The bathroom was clean.
But just to be absolutely certain, J.J. checked again. She had to be quick. She had to be thorough. She had to be sure. This assignment was too critical to chance being overheard. For the second time she felt along the underside of the sink, then the tub, then any place else she could think where a camera or listening device might be hidden.
Bug free.
Using running water as cover, she silently closed the toilet lid, sat down and pulled the cell phone provided by her boss from its hiding place in her sock. She began crafting her text message.
Arrived. Carver Hunting Lodge. Two-point-seven miles ESE Jasper. Advise re: status background checks. Barnes out.
Satisfied, she hit the envelope icon on the keypad and sent the message to Red, the preprogrammed recipient. A few seconds later, the phone began to vibrate against her palm.
Her boss must have been waiting for her communication. The small screen flashed twice, then revealed his response.
Background checks in progress. Initial assessment?
J.J. rolled her eyes. Did he think she had all the time in the world? Typing on a cell phone was neither fast nor easy.
Nothing obvious. Barnes out.
Exchange over, she put the phone back in her sock. It immediately began to vibrate against her calf. J.J. rolled her eyes again.
This time the message read:
You can bring Landry into the loop if need be.
NO NEED,
She replied furiously and in capitals, the universally understood way of shouting in text form.
Landry can NOT be trusted. Barnes OUT.
She had just flipped the phone closed when Lara began pounding on the door.
“Are you okay, J.J.?”
“Fine!” she called, “be right out!” After stuffing the phone back into place, she yanked down the hem of her pant leg and moved to the vanity. “Ugh,” she groaned, then rubbed her cheeks, hoping to offset her pallor. No such luck. Even splashing water on her face didn’t do the trick.
“LOOK WHAT THE COLD blew in.”
Cody found himself drawn into the back-slapping embrace of his youngest brother, Shane. The Landrys were an affectionate family, courtesy of their mother’s loving example. Just thinking about her made Cody’s chest tighten.
She’d been gone—missing—for more than a decade. It made him nuts. The not knowing. The scenarios he played in his mind. Not understanding how his mother could just decide—out of the blue—to run off and never look back. Mostly he just missed her. Especially her counsel. Pricilla Landry had always managed to impart quiet wisdom to her sons. In that respect, she was nothing like their father. Caleb was a loud, wildly fun man. Strict to be sure, and a great dad. But he’d chosen to leave with his wife. Overnight, the Landrys had gone from a large, happy family to seven young men left to fend for themselves.
Holding Shane at arm’s length, Cody smiled at his sibling. Though Shane would never say, Cody was convinced the evaporation of their family had affected his little brother the most. He was the baby—in more ways than chronology. He was the spoiled one. At least by their mother.
Shane shrugged and halfheartedly punched Cody in the arm. “It is so good to have you back. Especially since we’re the last two.”
“The last two what?” Cody asked, as he walked through the foyer toward the kitchen, loving the familiar scents of the family home. Even though the pie he smelled hadn’t been baked by his mother, it still poignantly reminded him of coming home after school to the tantalizing fragrances of hot apple and cinnamon. His heart pinched.
“Independent men,” Shane answered, following on his heels. “This place is all about women and wedding stuff and babies and—”
“Stop whining,” Taylor Reese huffed before slipping the delicious-smelling apple pie from the oven and offering Cody a warm smile. “Welcome home, Cody. You have perfect timing. I made this especially for you.”
“I thought it was for all of us,” Shane grumbled, grabbing a chair, turning it backward and then falling into the seat to glare at his housekeeper.
The same seat, Cody noted, that his brother had occupied for more than thirty years. Even when Shane had been off finding himself, his chair stood empty. Waiting for him. As they all had.
Taylor, clad in jeans and a very attractive snug red shirt, parked her hands on her hips and offered the youngest Landry brother a withering glare. “This isn’t a democracy. You whine, you don’t get dessert.”
“It’s a dictatorship,” Shane retorted, sounding very much like a six-foot-four-inch child. “I’m your employer, you can’t deny me food.”
Taylor dismissed the order with a sarcastic little grunt and a tilt of her head. Several strands of dark blond hair fell loose from her ponytail as her gaze bore into Shane. Cody’s interest was piqued. He sensed tension…the kind that connected a man and a woman valiantly battling any sort of connection.
Smiling to himself, he took his seat and wondered how long his baby brother had been hot for the fetching young housekeeper.
“Sam is my employer. You are a pain in my…toe.” Taylor went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer. She handed Cody one, then practically threw the other at Shane. “I’m sorry, Cody, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a final exam next week, so I’ve got to study.” She managed to wipe down the countertop and finish loading the dishwasher as she spoke.
