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  He stepped back.

  The color he’d chosen was perfect. She looked like a siren. He should’ve guessed Skye Van Rijn would only stand out more as a blonde. Still, it was a highly efficient disguise. That’s what he loved about wigs. They were simple. And, in his experience, they worked.

  She threw her feet over the side of the bed, padded to the mirror and adjusted the hair around her face. She made a wry face, pouted at her reflection.

  Then she laughed. “What the hell is this for?”

  He stepped up behind her, caught the silver of her eyes in the mirror. She looked into the reflection, back into his eyes. The frisson was immediate. Heat swelled between their bodies.

  “I thought I’d take you out somewhere quiet for supper tonight. Get to know you a little better.”

  She turned slowly to face him, her breasts almost touching his chest. His pulse spiked. He swallowed against the tension that gripped at his throat. In the mirror he could see her shapely butt as she faced him. And he saw the unmistakeable stamp of raw desire reflected in his own features.

  He knew she could see it, too.

  She looked slowly up into his eyes. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his lips as she spoke. “Ah, you think they won’t recognize me in disguise?” Her voice curled through his senses. “Ingenious,” she mocked.

  He smiled, lifted his hand to gently move some of the hair from her face. “Maybe I just like blondes. Snowy-mink ones.”

  She stilled instantly at his touch, like a rodent frozen by a serpent’s stare. She was afraid. He could sense it in an animal way.

  He, too, was afraid, couldn’t move. They teetered silent at the cusp of something. One small move would send them down one road. Another would topple them over, past the point of no return and they’d end up naked, limbs entwined, hot and slick on that single bed.

  And Scott was so close to making the wrong move. So very damn close. His hand remained immobile against the skin on her cheek. He couldn’t seem to unhitch it.

  She couldn’t pull away.

  That’s when he saw it. Light refracting in tiny emeralds, eyes of a gold bug nestled at the hollow of her throat. He hadn’t really noticed it before.

  He moved his hand to touch the unusual gold pendant, remotely thankful to have found sudden purpose for movement.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  She jerked back, bumped into the dresser. Her hand flew to the jewel at her throat, focus returned to her eyes.

  “Jozsef…gave it to me just before the wedding.” She took another step back. “I—I don’t really like it.” She sank down into the chair next to the dresser, as if crushed by the sudden weight of an unwanted memory. She clutched the pendant, covering it with her hand.

  “But you’re still wearing it.” Scott didn’t know what drove him to say that. It smacked of accusation. He ran his tongue over his teeth. His mouth was dry.

  “I…he…Jozsef made me promise to wear this beetle always.”

  Scott stepped closer, laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Skye.”

  She looked up into his face. Her eyes were wide. He felt like a brutish bull, trampling over her pain. The woman was still hurting. He had no business feeling what he was feeling. No business using her pain to get inside her head.

  It’s your job, Agent. Remember that. Just another job.

  But it wasn’t. Not anymore. This one had taken hold of him. Deep down, he knew this was different. It was getting to him in ways he never anticipated. And if he didn’t grab control of himself, real soon, he was gonna blow it, seal his fate once and for all with the Bellona Channel.

  And that wasn’t a future he was ready to contemplate.

  “No, Scott, don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry to have dragged you into the mess of my life.” Her voice was brittle as she struggled for composure. “I’m not usually like this. It’s just that…that…everything’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, faced her. “What do you mean?”

  She inhaled a shaky breath. “When Jozsef gave me this pendant, there was something in his eyes. Like an urgency. He said no matter what happened, I must promise to wear this. It was like…like he knew something was going to go wrong. I think he knew when he gave me this beetle that he wouldn’t be at our wedding.”

  Scott reached out for her hand.

  She pulled away. “Please, don’t touch me.”

  Her words burned.

  He held back, moved his hand, instead, to pet the silky fur of Honey’s head. The dog could sense the unease, the emotion that pulsed through the room. She nestled her snout into the crook of Scott’s knee, whimpered softly.

