The Devil You Know

The larger and older of the two men took the brunt of the accident as hot and cold liquids sloshed onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed to say as the man leaped from his chair and gave her an indignant glare as he brushed droplets from his clothing. Luckily his napkin had absorbed most of the damage.

“Oh, sorry,” muttered the coward who’d bumped her. He hurried away, leaving her to face the wrath of the drenched diner alone.

“Use this,” a masculine baritone advised.

A clean napkin was thrust into her hand. She carefully blotted drops off the other man’s tie. “Blot, don’t swipe,” she told the furious diner. “That way, you won’t push the stain into the material.”

Having grown up in an all male household—two older brothers, three older cousins, plus Uncle Nick, who’d raised all six orphans—she’d learned early how to manage most household tasks. Finished, she surveyed the man. “There, not a stain in sight,” she said in relief.

“A good thing for you,” the man snarled.

“It wasn’t her fault,” his companion said. “The other man knocked her off her feet. Are you okay?” he asked her.

Roni swung her head around in shock as recognition flashed through her. A jolt went all the way to her toes as she met the cool gray gaze of the man who’d handed her the napkin. “Adam!” she said, then couldn’t think of another word, she was that surprised to see him.

Adam Smith was the very attractive but aloof brother of Honey Smith Dalton, who was married to Roni’s cousin Zack. Neither had mentioned that Adam was expected in the area. Why was he in the city rather than at the ranch? And why was he dressed in a business suit? Was he working?

Along with the questions came the intense excitement and pure joy of seeing him, all mixed up with a welter of other emotions too confusing to be defined. So she stood there smiling at him, speechless but smiling radiantly in happy surprise.

“Hello, Little Bits,” he said with casual amusement.

Before she could question him about his presence in Boise, Idaho, when she knew he worked in the southern California office of the FBI, he stood, gathered her close and kissed the startled “Oh!” off her mouth.

In this swirl of confusion, she felt herself being lifted off her feet and turned so that Adam’s back was to his companion. He released her mouth and nibbled at her ear. “I’ll explain later,” he murmured for her hearing only.

She blinked, forced herself to breathe, then nodded as if she knew what he was talking about.

“Roni, this is Greg Williams,” Adam continued, turning them to the other man. “Greg, Veronica Dalton. Call her Roni if you value your life.”

Greg was poster handsome, but beginning to run to fat. Too many three-martini lunches, she surmised. He wasn’t as old as she’d first thought, but was around the same age as Adam, who was thirty-six, ten years older than her own twenty-six years. Whenever they happened to be at the same place at the same time, he treated her as if she were a precocious six-year-old. Hence her shock at the kiss.

“I didn’t realize you had friends here,” Greg said to Adam, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“I’ve worked with her cousin on a couple of things,” Adam replied with that same casual amusement. “We met at his wedding. Naturally I looked her up when I came to town.”

Liar.

The word leaped to Roni’s lips, but she didn’t say it. Instead she smiled demurely and tried not to appear confused as the falsehoods fell from his lips as easily as rain from a stormy sky.

His hand rested on the small of her back—a warm, beguiling touch that made her want to lean into him. Since it was totally at odds with the manner in which they’d parted two months ago at her uncle’s ranch—he’d made it clear there was nothing between them and there would never be—she resisted the urge.

The only explanation for his sexy, shocking and out-of-character greeting, and his presence here rather than a thousand miles away, was that he must be on a case. Therefore, she would keep her mouth shut and her questions to herself. For the present.

Speculation now leaped into the other man’s eyes while he sized her up. He gave a half shrug as if deciding she wasn’t his type, then moved aside as the waiter finally came forward and deftly began removing the wet tablecloth.

“See you later,” Adam said, his tone affectionate, but the jab in the small of her back told her to leave. Pronto!

She did.

Adam smiled at the friendly squeak of the wooden plank as he crossed the front porch and rang the doorbell of the tiny house located in a block of similar cottage-style homes. The address had surprised him. He’d expected Roni Dalton to live in one of the new, ultra-smart condos being built in prime areas around the city. This neighborhood was definitely blue-collar.

The Saturday morning activities were what he would expect in such a place. It was the third of May, a sunny, pleasant day to be outside. Two doors down, a teenager was polishing an older model car to a high gloss. It was probably his first vehicle. The family compact station wagon was parked on the street.