“The pie needs to cool for about a half hour.” She opened a cabinet and took out a plate, then folded a paper towel as a napkin and laid it and a fork on the table beside the pie. “Help yourself. There’s homemade vanilla ice cream in the freezer.” Then, after her tornado of activity, the tiny woman disappeared from the room..
Cody smiled as they watched her exit. “Is she always so frenetic?” he asked as soon as he heard Taylor’s footfalls fade.
Not smiling, Shane nodded, taking a long pull on his beer. “And irritating. And mouthy. And pushy. And—”
“Nice body, though,” Cody remarked on a sigh.
“Killer body,” Shane agreed readily. “She’d be a dream woman if you could find a way to glue her mouth closed.”
Cody chuckled. “Wouldn’t you be bored with a woman who didn’t speak her mind?”
“I used to think so,” Shane admitted, leaning his chair forward on two legs as he traced the beer label with his thumbnail. “Living with Taylor has made me think I might prefer someone mute.”
Letting out a slow whistle, Cody realized his brother was only making the comment as a defensive posture. Thanks to his handy wireless PDA and regular e-mails from brother Seth’s wife Savannah, he knew all about the Shane-is-in-love-with-Taylor-and-won’t-admit-it-to-himself situation.
“She seems nice,” Cody commented, pretty much just to bait Shane. That was part and parcel of being a Landry brother. Shane was the perpetual target. Most of the time deservedly so.
“So did Roy’s white tiger and look where that got him.”
Cody grinned. The man protested too much. This situation could provide some excellent entertainment while he was here. Reaching for his beer, he noticed the large bruise on his brother’s forearm. Poor bastard bruised at the drop of a hat. “What’ve you been doing?”
Shane glanced down at the purple mark and shrugged. “I bought a new horse. He’s not exactly taking an instant liking to me.”
“Maybe if you sent flowers or—” Cody had to duck to avoid the spoon Shane launched in his direction. It clattered on the floor and the two of them shared almost boyish grins before everything on and around the table became a projectile. Whoever said you could never go home again wasn’t a Landry.
Ten minutes later, Sam entered the kitchen, looked around and shook his head. “What are you guys? Six?”
Sam Landry was holding his sleeping son in his arms. Not an easy task since the boy was almost seven and, from the looks of him, a decent-size kid.
Sam’s wife, Callie, simply nodded from the doorway, her arms full with baby Sheldon, a diaper bag and her purse. In a loud whisper, she called, “Welcome home. I’ve got to put these guys to bed.”
“Need help?” Cody asked.
“We’ve got it down to a science,” Sam said easily. “Give me a minute and one of you grab me a beer.”
Neither of them did. Something Sam pointed out with greatly exaggerated disgust upon his return. “You guys are useless.”
Sam, ever the responsible one, got his beer out of the fridge as well as two more bottles that he placed in the center of the scarred table that had been in the kitchen since the ranch house was built by their grandfather. He raised his bottle in a toast. “To the return of one Landry and the creation of others.”
“Again?” Shane asked.
Sam practically puffed out his chest. “I am a virile, manly man compelled to bring forth the fruit of my loins.”
“You probably had to get her drunk,” Cody teased, tapping bottles with his brother.
“In fact, I am so virile,” Sam continued, his eyes filled with unbridled joy, “that my wife carries not one but two of my issues.”
“Married to you, I’d say your wife has more than just two issues,” Shane joked.
Sam slapped the side of the youngest Landry’s head. “We just met with the builder and asked him to add bedrooms to the house. So, I’m sorry we weren’t here to greet you when you got in.”
Cody patted Sam’s back. “I’m happy for you. For all of you,” he said, meaning it. “Wow, four kids. You’re going to be busy.”
“It’s a good busy,” Sam said on a contented breath. “Kevin and Sheldon are great little guys. We’re really excited to have more.”
“Remember that thought when it’s time for work and you’ve gotten three minutes of sleep,” Shane offered. “You’re pretty snotty when you don’t get enough sleep.”
“I’ll give you that,” Sam said with a single nod of his head. “So what’s your excuse, Shane? You’ve been grumpy for weeks now.”
“No sex?” Cody suggested, directing his comment to Sam.
The corners of Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Probably. He hasn’t had a date in forever. It’s the ponytail. What woman wants a guy with a ponytail?”
“Lots of women,” Shane protested.
As always, it amazed Cody how easily his little brother took the bait. “Those would be the same ‘lots of women’ you aren’t dating?”