  “Skye, why do you think Jozsef never showed?”

  She was quiet for a while. When she spoke, there was a quaver to her voice. “I don’t think he had a choice. I think something happened to him.”

  “Why?”

  “You think I’m in denial, don’t you? You think I’m scratching for excuses so that I can cope with rejection. I’m not. Things have been adding up weird. I got this feeling.”

  “What, exactly, makes you think something happened to Jozsef?” His tone was more demanding than he’d intended.

  She shut down.

  She yanked the wig from her hair, tossed it onto the dresser, raked her fingers through her dark tresses. “Just forget it.”

  He softened his voice. “Skye, if you talk to me, maybe I can help.”

  Her top lip trembled ever so slightly. “I just don’t know who to trust.”

  Scott lifted his hand. He needed to touch, to console. But he restrained himself. “You think Jozsef’s disappearance is more than some simple payoff.”

  She slumped forward, dropped her face into her hands, her hair curtaining him from her features. She shook her head, as if to discard everything in it. Her body jerked with a sob. Then another. Emotion tore through her, racked her frame. Scott could hold back no longer. He dropped to his knees in front of her, took her into his arms. Held her. Just held as she sobbed.

  Honey whimpered, tried to edge her snout into Skye’s lap. And they stayed like that. The three of them. A tiny vignette.

  A misbegotten, temporary family built on lies.

  Chapter 9

  Skye raised her face to the showerhead, let the water sear her skin. But the piping heat didn’t penetrate deep enough, couldn’t cleanse her past. Couldn’t wash away her present predicament.

  She stepped out of the shower, reached for the motel towel, scrubbed it angrily against her body. She’d said too much to Scott McIntyre. She’d crashed. That had never happened to her before. And Scott was no fool. He’d soon start putting the pieces together.

  She stopped suddenly, snared by her blurry image in the steamy bathroom mirror. She gave a quiet, derisive laugh. That was her, a blur of person. Out of focus. Not quite real. She reached forward, rubbed a hole in the mist with the back of her fist, stared at her own face. More than anything she wanted clarity, openness, honesty in her life. She wanted to be a real person again. Not an alias. She didn’t want to run anymore. The little clearing she’d made in the mirror closed in on itself, blurring her reflection as she watched. Skye frantically rubbed it back.

  She wouldn’t let Malik do this to her anymore. She had to make it stop. She couldn’t get old and die in obscurity, running for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t. It was time she fought back. Because right now, she had nothing to lose—apart from her life. And what was that worth? Not much living the way she was. She was hollow. And Scott had shown her just how hollow. He had made her feel human, real. And as much as it hurt, she wasn’t ready to give that up again.

  But how could she fight back? Could Scott really help her? Could she trust him with her darkest secret? She wanted to. Skye slipped into her yellow terry bathrobe and cinched the belt at her waist. She had to. She didn’t have a choice. Because she was not going to let Malik win. Not this time. She would not go back to the way she
was. She was prepared to gamble with her life on this. She’d even go to prison.

  She stepped out of the bathroom determined, an edgy adrenaline coursing through her veins, a thousand tiny butterflies fluttering in her stomach. But ready.

  Scott looked up as she stepped into the room. A smile creased the rough, tanned planes of his face. She could almost read relief in the sparkle of his green eyes as he watched her. She smiled warmly back.

  “You look like you feel better.”

  She rubbed a towel through her hair. “I do. How about that dinner now?”

  “Excellent idea.” He stood, slipped a pair of bookish spectacles onto his nose, looked at her quizzically. “What do you think?”

  She threw back her head, laughed from her heart. “Is that your disguise? I didn’t know you needed one.”

  He shrugged. “Thought it might be fun.”

  “Fun?” The word felt alien in her mouth.

  He stepped closer. “Sweetheart, we’re running from reality, we might as well enjoy the ride.”

