Striking Distance

Ski paragliding wasn’t a sport that interested Javier, in part because he couldn’t see the point. He shook his head. “I don’t know—strapping some kind of ’chute to your back and letting the wind pull you down the mountain? Either ski or jump.”

Hunter chuckled, pointing to Rossiter. “You wouldn’t believe the sick shit I’ve seen this guy do. If a sport involves gravity, snow in any form, and a high likelihood of death, he’s in.”

A flash of short platinum-blond hair—and a body that could kill.

It wasn’t Laura Nilsson, but . . .

Javier gave a low whistle.

Hunter and Rossiter looked over their shoulders, then back at Javier.

Hunter shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no. Don’t even think about it.”

“He’s human. He’s male. He’s going to think about it.” Rossiter grinned. “That’s Holly Bradshaw. She’s one of the paper’s entertainment writers. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

That didn’t sound so bad.

Hunter looked over at her. “What she needs is to fall for a man who refuses to sleep with her.”

Javier was about to say a guy would have to be gay as a daisy to turn down a woman like Holly, when suddenly she was there.

His heart skipped again—and gave a thud.

Wearing jeans and a white blouse beneath a blue angora cardigan, Laura shook hands with Nate and McBride, then Natalie, her pale blond hair catching the light, the smile on her face hitting Javier in the gut. She shook Megan’s hand, then knelt down to talk to Emily, giving the little girl her full attention.

?Ea Diablo! She was beautiful!

Hunter and Rossiter saw her, too.

“Oh, hey, she came.” Hunter sounded surprised to see her. He lowered his voice. “Sophie said she didn’t think Laura was going to make it. Derek Tower—the asshole who owns the security company that was supposed to have kept her safe in Pakistan—accosted her in the parking lot outside the paper last night. He forced his way into her car. She drew on him—a double deuce—but he tore the weapon out of her hands, even left bruises. She filed a report with DPD last night. Uniforms went looking for him but haven’t found him.”

Javier had heard of Derek Tower, hadn’t known what to think of him. Now he hated the bastard. His gaze snapped back to Hunter. “Doesn’t she have protection—a bodyguard?”

Hunter shook his head. “Sophie says the FBI doesn’t believe she’s in any real danger, and she can’t afford to pay for protection herself. Sophie wants me to talk to Old Man Irving—Denver’s chief of police—and have our local boys fill in.”

“Not a bad idea.” Javier had never understood how the federal agencies worked. It all seemed like red tape and bullshit to him.

“Let’s go say hello.” Hunter opened the sliding patio door and walked inside, Rossiter behind him.

Javier followed the two men indoors but hung back, watching while the others introduced themselves.

She probably doesn’t even remember you.

“Welcome to the Cimarron. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Make yourself at home.” Jack pressed her hand between both of his. “Can I get you something to drink—wine, beer, scotch, soda, some overpriced bubbly water?”

Laura smiled, a genuine bright smile that put dimples in her cheeks. “Overpriced bubbly water would be lovely. Thank you.”

Jack turned back to the kitchen.

Hunter stepped forward, held out his hand. “Marc Hunter. I’m Sophie’s husband. Sophie has said great things about you.”

“Thank you. She’s said good things about you, too.”

“All true, I’m sure.” Hunter grinned.

“I’m Julian Darcangelo. I head up the DPD’s vice squad. My wife, Tessa, is a big fan of yours. She’s an investigative journalist herself and has written a few books. She used to be on the I-Team before she went freelance. I can’t believe she hasn’t found some excuse to visit Sophie at the paper so she can meet you.”

“Sophie has mentioned her.” Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You say she’s written books? Wait—is her name Tessa Novak?”

Darcangelo nodded. “That was her maiden name. She still uses it for journalism.”

“I’m a fan of hers. I read the two books she wrote about human sex trafficking. She inspired me to look into the issue in Pakistan and India.”

“Hearing that is going to make her day—hell, her entire year.”

Rossiter pushed his way forward. “Gabe Rossiter. I’m Kat’s worse half.”

Laura took Rossiter’s hand and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “I’ve heard about some of your adventures.”

“He’s the most famous one-legged extreme athlete in the world,” Hunter quipped. “Just ask him.”

That made her laugh.

Her gaze shifted to Javier. The color drained from her cheeks, and her eyes went wide, her lips parting as she stared up at him. “It’s . . . It’s you!”

* * *

LAURA COULD HEAR nothing over the thrum of her own pulse, her gaze fixed on the face of the tall man who stood before her.

Javier Corbray.

Somehow, he was standing right here in this room with her.

“Hello, Laura.”

A feeling of light-headedness swamped her, the floor tilting.

Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadied her. “Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down for a sec?”

He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, sitting on the coffee table across from her, his gaze fixed on her, his two big hands taking hold of hers.

She found herself staring back at him, this man from her memories—memories from another life. He seemed out of place here, her past now standing right here in her present. A trill of panic shot through her.

She drew her hands away, words spilling out of her. “I didn’t think I would ever . . . I never expected . . . I didn’t know you’d be here, and . . .”

“Small world, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Nate and I are old friends.”

It was then she noticed that the room had fallen silent, apart from the chatter of children playing down the hall. She looked up to find everyone watching her. Feeling strangely exposed, she shifted her gaze to the fireplace.

Javier leaned in. “Why don’t we find someplace quiet where we can talk?”

A chance to talk with him in private. “Yes.”

“Try the library,” she heard Nate say.

She got to her feet, following Javier down the hallway and into a spectacular two-story library with its own fireplace. Under normal circumstances the room would have made her smile with delight. Today, it was just a room. She sat in front of the fire in a soft leather wingback chair, her gaze drawn to him. He sat down not in the chair beside her, but across from her, as if to give her room to breathe.

She needed it. For so long he’d been just a memory, a man with whom she’d spent one precious, luxurious, uninhibited weekend. And now he was here.

“Are you okay?” His eyebrows pressed down in a concerned frown. “Can I get you something to drink—that bubbly water Jack promised you?”

“No, I’m fine. I was just . . . surprised.” An understatement.

“Sorry to give you a shock. I had no idea there was any connection between you and Nate until he told me you might come to the barbecue.”

“Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” She allowed herself to look at him, to really look at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Oh, he was a beautiful man—dark, exotic, sensual. Some men were intelligent. Some were tall. Some were sexy. Some had thick hair or broad shoulders or natural athleticism. Some had lips that made women long to kiss