“And your social schedule is full?” Shane tossed back. “The last woman I remember hearing about was some empty-headed receptionist who stalked you when you dumped her. And that was more than a year ago.”
Cody cringed at the memory of Mallory. A definite lapse in judgment. At first glance, she’d seemed like an ideal woman for him—outgoing, sweet, very feminine and nurturing. Then, when he didn’t propose on the sixth date, she’d thrown an I-want-to-be-married-before-I’m-thirty psychotic fit. After their resulting breakup, she called more than a determined telemarketer and kept turning up at his office, his home, even his gym. He’d been an hour away from getting a restraining order when Mallory turned her attentions onto her next potential husband.
“First of all, I don’t tell you about every woman I date. Second of all, I’ve been busy,” Cody said, hearing how very lame that sounded aloud. “Unlike you, I haven’t been celibate, so my attitude doesn’t need adjusting.”
“That’s just because the odds were in your favor in D.C.,” Shane argued. “The pool of available women is larger in D.C., statistically speaking, so you were bound to find at least one willing person in such a large population base.”
“I think he’s got you on that one,” Sam commented, stifling a yawn.
Cody knew he was supposed to keep up his end of the taunt, but his brain suddenly changed focus without warning to J.J.
“Hello?” Sam called.
It was only then that Cody realized his older brother was standing and about to leave. “Sorry,” Cody muttered.
“Are you sure you can’t bunk here for the night?” Sam asked. “Callie wants to catch up with you, but she’s too tired tonight.”
“I’ll be in and out,” Cody promised. “A working vacation was the best I could swing, unfortunately. Can I use the office computer real quick?”
“Of course,” Sam said, obviously annoyed that Cody would ask. “Don’t forget about the mandatory dinner tomorrow night. You’ll like Molly.”
“Almost as much as you’ll like seeing Chandler all nuts about her,” Shane interjected. “He’s completely in love and still trying to convince her that he wasn’t the one who shot her.”
Cody smiled with a mixture of relief and amusement, remembering the way Molly’s ordeal had ended with a blazing shoot-out in the desert. Thankfully only the bad guy had been killed. But in the process, Molly had been grazed by a bullet. And from all accounts, she teasingly continued to hold Chandler responsible for her injury even though no one knew for sure whose bullet struck Molly.
“You can bring a date,” Shane mocked.
Like his own private slide show, images of J.J. Barnes flashed again in Cody’s mind. He could see her tall, athletic body, and the pretty features she tried so hard to downplay.
“I might at that,” he told Shane as he got up from the table. “I’ve got some work to do,” he said absently. “Catch you later.”
Why was J.J. so determined not to allow a drop of femininity to slip out? Cody wondered as he left the kitchen. In his experience, being attractive was an asset—probably an unfair generalization, but pretty true nonetheless. And J.J. was a step above pretty. She had those aqua eyes that made his stomach tingle just thinking about them. And her full lips almost begged to be explored. It wasn’t fair. No woman who worked so hard to play androgynous should be given that many natural gifts.
He speculated what J.J. would think of his family home, and his brothers. Odd. He’d never brought a woman here. Not that J.J. would be a date or anything…
He scrutinized the house as he headed toward Sam’s office. A lot had changed in the years he’d been gone. Now the hallways were littered with toys and the walls were adorned with the crayon art of the gaggle of nieces and nephews born in the past few years.
But just as much remained the same. Like the smell of the office. He stepped inside and it was like stepping back in time. He still got a little chill when he entered the dark, richly paneled room. This had been his father’s office. Where punishments—great and small—were portioned out. Now, though, thanks either to Taylor or Callie, there were some homey touches. Like the afghan draped over the worn leather chair facing the stone fireplace. And the rug had been replaced—the new one more girlie than the simple rust-and-black thing he’d spilled yellow poster paint on in the third grade.
The changes would probably make his old man crazy. Caleb was a no frills kind of man. So it was probably good that he’d had only sons. Cody couldn’t imagine his father raising a daughter. He’d have turned her into…into…J.J. Barnes.
Dammit! Why did the woman keep crawling into his head? he wondered as he fell into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk. It squeaked in protest under his weight and he noted that one of the brass wheels was sticking. He rifled through the desk drawers, found some WD-40 and took care of the chair as the computer booted.
Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his PDA and a small cable, connected it to the machine, then typed codes to get to the secure server. This was a lot easier and a lot faster than relying on the phone lines back at the safe house.
Where J.J. Barnes was probably taking a bath. Naked.