  She swallowed, raw lust once again unfurling slowly through her veins. “How true.” He didn’t know just how true. She studied his eyes through the lenses.

  “Well, what do you think? How do I look?”

  “I—I think you look like a writer.”

  He wiggled his brows. “But I am.”

  “Yes. I do believe you are, McIntyre.” She laughed again. And it felt good.

  Skye gaped at the silvery-gray, four-wheel drive. “What’s that?”

  “That, my dear, is our new getaway vehicle.”

  She spun ’round, pinned him with her eyes. Her fake hair was platinum, surreal in the moonlight. “What happened to your black truck?”

  “Traded it in. Besides, this one goes better with your new hair.”

  She turned slowly, stared at the vehicle.

  “It’ll get us into the Zeballos backcountry,” he offered.

  “You think it’ll fool them?”

  “Worth a try.”

  “You did this…for me?”

  “You getting in or what? I’ve made dinner reservations.”

  She resisted. “Why? Why are you doing this, Scott?”

  He shrugged.

  She placed her hand firmly on his forearm. “I need to know why you’re doing this for me?”

  Guilt raised an ugly sharp head in his chest. He pushed it away. “Is a man being nice to a beautiful woman really such a foreign concept to you, Doctor?”

  “In my world, nothing comes free.”

  He slipped his arm over her shoulder, whispered into her ear, “You must learn to trust, Doctor. With trust comes freedom.” That thing in his chest twisted sharply. The words he’d just uttered stuck thick in his craw, the irony catching like thorns. He swallowed.

  She angled her chin, looked up into his eyes. “I know.” Her voice was soft. Warm. “I know.” She stood on tiptoe, bussed his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He just nodded and opened the passenger door for her. What did Scott McIntyre know about trust, about fun? Obviously a hell of a lot more than Scott Armstrong did. He walked around the Land Rover to the driver’s side and opened the back door for Honey. She hopped in, then he settled into the driver’s seat, started the ignition.

  Agent Scott Armstrong would do well to heed some of futurist Scott McIntyre’s advice, he thought ruefully as he shifted the vehicle into gear. Because right now his alias had a better handle on life than he did.

  Scott handed the wine list back to the sommelier. “We’ll have the Janus Creek Zinfandel.”

  The stunning blonde sitting opposite him scanned the room. Scott felt bizarre, as though he and Skye were part of a movie set. Two people playing roles in a fake life. But no one was going to yell “Cut” once dinner was over. They would be playing these roles for days to come. He wondered just what was going to give first.

  “This is beautiful, Scott. I thought you were kidding when you said we had reservations.”

  “It’s small. Quiet.”

  And intimate. But that was for security, he told himself.

  The sommelier brought the wine, displayed the label. Scott nodded. The man splashed rich red liquid into the bulb of his glass. Scott raised it to his nose sniffed, smiled.

  “Perfect,” he told the sommelier who proceeded to fill their glasses. Scott raised his to salute Skye.

  She smiled. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”

  “New beginnings?”

  She pointed to the label. “It’s a Sonoma vintage, from the Janus Creek vineyards.”

  “What’s that got to do with new beginnings?”

  “I know the place. Jozsef and I were there about a year ago. We were traveling up from Texas,” she said openly.

  “The farm is named after the Janus Creek, which runs through it. The source of the Janus is a spring that bubbles up precisely at the summit of two watersheds. It splits into two,” she explained. “Gravity forces one part of it to flow south to join rivers that feed into the Pacific ocean. The other part flows north before joining the Pacific.”

  “Two different directions to the same end?”

  Skye nodded. “That’s why the spring was named after the Roman god Janus. The god that looks both ways, covers both angles at the same time, guards every door.”

  “But why beginnings?”