Next door, an elderly black couple worked in the yard, weeding around hundreds of spring bulbs that were in bloom in raised flower beds. Roni’s yard was similar, a springtime riot of flowering quince, forsythia, tulips and daffodils.

For a moment, he recalled that daffodils had been his mother’s favorite flower. “Daffy-down-dillies,” she’d called them, bringing an armful into the kitchen and arranging them in empty mayonnaise jars so that they’d looked like splashes of sunshine in the house.

An unexpected pang accompanied the nearly forgotten memory, reminding him that once he’d thought life was perfect. Mom and dad, a new baby sister, a house in a quiet neighborhood, flowers and friends and cook-outs in the backyard. A ten-year-old’s world was small.

The door opened, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Roni gave him an unwelcome glare. “I expected you yesterday,” she stated.

She didn’t step back and open the door so he could enter. He wasn’t inclined to discuss his business on the squeaky wooden porch that ran across the front of the house.

“May I come in?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral and carefully polite. In contrast, his heart was suddenly pumping like an athlete’s in the final phase of a triathlon.

She wore a sort of sweat outfit, only it was made of a fleecy material like a baby blanket. Its deep royal blue matched that of her eyes. Dalton eyes. The whole tight-knit clan had those same startling blue eyes, as blue as an afternoon sky on a summer day in the mountains.

Unlike the tall, rangy males in her family, she was petite, maybe five-three, with tiny bones and slender curves. Nearly black hair lay in thick, shining waves to the middle of her back. Black eyebrows and eyelashes accented the color of her eyes and her fair skin. The pink in her cheeks was natural.

A tiny Venus. A tomboy. A computer whiz. He’d met her nearly a year ago and she still intrigued him.

Don’t get carried away, he warned, taking an amused attitude at the heart-pounding, blood-warming sight before him. He’d dealt with women more beautiful, more sophisticated and certainly more agreeable than this one in both his professional and his private life.

However, she could qualify for the most obstinate female he’d ever run across, he decided while he waited for her to make up her mind.

After mulling his request over for a full thirty seconds, she finally moved aside enough so that he could get in the door. Only a tiny part of his mind registered the closing of the door behind them as he surveyed the room.

The place was awash with color, pink and green being predominant. The kitchen and living room had been remodeled into one large, open space with an island separating them. A sink was handily located in the island, and two tall stools on the near side provided a place for casual dining.

On the back wall, an old-fashioned stove, enameled in green, held a simmering pot of soup or stew or something that smelled delicious.

The area rug was green with roses woven into it in multiple hues of pink. A green, white and black border highlighted the center floral part. White beadboard lined the bottom three feet of the wall, matching the cabinets in the kitchen. Pink-striped wallpaper covered the walls of the living room while green and white tiles formed the counter and the backsplash.

An oak armoire was open and revealed a television in its upper section. A sofa in tan and green chenille, an easy chair in tan leather and an oak rocker with pink and green plaid cushions completed a cozy grouping. End tables and a sturdy coffee table were laden with potted plants and magazines about computers and gardening.

The coffee table was painted white, but the green paint from a former life was visible along the edges and legs, and before that, it might have been black. On the walls, family photographs were mixed in casual groupings with gilt-framed mirrors and dark wooden frames of still life paintings that could have come from an ancient attic. Off to one side—where a dining table should have been, he surmised—a quilt was rolled on a quilting frame, a needle with gold thread stuck in one of the squares of material as if the seamstress would be gone only a moment.

The effect of the furnishings was one of odds and ends put together in a charming fashion. For some reason, the place made him feel uneasy, as if he were an unwelcome intruder into her personal space.

“The bathroom is through there,” she said, gesturing toward a door.

Adam realized he’d been silent and staring for much longer than polite interest allowed. “What are the other doors?” he asked, indicating the rectangular hallway to the left of the living room. Three doors opened off it, the middle one being the bathroom she’d pointed to.

“Two bedrooms. I use one for an office.” She went into the kitchen and held up a coffeepot, giving him a questioning glance.

He nodded, and she poured them each a cup of coffee. She pushed one across the surface of the island in his direction. He stepped closer and leaned an elbow on the green and white tiles while he took a sip of the brew.