Undercover Colorado

“Denver.”

“I thought you were from around here.”

He shot a suspicious glance in her direction. “Why would you think that?”

“I heard you talking before I came in.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes. “Is it true? Are you a mountain man?”

“Not anymore. I left Redding when I was eighteen.”

“But I bet you still ski. You look athletic.” She squeezed his bicep. “I bet you’re real good at sports.”

He shrugged off her grasp and concentrated on slicing a tomato. Talk about unresponsive! This disregard had to stop right now. Abby purposely sliced too close to her index finger and nicked it.

“Ow. Ow. Ow,” she wailed. “I cut myself.”

She held up her finger so Mac could see the drop of fresh blood beside her French tip manicure. In a baby voice, she said, “Would you kiss it and make it better?”

He glared. “That’s not going to happen.”

At least, he was looking. Maintaining eye contact with him, she placed her cut finger on her tongue, closed her lips around it and sucked.

His eyebrow lifted. Though he said nothing, his expression showed utter disdain. Calmly, he returned to his chopping.

She pulled her finger out of her mouth with a pop and glanced at Julia who was doing her best not to smirk.

Apparently, the sexy vamp act wasn’t going to work on Mac. So what kind of woman did he like? Somebody cute who made him laugh? A helpless damsel in distress?

Julia asked, “Want a bandage?”

“I guess I’ll be okay.” Abby didn’t bother with a sexy pout. Mac wasn’t looking. “I don’t like this cooking. I want to set the table.”

After Julia showed her the plates and silverware, Abby carried them to the dining room. She turned a task that should have taken a few minutes into a big production, moving a dried flower display from the great room to the center of the long oak table. Maybe Mac liked the “happy homemaker” type.

When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, she fussed. “These flowers aren’t right. You know what would be really beautiful? I saw some golden aspen leaves outside. We should pick some and put them in a vase.”

“Great idea,” Julia called from the kitchen. “While you’re outside, you can bring in a few more logs for the fireplace.”

Abby made one more attempt to get Mac’s attention with her sexy disguise. Since he didn’t seem impressed by her boobs or her fluttering eyelashes, she figured he might be the kind of guy who liked to look at bottoms.

As she shuffled the dinnerware, she purposely dropped a fork to the floor. Turning strategically, she bent down to pick it up, giving Mac a full view of her rear end in her snug purple slacks.

She peeked over her shoulder. He wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. Geez! What did it take to get this guy interested?

Chapter Two

The blonde had “high maintenance” written all over her, and Mac had made the mistake of getting involved with that kind of woman before. Not this time.

Carefully averting his gaze from any of her body parts that jiggled, he followed her outside to the deck behind the safe house. The sun had set, and the afterglow gilded the underbellies of the clouds. A wide valley spread before him. The buffalo grass had faded to dusty brown and the forested hillsides were pocketed with groves of brilliant yellow aspen.

He’d grown up here. This land was his home. And he hated being back. There were too many memories, too many regrets.

“Oh, Mac,” Vanessa called. “I need a big, strong man to help me reach these high branches.”

What she needed was a muzzle and a sheet to drape over that delectable body. He trod heavily down the steps from the deck, and stood beside her.

“Up here,” she said, handing him the snippers Julia had provided. “This is a pretty branch.”

When Mac reached up with his left arm, he experienced a throbbing ache in his shoulder. It was only three days since he’d been shot, and the wound wasn’t close to being healed. The doctors told him he’d been lucky. No bones had been broken, but ligaments and muscles were stressed. The bullet had lodged against his scapula, requiring a surgical incision to remove it. The scar required twenty stitches.

He’d lost some blood and was still weak. His AC joint was sore, and he wasn’t supposed to lift his left arm higher than his shoulder. But he sure as hell wasn’t an invalid who needed enforced recuperation time. There was some other reason Lieutenant Hal Perkins had insisted that Mac come to this FBI safe house during the Internal Affairs investigation. But why?

Mac had known something was up when the lieutenant had called him into his office and told him to close the door. Hal Perkins hadn’t smiled; he never smiled. His voice sounded like he had a mouthful of rocks. “You’re going on vacation. There’s a place in the mountains where you’re going to spend some time to heal.”

“Not necessary,” Mac had said.

“You’ll like it. The feds arranged it.”

“The feds?” That didn’t make sense. Denver P.D. seldom even talked to the feds, much less cooperated with them. “Why?”

“You don’t need to know.” Perkins sank heavily behind his desk and pulled a stack of papers toward him. “You’ll be contacted and given directions.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“Then you can consider this a direct order,” Perkins growled. “Don’t be a jackass, Mac. This is a gift. An all-expenses-paid vacation in the mountains. Accept it, okay?”

“I don’t get it. I shot that undercover agent. There’s no reason for the feds to give me a gift.”

Perkins shrugged. “Maybe they feel bad on account of you got shot at their sting.”

“I thought it was our sting. Vince Elliot was on scene.”

“Don’t start, Mac. Just go to the mountains.” He glared. “And I will need your badge until the I.A. investigation is over.”

Silently, Mac had pried his shield from his wallet and placed it on the lieutenant’s desktop. He’d already turned over his service handgun.

“Okay,” Perkins said. “See you next week.”

As soon as he left Perkins’s office, Mac had gone to vice looking for answers. He’d talked to Vince Elliot. In spite of the fact that Mac had probably saved his life at the warehouse, the vice cop was cold. Vince said that all he wanted was a bust, then he turned and walked away.

Why all the secrecy? Why wouldn’t anybody tell him anything?

“Mac,” the blonde whined. “Aren’t you going to cut the branches for me?”

He clipped two lower branches that he could reach with his right hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He wished he knew the answer to that question.