  “Ancient Romans sought Janus’s help at the start of wars. They believed invoking him ensured their beginnings would have good endings. That’s why the first of January is dedicated to him. He keeps an eye on the happenings of the old year while looking forward to the new.” She studied him over her glass, took the rich red liquid into her lips.

  Scott’s eyes dropped to the label. He’d never given the appellation much thought. “I thought Janus was a two-faced liar. God of deception.”

  She shifted slightly in her chair, bit her bottom lip. It had drawn a faint burgundy stain from the wine. He could imagine the taste of her mouth. “Ever heard of Janus-faced, Skye?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s more of a modern English thing…that two heads equal a divided self. Janus is thus deemed an appropriate symbol for a self-deceived person. It’s not the way I see it.”

  He took a sip of wine, let it settle around his tongue, feeling the tart bite, the wild fruitiness, before swallowing. “So does this Roman Janus have a Greek counterpart?”

  She almost choked. She set her glass studiously down onto the linen tablecloth. “No.”

  He’d touched something. But what? Something to do with Greece? He leaned back in his chair, assessing. “You know an awful lot about this stuff.”

  “I—I had an interest. Years ago.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Scott could see the waitress approaching with their food. He sat forward. “You ever been to that part of the world?”

  “What part?” She looked edgy.

  “The land of the Gods of Olympus. Greece.”

  She shook her head. “No. Never.” The waitress set their plates in front of them. Skye moved quickly to change the topic.

  Scott filed the information away in his brain, turned to the waitress. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Can I get you anything else?

  “Some water, please,” Skye asked. She looked suddenly pale.

  “Sure thing.” The waitress halted, staring at Skye’s neck. “Oh, what a beautiful necklace.”

  Skye’s hand shot once again to her throat. “Thank you.”

  She looked away, her tone brooking no further discussion. But the waitress persisted. “My sister collects jewelry bugs. Her boyfriend just gave her a little gold bumblebee. What I wouldn’t give to find her a beetle like that for her birthday. May I ask where you got it?”

  Scott watched, vaguely amused. Skye continued to clutch the gold pendant. But she looked up at the waitress. “Why does she collect bugs?”

  “I know, she’s totally nuts. But ever since she was a kid she’s had a fascination for crawly things. She wa
nts to study entomology at university next year.”

  A hint of smile toyed with Skye’s mouth. “I think I’d like your sister. Tell her good luck. But I don’t think you’ll find a bug like this locally. This one was made for me in Europe.”

  “Too bad.” The waitress smiled. She left to fetch the water.

  Scott picked up his knife and fork. “Well, someone likes your beetle, even if you don’t.”

  Skye fixed him suddenly with her silver stare. She reached with both hands slowly up behind her neck and unfastened the clasp. She set the little gold bug with the emerald eyes on the table in front of them.

  Scott raised his brow in question.

  “I want her to have it. For her sister.”

  Scott set his utensils down. “The waitress? You serious?”

  Skye blew out a breath. “Yes. Dead serious.”

  He reached out, picked up the little beetle, weighed it in his palm. “Feels like solid gold.”

  She tucked into her food. “Probably is. I never liked gold.”

  “And the eyes, are they emeralds?”

  “Probably. I like emeralds.” She looked up into his eyes. “I like green eyes.”

  He swallowed. “You can’t just give it away.”

  “I need to do this. To move on.” She tried to change the subject. “Food’s excellent. Yours is getting cold.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  She stopped chewing. “Jozsef?”

  “You made him a promise, that you would wear it always.”

  “No. I didn’t. He wanted me to promise. I didn’t say the word.”

  “What if he does come back? What if there really was a valid reason for him leaving you at the altar?” Scott knew he was acting like a wretched dog with a bone. But all of a sudden, he couldn’t let it go.

  “You want to know if I’d take him back.”

  “Would you?” He could hear the sharp edge in his voice. But for the life of him, he couldn’t keep it out.

  She shook her head, and a secret weight lifted from his chest. He breathed deep. “Why not?”