“As opposed to taking one fully dressed?” he grumbled. But chastising himself didn’t prevent his brain from wandering while he waited for his messages to upload to his handheld.
At least he was gentleman enough to make it a bubble bath. Which, in some perversion of gallantry, seemed somehow more sexy than an image of her completely nude. Long, shapely legs peeking out from the water, head tilted back, eyes closed, candles everywhere. He could almost smell scented bath crystals and candle wax as his mind insisted on taunting him. With her head resting against the rim of the tub, blond hair haphazardly pinned up, save for a few wayward strands, he could just imagine the temptation of her neck, how it would feel to run his mouth from the tip of her earlobe all the way down to the outline of her collarbone. He imagined her skin would be soft, warm and—
The computer beeped and flashed Terminated.
Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the fantasies from his mind. The assignment would be hard enough without lusting after the woman he was meant to protect.
J.J. HAD BATHED and changed into sweats, then joined the others in the main part of the rustic four-bedroom cabin. Lara and Denise were sharing one bedroom while Martin, Cody and J.J. all got singles. Worked for her. This assignment was hard enough without being stuck with a roommate.
Unless the roomy was Cody.
Back up! she yelled at that little voice in her head. To distract herself, she went to the refrigerator and took her time surveying the sparse contents. It was safer than the possibility of one of her jailers reading her thoughts.
They weren’t thoughts so much as porn. The short film playing in her mind’s eye featured Cody Landry, stripped to the waist, approaching her bed. The image wasn’t pure fantasy. She’d seen him in just such a way during their time at Quantico. Only then, she’d been hiding behind a tree trunk, gawking at him like some pathetic coed.
They’d been running the obstacle course at the same time, only he finished first. When she found him at the water station, he’d stripped off his T-shirt and was holding a hose above his head, water cascading down his impressive shoulders.
She’d stopped abruptly, eyes fixed on the sculpted muscles of his broad tanned chest. A thick V of dark hair served as a directional arrow toward his waistband.
Sunlight had glistened off his damp skin as he tossed the hose aside and used his shirt to towel off his face, then his arms, and finally his perfectly chiseled stomach and abdomen.
J.J.’s mouth had gone desert-dry and her heart rate quickened in response to seeing him. Something that had never, ever happened to her in all her thirty-two years. Not before or since.
The knowledge inspired irritation, something she took out on the helpless refrigerator, slamming the door so hard she heard bottles clanging inside.
“I need ginger ale,” she announced to the group.
“We’ll pick some up tomorrow,” Martin offered.
J.J. shook her head. “I want some now.”
Denise shot her a “spoiled bitch” look while Lara pulled her shoes on. “I’ll run to the store. I need some exercise anyway.”
“Me, too,” J.J. stated, taking two steps toward her room.
“No way,” Martin said firmly. “It’s dark outside.”
J.J. rolled her eyes. “Dark?” she repeated. “What am I, seven?”
Martin’s normally placid face morphed into a scowl. “You’re a protectee, Barnes. That means no late-night runs. You, either, Selznick. At least not alone.”
“Denise?” Lara asked.
The other woman shook her head.
“Martin?”
“Not for two miles in this cold.”
Lara offered J.J. an apologetic glance, then returned her attention to the maps she’d been studying. “We can go when Cody comes back.”
“When exactly is he expected?” J.J. demanded. The only reply was a collective shrug. “Surely he has a cell phone,” she suggested. “Call him and ask him to stop for ginger ale on the way back.”
“No can do,” Martin replied, grabbing the remote control for the small color television and flipping to some sports talk show. “Cody is taking some personal time and he doesn’t like to be disturbed for trivial things.”
What kind of personal time? J.J. wondered, annoyed by his absence. Here she was, dying of thirst and needing a ginger ale, and he was off somewhere quite possibly having a quickie.
She pulled herself up short. Where had the real J.J. Barnes gone? Why did she care who Cody Landry slept with? It was absolutely none of her business. None. She’d only complicate her job having fantasies about a man she was supposed to be watching for a whole other reason.
Knowing that it would look odd if she thumped her head against the wall, J.J. gave herself a mental thump instead. Focus on the job.
Glancing up to find that she hadn’t moved, Martin muttered, “I’ll go out with Lara as soon as he comes back.”
Nice of him to tear himself away from the fascinating commentary about ice hockey blaring from the set.
Bored with the confinement, J.J. headed down the hallway, leaving the marshals to the TV. Let’s see just how good you guys are at your jobs.
She went back to her bedroom, opened her suitcase, slipped on her running shoes and down vest, then silently opened the window. For a split second she hesitated, hands clenched on the sash, feeling the icy air against her face as she stared out into the unrelieved blackness of the night.
