Banged Up

Chapter One


Home.

Relief flooded over Mace Walker as he twisted the key in the lock, gave the front door a shove, and stepped over the threshold. Finally home. About time.

Time to heal.

The foyer was dark, but he didn’t need to hit the light switch. Even being gone for as long as he had been, he still knew the house well enough. He made his way to the stairs and set down his bags. Those two small duffels didn’t hold much evidence of his life for the past couple of years. Just some toiletries and a few basic items of clothing.

As he straightened, the foyer lit up, blinding him for a second. He blinked when a young voice rang out from the top of the steps. “Hold it right there! Put your arms up and back away from the stairs.”

What the fuck?

Mace had expected to see his sister bounding down the stairway of his two-story colonial, excited after not seeing her brother for the past two years. Actually, more like one year, eleven months and fifteen days. Not that he was counting. But instead, he stared up into the deadly eye of a Glock. And from his viewpoint it looked like a model 23, a .40 caliber. A compact but still a decent sized gun in a very small, very uneasy hand. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Damn. He’d dealt with crime bosses and their flunkies--from drug to porno rings--and had managed to survive. Now he was going to be killed by some measly punk he surprised while burglarizing his house? The cruel irony made him want to laugh. Instead, he did as he was instructed. With caution, he raised his hands above his head before stepping back toward the middle of the foyer. He avoided standing directly under the light, trying to get a better view of the top of the steps. But he didn’t have much success; the upstairs hallway and the upper section of the stairway were hidden in shadows.

If he played his cards right, this little situation would be under his control in no time at all. He just had to keep the kid calm and make the skinny punk believe he was the one in command. From experience, Mace knew the Glock didn’t have a conventional safety. All the kid had to do was pull the trigger and pull it again and again until all the rounds in the clip emptied into Mace’s body. And from what he could see in the limited light, the kid’s fingers were twitching from nervousness.

Not a good sign.

Where had a young punk gotten an expensive handgun like that? It certainly hadn’t been in the house. And if it had been, it would have been locked up in the gun safe.

If only he could see the boy’s face. He needed to see the eyes. Without seeing his eyes, Mace couldn’t even begin to predict what the kid would do.

“Don’t you dare move or I’ll blow your face off!” The kid’s voice raised an octave, making him sound more and more like ... a girl.

Tension ran through Mace’s body as the person started down the steps. At first he could see bare toes, a slim calf, then another. His gaze flicked to the gun, before returning to the shapely naked thighs which couldn’t belong to a kid--no way. Especially not a boy. Those smooth legs definitely belonged to a woman--and he couldn’t wait to see the rest of her. So far, the view almost made it worth being held at gunpoint. Almost.

He was disappointed when an oversized T-shirt--shit, was that Marmaduke on it?--blocked his view of creamy flesh. His arms were tired, his leg throbbed painfully, and his patience was wearing thin. But he still wasn’t going to move, since he had no idea who this woman descending the stairs was. His curiosity piqued when she stepped down into the light, which highlighted her long, curly red hair and made her wide, green--glaring--eyes sparkle and snap.

A twitch shot through his lower stomach and landed in his groin. Fear or pain didn’t make him suck in his breath. It was her unrestricted breasts bobbing under the cotton shirt with each step she took. Her nipples stood out like two beacons under the worn cotton. Jesus.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could ask her, “Are you robbing this house, dressed like that?”

If he was lucky, she would perform a body search on him for valuables. A very thorough body search, one involving body parts. He could wish, anyway. It might make this all worthwhile. He tried not to smirk. Irritating a woman with a gun wasn’t smart. Experience, and he had plenty of it, had taught him that much.

She hesitated halfway down the staircase, still pointing the gun at him. A look of uncertainty crossed her features, before disappearing as quickly as it had come. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Am I robbing this house? The question is: What are you doing here?”

His leg began to throb again, the way it had earlier on his long drive into town. But he preferred the ache to no feeling at all. He was glad to even still have his leg. Hell, he was lucky just to be alive.

