.38 Caliber Cover-Up

every muscle in his body aching. What was going through her mind? Did she fake the call? Nope, she looked too confident. “I was double-crossed tonight. Hand over the package Pike gave to you, and I’m out of here.”

“And the DEA won’t help you because…?”

“Can’t trust ’em.” Okay, raising one very cute eyebrow was her prompt for more information. And the little tug on her Lucky Care Bear T-shirt meant what?

“Why would you think you could trust me?”

Again, the one curious eyebrow thing. Nice. Don’t get distracted, Rhodes. He was running out of time.

“You saw the photograph. There’s only one reason I’d be sent here.” That hit a nerve. Her fist tightened around the gun handle. Yeah, she knew about the mysterious package. He could see the indecision playing across her lightly freckled face.

Focus.

“Five minutes,” she said in a flat voice, ignoring all the emotion he’d witnessed.

“I’m tracking a guy who might have murdered Pike.”

“I’m still listening.”

How much could he spill without jeopardizing his next moves? Enough to get them out of here before her shadow parked out front knocked on the door. Them? Yes, them. It was the only way he could be sure she told him the truth. And to guarantee no one would be coming after him.

“If the package isn’t here, I think we should leave.” Someone had her house staked out and Rhodes couldn’t tell if the guy in the car would be on her side. “Look. Tonight was supposed to be a simple meet. Get some information. Find out where to go next. I was set up. Trigger-happy cops at one end of the alley and a gun at my back pinning me in the middle. Most likely my handler from the DEA.”

“They obviously didn’t want you dead or they would have been a little bit more accurate.”

“I’m not too sure about that.” He pressed his hand to his side. The bleeding had definitely stopped. A flesh wound that still hurt like the devil.

“I can save you a lot of trouble. I didn’t set you up and have no information about your…package.”

She grinned at the double entendre. Cute.

“Aw, but you do.” Yeah, she did. O’Malley wasn’t a very good liar. Strange for someone in undercover work. “And you’re curious.”

“I’ll give you that one.”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” They’d be cutting it close by walking out the door now. “Call the number I gave you? Verify my ID.”

“Um…cop,” she said pointing to herself. “Called it and got the Dallas Celebration Deli while you were unconscious.”

“Then I have nothing. Let your curiosity or faith take over. I need your help. You’re the only one I can count on.”

There it was again. That indecision he’d seen earlier and something more. It would be close if they left right now. Thank God she had a rear-entry garage. “No more delays. They’ll be here any minute.”

“I’m not turning over whatever Pike left me because you have a map instructing you to come here.”

“Take me to the package.” He was back in control. He could see how much she wanted to participate. Her eagerness was written all over her face.

Don’t say anything else, Rhodes. You’ll just screw it up. It has to be her decision.

The whine of an ambulance grew in the distance. He needed to avoid the complication of the Dallas P.D. and deal with the one cop he’d been sent to find—O’Malley. One step and he had his back to her.

Nothing.

A shake of the doorknob.

He knew. Just knew. His thighs tensed, ready to move. His abs hardened, anticipating the requirement of his body.

The front door bashed open and hit the wall. O’Malley turned toward the noise.

There was a pop, a hole in the wall. Someone barely missed shooting a hole in O’Malley’s heart.

No time to think, shout or plead. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his free hand around her pistol. He yanked her toward the kitchen, aiming at the target, blindly pulling the trigger.

Chapter Two

Bits of drywall stung Darby’s cheek. She landed with a heavy thud on top of the agent who had saved her life. With her snug against his body, his strong arm circled her waist and hauled her into the kitchen. He anchored her to his rock-hard chest, continuing to point her gun at the opening to the hall—his hand wrapped firmly over hers, committing her to action.

The agent’s arm pulled so hard and fast, her breath escaped her body. She couldn’t move. Or had time slowed to a frame-by-frame? Her eyes blinked. A strand of hair floated across her face, moved by the man behind her.

And still the agent held her locked to his long body. Her legs nesting between his.

Waiting.

A quick intake to fill his lungs. She did the same, but his grip around her middle didn’t lessen. No sounds came from the front room. She heard nothing but his matching heartbeat against her back.

“You hit?” Warm air circled her ear, shooting tingles down her spine in spite of their situation.

The still-unnamed agent released his death grip and her hand holding her weapon fell to her leg. She shot to her feet with him quickly following. His eyes locked onto hers while his fingers explored her body.

“Are. You. Hit.”

A rough, impatient voice countered the concern in his eyes. Her side was coated in blood— his blood. The look she’d seen in his eyes for a split second let her know they had something in common…he’d seen death, too.

“I’m fine.” She was anxious to get her eyes back on the crazy SOB who had busted through her door, gun blazing. “Stay here.”

Five years of training kicked into gear. Scanning the room and beyond for potential harm, she kept an eye on her unarmed hero. He should have stayed in her kitchen, but he took her flank through the dining room door.

Chest-high bullet holes in her hallway were more than enough evidence that the creep bleeding inside her living room had been shooting to kill. The perp half-sat, half-leaned against her freshly painted—now blood- spattered—wall. Alert. Smug. Shot in the thigh.

“Dallas P.D. Show me your hands.” For someone unaccustomed to being shot at, her voice and grip were surprisingly steady. She covered her mystery man as he frisked the shooter. Dealer? Doper? Someone had followed the man who saved her life to her house.

Her DEA agent picked up the weapon several feet from the shooter and slipped it in the back of his jeans. Her agent? Definitely not a safe way to think. He had saved her life, but she couldn’t completely trust him yet.

The agent had a photo of Pike and the reverse side was a hand-drawn map to her house with doodles around the edges. Doodles to anyone else, but it was a code she and her brothers had used since childhood. The message told her to stick with this man until Michael contacted her. Sent before Michael was shot with Pike’s weapon. Sent before he was found comatose on police academy property. She had no reason to trust her brother and even less to trust the outsider carrying the message, but did she have a choice?

“Who wants her dead?” the agent demanded. He smashed the shooter’s hands on top of the wound. “You’ll want to keep pressure on that.”

The shooter sucked air through his teeth in a long hiss.

Blood seemed to be everywhere. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Her hands were covered. No. Her hands were clean.