No Place To Hide. Madalyn Reese

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      Anthony grunted out a laugh. “Yeah, that helped, too.”

      He wondered about this gentle probing she was conducting. Asking after his mother was the last thing he would have expected. But he could handle this. In fact, it would almost seem restful if the subject wasn’t so dire.

      He shouldn’t have relaxed. The next probe was not gentle.

      “You said ‘former life.’ Are you asking me to believe you’re no longer a lecherous, corporate-raiding swine?”

      “I’m not asking you to believe anything.”

      Emma finally looked up, and to his relief there was color in her cheeks. Not the blazing, angry stain he’d learned to fear, just an innocent, healthy glow as she said, “Try to understand. As much as I’d love to blame you for this, I know you’re not really responsible for Dop’s actions.”

      Anthony raised his eyebrows. Someone had been in therapy. She said, “But you and the FBI can’t be here. I’ve got a storeful of employees who’ll be in danger if I stay. And I know you want to scream every time I say this, but my clients are like family. I can’t see any other solution than to leave. If we’re gone, nothing will happen.”

      A silent curse echoed in Anthony’s head. She’d already made up her mind, and it wouldn’t be easy to sway her now.

      “You can’t leave,” he said, buying time to come up with some leverage. “Mom said you have a Red Cross thing Thursday night. And there’s a rumor going around that some jewelry honcho will be there to see a design that might earn you a patent. Well, it wasn’t a rumor. Layne told me.”

      “How did she know that?”

      “I wish I knew. She scares me senseless. I haven’t gotten away with any of my usual tricks since she showed up,” Anthony said, only half-joking.

      “Liar. You managed to get here, didn’t you?”

      “Yes, but she probably let it happen. Look, I know this situation has to be overwhelming, but if you turn your intelligence on it, you might prove to be a valuable asset to—”

      Oops. Anthony thudded to a halt at the sight of her hostile glare. He’d attempted to call on her pride, and she’d seen through him in seconds.

      “Nice try,” she muttered as he backpedaled, crouching in front of her to make eye contact she couldn’t evade.

      “If you run we’ll never catch him.”

      “Run? That’s your department. I’m protecting people because I care what happens to them, not saving my own a—”

      “Emma.” He cut her off, his eyes involuntarily dropping to her mouth. Blood pounded through his veins and a slow breath escaped as Emma’s own eyes mirrored the action a moment later.

      He had to get out of here. The attraction still had him in a stranglehold. If she did that again he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing what he itched to do. Touch her. Feel her cool skin heat as his hands explored.

      But if he did it, Emma would leave. Layne would find her, tell her about Charles and that auction, and then Emma would hunt him down.

      “Listen,” he said, starting again. “I know you’re scared right now, but you need to understand something about Dop. If he feels you’ve cut off access, he’ll take his frustration out on someone important to you. Or he could pick another victim who doesn’t have the resources we do. How will you feel if that happens?”

      She scratched at an eyebrow with a long pink nail, and the scar on his shoulder burned in response. Pushing harder, he added, “I know you don’t trust me, and frankly, I don’t blame you. But I haven’t been idly sitting by and letting this happen. I’ve learned there are ways of surviving the FBI, and if you’re not careful, your perverse nature might find it amusing.”

      “Jerk.”

      “Sorry, but I’m sick of being serious all the time. So how about this? We could work out some ground rules so we know how to act around each other.”

      “Can I ask you something first?”

      “Can I stop you?”

      Emma gave him a pained look and fired. “Is this whole attitude adjustment a near death epiphany or what? Because I find it very disturbing.”

      “There you go, sugarcoating everything again.”

      “Answer the question, smart aleck.”

      “Why do you want to know?”

      “Why won’t you ever talk about anything?”

      “Isn’t this where the nun smacks our knuckles for bickering in class?”

      Emma sagged against the wall, looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “I’d forgotten how irritating you can be.”

      Relaxing a bit, he scooted her over on the bench and sat beside her. “So you’ll stay?”

      “As if I have a choice,” Emma answered, leaning away. She still couldn’t believe this was happening.

      How much worse could it get? On top of everything else, a stalker and Anthony Bracco had been added to the pile. Not to mention having him in her home, along with the FBI.

      And was she supposed to be buying his act? He’d deflected the question about his attitude the same way he used to deflect any question that hit too close to his schemes. She wasn’t blind. He might have changed, but not in any significant way.

      All the same, he was playing the responsible role quite well, warning her about Dop and what he might do if she left.

      But whether Anthony had changed or not, there was still anger simmering between them, and no matter how many ground rules they hid behind, it would eventually boil over.

      And anger wasn’t the only thing simmering. He hadn’t been here more than an hour, and twice already she’d felt that familiar separation of brain and body. Her brain would tell her to keep away, but her body had its own ideas.

      Even now, sitting beside him, she could feel herself responding. His energy may have been subdued but it was still there, if a little different. Emma had never understood why he affected her this way, but apparently it was something that would never change or lose its power.

      When his eyes had fallen to her mouth a few minutes ago, she knew she wouldn’t have rejected his kiss. Any form of comfort would have been welcome, but she must be losing her mind if she considered Anthony Bracco an acceptable alternative to cheesecake.

      Struggling to pull herself together, Emma answered, “I need time to think.”

      “How much time?”

      “You know what? Forget it. I can’t believe I’m even speaking to you. I’m going back to work.”

      She rushed into the hallway with Anthony in pursuit, urging, “Emma, you can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

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