A Weaver Wedding. Allison Leigh

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      “It’s been over a year since you’ve been home, honey. What do you think?”

      Way too many family members is what he thought. “If you don’t see me until tomorrow afternoon, don’t worry.”

      “I always worry about you. It’s what mothers do.”

      He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror after they hung up, and he looked away. He didn’t want to think about mothers and sons just now.

      Which spoke directly to the reason why he’d been reluctant to come back to Weaver at all. He had a good family. To the last one, they were all good.

      None of them deserved the secret he was keeping from them about Ryan.

      But if he didn’t keep Ryan’s secret, Axel was more afraid that his cousin would go even deeper underground and it had taken Axel too long to find him in the first place.

      Maybe he couldn’t do anything about his own family. But he could definitely do something about McCray’s family.

      He pulled away from the curb and headed back toward Main Street where Classic Charms was located. He trolled past, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel as he studied the light he could see burning inside her eclectic little shop.

      He could either sit in the warmth of his truck and watch the shop, or he could brave the frost—both from the weather and from her—and go talk with her.

      Make her understand the gravity of the situation.

      It would have been a helluva lot easier to do that if he hadn’t already done the unforgivable by getting involved with her that weekend in Braden.

      He’d been ordered to that bar by Tristan for a quick “meet” with McCray. The last person Axel had expected to see there was the man’s sister.

      But there she’d been.

      From his corner in the bar, he’d watched her sit by herself for more than an hour. Watched the way her gleaming, dark hair would slip from behind her ear where she kept tucking it. Watched her debate with herself each time the cocktail waitress came by to replenish her drink. Watched the way half the men in the place watched her, and the way she’d seemed oblivious to them all.

      Most particularly, he’d watched the fading of animation from her lovely face the longer she sat there alone, leaving her enormous brown eyes looking darker and more haunting than ever.

      He shouldn’t have stepped in her way when she was leaving. But he had.

      And damned if he could make himself regret it even if Tristan could now yank him from his assignment to protect her if he found out about that night.

      She was a petite package of feminine curves who didn’t even reach his shoulder. He’d been halfway beyond crazy over her from the first time he’d seen her when she’d moved to Weaver, five years earlier.

      The fact that she’d been placed there for her own safety by none other than his uncle Tristan had kept Axel from acting on his feelings.

      That night in Braden, though, his attraction had been more alive than ever. And he’d been on the verge of giving Tristan his resignation.

      He blew out a rough breath along with the justifications that amounted to zero. He shouldn’t have touched her and he knew it. No matter how unforgettable their time had been.

      He pulled a U-turn and parked in front of her shop. Her front door was a fanciful thing of stained glass. It was locked, of course. He knocked purposefully as he looked through the glass window beside the door.

      He couldn’t see her moving around inside, but that wasn’t surprising. The place was artfully packed with furniture, clothing and a host of other doodads.

      He knocked again, as hard as he dared against a deep red triangle of glass.

      Finally, she appeared.

      The sleeves of her thigh-length pink sweater were pushed up above her elbows. She’d twisted her hair up into some kind of knot that wasn’t particularly effective, judging by the strands of hair that had slipped free to graze her elfin chin.

      She made a face when she reached the door and tapped the sign that she’d posted in the lower corner of the window.

      Closed.

      “I’m not going away, Tara.” He knew she could hear him through the glass.

      “Leave me alone. Or do I have to call the sheriff?”

      “Call him,” he said easily. “I haven’t seen Max in a year. Good chance to catch up.”

      “Must be nice to count half the people in town as a relation.”

      Sometimes it was as much a curse as a blessing. “Open up.”

      Her bow-shaped lips tightened and she made no move to unlock the door. “Can’t you take no for an answer?”

      “No.” A gust of wind blew down the street, bringing with it a rolling cloud of old snow. “So you might as well let me in.”

      She looked past him to the street. Whether it was his truck parked there or the sedan slowly driving past that made her grimace he couldn’t tell. Didn’t much care, considering she finally reached over and with a rattle of keys, opened the door.

      “You could have at least parked in the alley behind the building,” she muttered, as she shut and locked the door again once he stepped inside. “Everyone in town can recognize your truck.”

      Warmth engulfed him. “So?”

      “So, I don’t want people wondering why you’re hanging around me.”

      On that score, she was going to be sadly disappointed.

      “Don’t bother taking that off,” she warned when he unzipped his jacket. “You won’t be staying long.”

      He slid out of the jacket anyway and dropped it on the Ushaped mahogany bar that served as a counter in the center of the store. “There’s been a hit issued against your brother,” he said bluntly.

      For a long moment, her wide eyes just stared at him. Then she slowly blinked. “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me. There’s a price on Sloan’s head.”

      The lovely throat that he knew tasted as sweet as cream worked in a hard swallow. She abruptly sat down on a weathered-looking leather couch whose massive lines made her look even more defenseless. “H-how would you know that?”

      “Because I work for the same agency that placed you in Weaver when your brother went undercover with the ATF.”

      Her face blanched and he quickly moved to her, placing his hand against her back. “Put your head down.”

      But she pushed him away. “You know Sloan? Is—” she swallowed visibly “—is he all right? He’s still under protection somewhere in Chicago, right?”

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