The Devil You Know

“This is good,” he said. “Strong and hot, just the way I like it.”

“I remember,” she said. “From the wedding.”

The Dalton family had come to LA so he could participate in his sister’s wedding. He’d walked Honey down the aisle and given her into Zack Dalton’s loving arms.

The emotion of the moment had surprised him. But then, his little sis was about the only thing in the world that he loved unconditionally and without reserve.

When Honey had been a baby, their father had been killed in a bar shoot-out. The quiet, gentle man hadn’t been involved but was just in the wrong place at the wrong moment when a couple of punks had run into each other and pulled their pieces, killing three bystanders. Then their mom had died when Honey was three and he was thirteen. They had gone to live with an aunt who hadn’t wanted them.

So much for his family ties.

Roni’s life hadn’t been all that easy, he admitted to himself, pulling out a stool and straddling it. She, too, had been orphaned when a freak avalanche had wiped out her family.

Luckily, her uncle, Nicholas Dalton of Seven Devils Ranch, located near a small town about an hour’s drive north of the city, had taken the kids in and given them a good home. A loving home. Yeah, she’d been lucky.

“So what are you doing in town?” she asked, direct and to the point, as usual.

He’d already considered and discarded several answers to this question. He’d decided on the truth. With her, it was the only way. “Working.”

“In Boise? Since when?”

Adam smiled in resignation. In a city of barely 200,000 population, he hadn’t really thought he could avoid her forever, especially since his sister was married to her cousin. But he’d hoped.

“Since last month. I’ve been in town two weeks. I’m on new assignment. Bank fraud division.”

“Bank fraud,” she repeated blankly.

He didn’t blame her for the incomprehension. He’d been undercover on a police corruption case when they’d met. The white-collar world of offshore corporations, wired money transfers and fake companies was far from rogue cops, drug-trafficking and extortion.

“I recently finished the course work for a degree in business,” he added as if this explained everything.

In a way it did. International crime being what it was, agents proficient in accounting and computer science were more valuable to the bureau on a day-to-day basis than sharpshooters and such.

“And?”

He shrugged. “And I’ve been assigned to this district to investigate corporate fraud.”

“Like, you hack into their computer systems and read their e-mails and see what the executive officers are up to?”

“Hardly,” he replied. “Banks are required by law to report movements of large sums of money under certain conditions—”

“Money laundering,” she interrupted.

“That might figure into it,” he admitted.

“Offshore corporations to hide debt,” she continued.

Her beautiful eyes gleamed with interest now. He suppressed a groan. He didn’t need her meddling any more than he needed the insistent hunger she induced in him. It echoed through him now, a primal drive that couldn’t be denied, although he tried to ignore it.

That kiss in March, when they’d both visited their mutual relatives, had been a mistake, a madness that had buzzed through him and shredded his good intentions, which were to avoid her as much as possible and never, ever so much as touch her hand. So here he was, in her charming home, yesterday’s kiss fresh in his mind.

What was that saying? Out of the frying pan and into the fire? Yeah, that was it.

“I can help,” she told him. “I’m really good with a computer. We could put a worm in their program—”

“I have plenty of expertise within the department to call on,” he informed her coolly. “If I need it.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said, in as cool a tone as he’d used. She glanced at the wall clock. “It’s time for lunch. Do you want to join me? There’s plenty.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Common sense told him to leave and not look back. He should make it clear he wanted her to stay out of his life and his cases. Instead, he nodded.

“That smells incredibly good,” he said when she set a brimming bowl in front of him.

“Uncle Nick’s specialty.” Her smile was warm. “On Saturday, he’d throw all the leftovers in a pot and make ‘poor-man’s stew.’ With fresh bread, that was our dinner.”

She removed a big skillet of corn bread from the oven, flipped it over on a platter, cut it into wedges, then put it and the butter on the island. She joined him on the matching stool. “Here’s to your health,” she said, picking up her spoon.

He ate three pieces of corn bread and two bowls of stew. “That was the best meal I’ve had since…since I last visited your uncle’s ranch.”

Instead of looking pleased at the compliment to her relative, her mood became pensive.

“What?” he asked, his voice dropping a register and sounding way too intimate in the silent cottage. He cleared his throat.

“Uncle Nick,” she murmured. “Beau says he’s doing fine, but I worry about him. He’s had a couple of spells with his heart this winter. I wish…”

“You wish?” he finally prompted when she was silent for a long minute.

“I wish we could find Tink for him.”

Adam knew that Theresa, or Tink, as she was called, was Nick’s only child and had disappeared at the scene of a car wreck that had killed her mother when the girl was only three and a half. The Dalton patriarch was in his seventies and had always longed to find his missing daughter. Beset with heart problems, his time could be running out.

For a few seconds, he contemplated the older man’s pain at losing his wife and child in that manner, then he shook his head. That was one reason he’d never let himself get too deeply involved with a woman. Emotion was too costly.

“What?” he asked, noting Roni’s sharp stare.

“Maybe you could help. I know, you can help me find Tink, and I’ll help you with your case.” She smiled brightly as if this solved some grand problem in the universe.

“Huh,” he said, putting a damper on that idea.

She gave him a grimace, then her impish grin returned. “You’ll be sorry you turned down such a good offer. I make a hundred dollars an hour as a consultant in my spare time.”

“Bully for you,” he muttered.

She laughed, then refilled his coffee cup. “Let’s go over here where it’s more comfortable.”

He took the leather easy chair while she snuggled into a corner of the sofa, kicked off her loafers and tucked her feet under her. Heat stirred through him. It settled in the lower part of his body, making him hot and wary of lingering in her house.

His usual reaction to her, he admitted. Lust and caution. How was that for a mixed combination?