The Men In Uniform Collection. Barbara McMahon

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      “Cross my heart.”

      She smiled.

      He leaned in and kissed her. If pressed, he’d swear it was for the camera, but he’d be lying. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her. But he’d keep it easy. No sense freaking her out any more than she already was. He just held her loosely and enjoyed her soft lips.

      As he pulled back, her hands tightened on his shoulder, and damned if she didn’t part those lips and slip him the tongue. No fool, he went with the flow, and right then, that very second, a whole world of possibilities blossomed.

       4

      HE WAITED AS THE PICTUREemerged from the printer, and leaned back in his leather chair, his attention divided between the monitor and the photo. They were leaving the house, which gave him a window of opportunity. The problem was what to do with it?

      The photo came out, a very clear picture of the man she called Boone. An ex-lover? He didn’t think so. He’d never come across the name, not in any of his research. So who was he, and how come he knew how to look for the cameras?

      There was a simple way to find out. He took the picture and put it facedown on the fax. He hit speed dial One, and there it went, off to his friends who would find out everything there was to know about Big Boy Boone.

      It didn’t matter. His plan was still in motion, on course. Soon, she’d be ready for him. Soon, she’d see that there were no other options. That there was no place to run, no way to hide. Boone, whoever he was, could be used to that end. He smiled, thinking of the possibilities.

      “BOONE, WOULD YOU JUST STOP?” Christie planted her feet in the breakfast food aisle. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

      He turned his head as he continued walking. “Then you’d better catch up.”

      She thought about walking out of the store. But she didn’t even have enough cash to get home. He’d taken her a long way from Culver City to a humongous Costco, where he’d gotten a huge cart, and without even asking her, had started filling the damn thing. Her anger mounted as she followed him. “It’s my damn house,” she said, “and I don’t like that kind of paper towel.”

      Boone looked at her with infuriatingly calm eyes. “Look, let’s just get this over with. We have a lot to do today, and shopping isn’t the priority.”

      “Then let me shop.”

      He turned back to the granola. “It’s fuel, Christie. It’s paper. It’s soap.”

      “It’s my house.”

      He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes, we’re out of here.”

      “Fine.” She walked past him as he dumped a box of Grape Nuts in the cart. She got her Lucky Charms and dared him to say one word. He didn’t. But he didn’t stop. He just kept putting things into the cart, without asking. Well, two could play that game.

      She got a giant-sized box of Twinkies and put them in the cart.

      Boone snorted, but he didn’t say anything.

      He turned to the next aisle, and she followed, getting more pissed by the minute. He didn’t even glance at her when she put in the giant tub of the highest-fat ice cream in the place.

      By the time they got to the checkout, the cart was filled to capacity. Christie couldn’t believe the amount of vegetables and fruits. Did he ask her if she liked eggplant? No. And what the hell was with all the Brussels sprouts? She wasn’t eating them, not if he begged her.

      “Are you done?”

      “Does it matter?”

      “Christie, we have—”

      “I know. Things to do. It’s only food. It’s only paper.”

      Boone left the cart in the checkout line and came right up to her, right into her space. “What are you doing?”

      She put her hand on the pastry counter. “I’m going to get a cheesecake.”

      “A cheesecake.”

      “That’s right.”

      He closed his eyes, and she watched the muscles in his jaw flex. When he looked at her again, his green eyes looked cold as ice. “Is that really necessary.”

      “Yes. Cheesecake is always necessary.”

      “Goddammit, do you want this asshole to kill you? Is that it?”

      She stepped back, the bluntness of his words more shocking than the bitter tone.

      “Miss, you okay?”

      Christie blinked at the store clerk, a skinny blonde with a problem complexion. She wanted to warn him away, but Boone turned on him first.

      Not a word was spoken. She couldn’t see Boone, but she didn’t need to. The terrified expression on the clerk’s face said it all. He backed up into a table of minidonuts and muffins, made a choking sound, then hightailed it off to produce.

      When Boone turned back, he seemed calm again. Everything except his eyes.

      “All right,” she said, “I’ll forget about the cheesecake. But I’m not giving up my Lucky Charms.”

      Boone nodded once. Then he turned, and they were out of there ten minutes later.

      IT TOOK THEM HALF AN HOUR to put the food away. Christie still couldn’t believe how much he’d bought. She’d insisted that he give her the receipt, which was more than two hundred bucks. Despite the fact that he’d gotten all kinds of crap she’d never eat, like protein powder and bean sprouts and whole wheat bagels, she’d repay every last cent.

      Being angry at someone other than the bastard was a novelty. Being away from the house and actually feeling at ease had been a revelation. Contradictory, yes, but it was completely true. She felt better than she had in so, so long, even though she couldn’t shake the creeps that had hit since he’d shown her that first electronic bug.

      She’d been naked. She’d gotten herself off. She’d wept, she’d ranted, she’d slept. With him watching her.

      “You ready?”

      Boone’s voice scared her, and she jumped. “Almost.”

      “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

      She turned to watch him walk down the hall. He had those long legs and damn, that ass of his. But still. He wasn’t exactly Barbie’s dream date. His arrogance had surprised her. Nate was like that sometimes. So sure of himself and infuriatingly cocky. Maybe it was the military that did it. Or maybe the job just attracted that kind of man.

      Her fingers went up to her lips as she remembered, for the billionth time, how he’d kissed her. It was a ploy, she knew that. All for show. But it hadn’t felt fake.

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