“I live here.” She didn’t believe him; he wasn’t surprised. “Can I put my arms down now?” His fists clenched high above his head--fighting the pain and fighting the urge to drop them to rub his thigh.

“No! Don’t move! I’m going to call the cops. Back up.” She jabbed the gun in his direction.

Mace didn’t move, instead he let out a long, very loud, impatient sigh.

“Back up, I said! Or I’ll shoot you.”

“It’s happened before,” he said dryly.

The redhead looked at him in surprise, her feet faltering on the last step. “What?”

“I’ve been shot before. So go ahead. I’ll probably survive again. I’m pretty lucky.”

She squeezed the gun tighter in her hand, if that was even possible. “Well, your luck has run out, buddy.”

“Hmm. Especially if you have hollow points in that clip.” She glanced at the gun; it was a just a quick flick of her eyes, but he caught it. “Did you ever see anyone shot with a Black Talon? It’s pretty nasty. Slugs go in and come out. Hollow-points go in and blow out--usually half your body. Makes quite a mess.”

The arm holding the black, lightweight gun, trembled.

“Did you ever hear of the saying, ‘Don’t pull it, unless you’re going to use it’? If you decide to use it, make sure you use both hands. Be sure you kill me, not maim me.”

“Shut up!”

Mace did. The woman placed her free hand underneath the gun to support it. At least she was open to suggestions. His talking had unnerved her, and he didn’t need her to squeeze the trigger by accident. Hollow-points or not, all bullets tend to hurt. He frowned at the thought.

“Lie on the floor! Your hands behind your head! Now!”

Christ, the bitch was starting to get annoying now. But at this point she was close enough to kill him, even if she was a bad shot. He’d had enough with the games for tonight. He was tired and just wanted to go to bed in his own house.

Mace judged the distance. “Can’t.” He just needed her a few steps closer.

She waved the gun at him recklessly, her left foot moving forward. “Do it!”

One more step...

“I can’t kneel easily. I’ve got a bum leg.” The bum leg was true enough, but he exaggerated a bit on the kneeling part. He’d been known to lie when he had a gun directed at him. Sometimes lies came easier than truths. And he’d had a lot of practice.

“From all those times being shot, huh?”

“Actually, yeah...”

“Down on the ground or I’ll blow your brains all over this foyer.” Her slow words, muttered through gritted teeth, made him think she might be serious. Her right foot moved to keep her balance.

Now was his chance.

Mace lunged. He cracked her extended arm with his fist, causing a cry of pain. As she grabbed her injured wrist, the gun dropped, skittering across the tile floor. He grasped both her flailing arms, pushing her. She fell back against the stairs, air whooshing from her lungs. Her head had missed the edge of the steps by a fraction of an inch. He planted his knees on the outside of her bare thighs, pinning them together.

Mace looked down at the woman trapped beneath him. His weight crushed her into the carpeted steps. And he didn’t care. He was in pain, so why shouldn’t she be?

“Oh, God, please. Don’t--” she whispered, her voice catching. Eyes wide, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

Mace scowled. “Don’t what? Hurt you? After you just had a gun pointed at my head, you don’t want me to hurt you?”

The pulse in her delicate neck pounded against her creamy skin--like it wanted to escape.

“If ... if you leave now, I won’t call the police. I’ll forget this ever happened.”

Liar. If she got the chance she would run into the kitchen and dial 911.

Mace chuckled at her discomfort, even though he felt a little of his own. Damn, not just a little but a lot. His leg muscle burned like hell. “If you call the police, the only person they are going to be taking away is you.”

She twisted underneath him, making him wince with pain. He gritted his teeth to avoid groaning out loud. That groan would not have been a pleasurable one. No, what a pity. It had been a while since he had been with any beautiful females like the one underneath him. He’d have to make an effort to change that soon. But right now he had a problem to deal with and the problem continued to squirm underneath him. Even though he wasn’t feeling at all charitable right now, he was going to have to let her up. For his own sake.

Mace stood, lifting her with him, careful not to release her wrists. He angled away from her slightly, making sure a knee or foot didn’t connect with any of his vital areas. He was in enough pain already. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” She exhaled loudly, visibly regaining control of herself.

