when you’re ready to make your move. I’d like to be there.”

Bobby watched him leave, leaning more heavily on his walking stick than he normally did. “Charles?”

He turned, his face hard as stone. “What?”

She touched her bandage. “I pay my debts, so here’s some information. I learned from my GBI mole that Susannah Vartanian described the man who raped her in New York to a police artist. My mole was asked to fax that picture to the DA in New York so he could show it to the man who’s sitting in prison for the murder of Darcy Williams.”

For the first time ever Bobby saw Charles pale. “Did your mole fax this sketch?”

“No.” She lifted her brows. “I asked her why today as she was driving me away from the press conference. She said the man in the sketch was the cop who’d caught her, who hadn’t arrested her, who’d been holding her crime over her head, biding his time. Since Paul was the cop who’d given her to me, connecting the dots wasn’t difficult. And since Paul is important to you…”

He nodded, just once. “Thank you, Bobby.”

It was the first time he’d ever thanked her. After thirteen years, it was far too little, far too late. “Consider yourself compensated for the bullet removal. Sir.”

Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 8:45 p.m.

“That’s so cute.” Susannah stood in Luke’s bedroom doorway, smiling at Thor, who had curled up next to Darlin’ in a laundry basket, on top of Luke’s laundry. They’d brought back Chinese takeout and eaten it off his mama’s fine china, talking about wonderfully neutral subjects. By mutual unspoken agreement neither had mentioned Bobby or thíchs or pending concealed-weapons charges.

Neither had they mentioned the kiss in the airport, but the memory of it hung thickly between them. The anticipation had built, sweetly.

Now, Susannah’s heart beat hard, wondering what would happen next.

Luke stopped behind her. “No, it’s not cute,” he protested. “That laundry was clean.”

“Next time, put your clothes away.”

“Put your clothes away,” he mimicked nasally. “You sound like my mother.”

His arms came around her, locking over her stomach, which was turning delightful little cartwheels. He rocked her gently from side to side and she leaned her head back against his chest, comfortable with a man for the first time in her life.

“I had a nice time with your family today.”

“Good. They were thrilled to have you.”

“And you, too? Were you thrilled to have me?” She’d intended her tone to be light. Instead the words came out reedy. Husky. Needy.