“Dammit.” She’d never been afraid before. But just for a nanosecond she’d been terrified of what could be out there in the dark waiting for her.
She never would have pulled a stunt like this in D.C. But this was the back of beyond. Nobody here knew her. And nobody knew where she was. If she wasn’t safe here, she wasn’t safe anywhere.
Now or never.
She drew in a deep breath and swung her legs through the opening.
It was an easy drop to the ground.
The air was cool and crisp. Snow crunched beneath her feet as she eased the window closed. Bringing her heel up to her butt, she stretched out her hamstring, then repeated the action on the other leg. With only the half-moon as her guide, she began a light jog west. Running had always been a great stress reliever and she certainly needed that now.
She’d gone about a mile and a quarter when she started to feel fatigue.
“Not possible,” she panted into the dead quiet of the dark night. She was a marathon-class runner. Had to be the lingering effects of the surgery. Her body never tired this quickly. Maybe it was the altitude. That would explain the fatigue, the nausea and the general “off” feeling.
“Except that I felt off before I left D.C.,” she argued with herself. Maybe the doctors missed something. She hadn’t exactly been much help. She didn’t even remember the beating, so she couldn’t give specifics.
Stubbornness kept her moving. Replaced ten minutes later by the sight of streetlights up ahead. Jasper wasn’t much more than a dot in the middle of the valley. But on the way to the safe house, she’d seen a diner—the Something-or-Another Café. She’d go inside, have an all night drink, maybe read the local paper. See just how long it would take the crack team of U.S. marshals to realize their protectee was gone.
She smiled, knowing full well her boss would enjoy reading her report. Red was fiercely competitive with any other law enforcement branch. He was old school FBI—in his mind, they were the elite. He’d like that J.J. bested the marshals on the very first night. Maybe that could earn her some points, make up for the whole Visnopov debacle.
Feeling a true sense of purpose, J.J. turned right when she hit Main Street and slowed her pace as she passed the metered parking spots and expertly restored buildings. Just past the courthouse, she saw a lot filled with pickup trucks. The Cowboy Café was apparently a hopping place.
J.J. almost gagged when she stepped inside. The smell of bacon and coffee assailed her while about twenty pairs of eyes turned in her direction. An attractive redhead J.J. put somewhere in the vicinity of fifty smiled as she came out from behind a chipped Formica counter. A pencil was stuck behind her ear. Said ear was decorated with snowman earrings that bobbed and swayed with each step she took.
“I’m Ruthie. Want a table or the counter?”
“A booth, please,” J.J. answered, following as the woman led her through the gauntlet of inquiring eyes to the next to last booth.
“Coffee?” Ruthie asked, the pencil now poised above a pad with worn, curled corners.
“Ginger ale?”
Ruthie tilted her head and looked down with unabashed curiosity in her intelligent green eyes. “Tea, if you’re feeling the mountains.”
Whatever that meant.
Clearly reading her expression, Ruthie smiled. “That’s the altitude, honey. Tea and toast,” she recommended. “Don’t worry, honey. Happens to a lot of visitors. I’ll get you fixed up in a jiff. But you shouldn’t be out running until your system adjusts. Especially if you’re planning on getting any skiing time in tomorrow.”
It made sense for Ruthie to assume she was a tourist. And it made just as much sense for J.J. to let the woman keep that assumption. Smiling, she said, “Sounds great. I’ll put myself in your capable hands.”
“Come on over here, Ruthie old girl. I’ll put you in my hands, too,” a rough-looking guy called from his perch on a bar stool held together with some duct tape and a lot of hope.
“Go on home to your wife,” Ruthie tossed back good-naturedly. “You know I never put my hands where another woman’s belong. And leave the nice blonde alone. She’s a guest in our fine town, and we don’t want her getting the wrong impression.”
Apparently Ruthie’s word was gospel in the café. J.J. was served in peace and even given a copy of the local weekly to peruse as she nursed the lemony hot tea. She was working on the second triangle of bland toast when she heard the screech of tires out front.
Dipping the newspaper fractionally, she watched as all four doors of the SUV swung open.
Here it comes, she thought. I’m not going to react to his anger. See how he likes that!
With Cody in the lead, the four marshals burst into the restaurant.
The choruses of “Hey, Cody!” seemed lost on the man as he stormed toward her, his dark eyes glistening, hands fisted at his sides.
Careful not to reveal any reaction, J.J. placed her paper on the table and met his hostile gaze with a deceptively calm smile. “Evening, Deputy Landry.”