Blue Ridge Ricochet. Paula Graves

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      There’d been a time, not so long ago, when lying came as naturally to her as breathing. Life was one big story to be told the way she wanted it to happen, and inconvenient truths were discarded like yesterday’s trash.

      But she’d learned the hard way that the truth always came out, and usually at the worst possible time. She just hoped the truth about her assignment here in River’s End didn’t come out until she was somewhere safe and far, far away.

      * * *

      DALLAS LET THE SHOWER run as hot as he dared and stood under the needling spray until he couldn’t stand on his trembling legs another minute.

      Wrapping a towel around his hips, he sat on the closed commode and willed his strength to return. The last thing he wanted to do was face-plant in front of Nicki again. She pitied him enough already.

      As the steamy heat of the bathroom dissipated, cooler air washed over his damp skin, raising goose bumps again. He grabbed a second towel from the nearby rack and dried off before he pushed to his feet.

      Standing in front of the mirror over the sink, he wiped away the condensation to take his first good look at his physical condition after nearly three weeks of captivity.

      He’d lost weight. At least fifteen pounds. Maybe more. The people who’d imprisoned him in the cellar of their mountain cabin had used deprivation to try to break him. Sleep, light, food—all had been withheld in an attempt to get him to tell everything he knew about a man named Cade Landry.

      He wondered if Landry was still alive. From what little he’d learned from the men who’d held him captive, getting their hands on Landry was a big damn deal.

      But they hadn’t gotten any information from him. Maybe they’d thought he was soft because he was nothing but a support staffer at the FBI, working a job that didn’t require him to carry a weapon or stay in fighting shape.

      They’d been wrong.

      Not that he felt anywhere close to fighting shape at the moment. The mirror was merciless, revealing not only his prominent ribs but also the rainbow of bruises and scrapes he’d acquired during his time with the Blue Ridge Infantry.

      He made himself turn away from his self-scrutiny and opened the bathroom door. Cold air from the hall assaulted him, and he wrapped the second towel around his shoulders.

      “There are clothes on the end of the bed, across the hall.” Nicki’s voice drifted into the hall from the front room.

      “Thanks.” He entered the bedroom and found a small stack of clothes at the end of the bed. There was a pair of black sweatpants that wouldn’t have fit him three weeks ago but now snugged over his hips as if they’d been made for him. She’d also laid out a couple of oversize football jerseys. He grabbed the darker of the two and shrugged it on. It fit only marginally better.

      He dropped to the edge of the bed, tempted to lie down and sleep for a few days. But there was the matter of the pretty brunette down the hall. All the way through his shower, he couldn’t stop thinking about what a stroke of fortune it had been to walk into the path of a woman who hadn’t asked any inconvenient questions. Who hadn’t insisted on calling the police when he asked her not to. What absolute luck.

      Problem was, he’d never put much faith in the notion of luck.

      Why hadn’t she asked him more about who he was and how he’d found himself facedown on a mountain road in the middle of a sleet storm?

      He looked around until he found the scuffed oxfords he’d been wearing since he’d been run off the road somewhere north of Ruckersville. The dress shoes looked incongruous with the sweats and jersey, but he didn’t like the vulnerability of bare feet at the moment.

      Nicki looked up as he entered the living room. She offered a gentle smile that made her look like a goddess, her skin gleaming in the glow of the fire she’d just turned from stoking.

      “Thanks for the clothes.”

      “They fit. Sort of.” She stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. They hugged her curves like a lover, sending a rush of desire darting through his belly. He ignored his body’s inconvenient reaction, determined to stay focused and on alert.

      “I think I’ve lost weight,” he said.

      Her eyes narrowed slightly as she moved closer to him. “You seemed pretty hungry earlier.”

      “You haven’t asked me how I got in this condition.”

      For a second, her faint smile faltered, and he realized he’d struck a nerve. But her smile recovered quickly and she gave an artful shrug. “I didn’t want to pry until you were warm and fed. Maybe got some rest, you know? You’ve clearly been through a lot. I figured you might want to wait to tell me about it until you felt better.”

      He took a step closer to her, taking advantage of the difference in their height. “I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

      She didn’t flinch, her smile expanding as his legs began to wobble under him. “I think I could take you. In this condition, anyway.”

      He reached for the nearest armchair and sat, his legs trembling. The heat of the fire nearby was too tempting to resist; he turned toward the flames, stretching out his hands while slanting a look at his pretty hostess. “You’re one of those women who’s not afraid of anything?”

      “Oh, you’ve never seen me with a spider,” she answered lightly as she pulled her own armchair next to him.

      One corner of his mouth lifted. “Now I know how to pay you back for your hospitality. Arachnicide is my specialty. Just give me a rolled-up piece of paper and stand back.”

      The smile she darted his way made his gut twist unexpectedly. Damn, but she was a good-looking woman, all wavy dark hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. And those jeans and that snug-fitting T-shirt showed off a slim but deliciously curvy body that he hoped would haunt his dreams tonight.

      Anything to drive away the nightmares that had tormented him since the truck full of bearded thugs had run him off the road nearly a month ago.

      “Is there someone I should call?” She stretched her own small hands toward the fire.

      How could he answer that? The truth was, he wasn’t sure what to do. The FBI employee he’d been for over a decade demanded that he call the authorities, turn himself in and tell his story. The truth would out.

      But the boy from eastern Kentucky knew that sometimes, the truth wasn’t enough to keep a man alive. Some of the most evil people in the world could hide behind a badge and the veil of authority. He knew that from experience, including his most recent brush with corruption in the guise of justice.

      “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I think maybe sleeping on it is a good idea, if that’s okay with you.”

      Her eyes narrowed slightly at his words, but she just gave a nod and laid her head back against the chair. They sat in silence for a while, tension sharpening the warm air wafting around them.

      Did she think his hesitation meant he had something to hide from the authorities? Was she considering calling the cops herself as soon as he went to bed?

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