Mace shook his head, tightening his grip on her wrists--a little reminder of the change of power. “No. I’m in charge now. Unless you want me to have you toted out of here with handcuffs on, you’d better answer my fucking questions.”

“I’m not going to tell you, a ... a criminal, who I am.”

Oh, brother. “I’m not a criminal.”

She eyed him skeptically through the long mane of red hair falling over her face. “Okay, so what are you doing in this house?”

Mace let another impatient sigh escape. Maybe he should close his eyes and count to ten... Nah, fuck it. “I told you, I live here. And stop trying to screw with me. Just answer my questions.”

“I’m not screwing with you. Go ahead and call the police.” She flattened her lips together and tilted her chin toward the ceiling.

Christ, was she stubborn! He would have to try another tactic to get her to talk. He was trying to be reasonable, but ... he didn’t have many options. He really didn’t want the local police involved. Not if he could avoid it anyway. And it wasn’t necessary; if he couldn’t handle one skinny-assed woman by himself, he needed to give up his day job.

Hell, that wasn’t fair, she probably wasn’t skinny-assed. She probably had a nice rear on her, one which matched the nice front. He wouldn’t mind checking it out, just to make sure. He loved a woman who was nicely balanced--tits and ass.

“If you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing here, I’ll strip off this skimpy shirt of yours and anything else you’re wearing--which probably isn’t much.” He raked another look down her long, supple, hot little body. It has been too long. “And drag you out onto the front lawn. I’ll start yelling like a carnival barker until all of the neighbors come out and look at you buck naked. They might enjoy a nice little side show.”

It was an empty threat, but Mace contained his smirk when what little color she had drained away from her face. What she didn’t know was if he made the effort--even as small as it would be--to get her naked, there wouldn’t be anyone looking at her but him. His cock was already at half-mast.

She remained silent. He couldn’t believe it, she actually wasn’t going to talk. He grasped both her wrists in one hand and with the other began to slowly pull up the hem of her nightshirt, revealing pink satin panties. Hot damn. His dick was at complete attention now, but unfortunately caught in an uncomfortable position. He was not going to adjust himself right at the moment, proving what a horny shit he was.

Before he could raise the soft cotton shirt above her flat belly--Goddamn, she was an innie-- she squirmed her hips away from him, the color returning to her face in full force. “Okay, okay! My name is Colby Parks.” In what looked like defeat, she closed her eyes.

Mace reluctantly released the shirt, pushing away the feeling of regret, and watched the fabric catch on her hip. For half a second, he wished she would have been more stubborn; she was obviously not wearing a bra. He would have liked to see what was under the big dumb Great Dane. He gave himself a mental shake. “Colby Parks? Is that your real name?”

“Yes!” She tossed her head, flipping the hair away from her face.

A dusting of freckles crossed her nose. He knew better than to be distracted by something so simple like freckles. He wondered where else she had freckles. Okay, he needed to concentrate! This woman had pulled a gun on him. In his career he couldn’t afford to lose his focus. “It must be. Who could make up a name like that? What are you doing here?”

“House sitting.”

“Yeah.” Mace chuckled again. “And doing a very good job at it.” His humor quickly vanished to deadly seriousness. He pushed his face close to hers. His attempt to intimidate her once again failed when her soft breath, coming quickly through those full, parted lips, sidetracked him once more. For a split second. Or two. “Who hired you?”

Colby Parks’ green eyes shot daggers at him. Now he knew where the saying “if looks could kill” came from. “If you truly live here, you should know that!”

Mace squeezed her wrists tighter. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Lady, I’m not here to play games. Answer the question.”

Colby hesitated a second before Mace saw the resignation cross her expression. He was almost disappointed she was going to give up. He liked her fire. Okay, he more than liked it.

“Maxi ... Maxine Walker.”

Ah, so that’s why his sister wasn’t here to greet him. Maxi hired this little gun-toting vixen to watch the house. She was out of town.

Mace released her without warning and Colby stumbled away, rubbing her wrists. She turned and ran into the kitchen. Mace followed right behind her, making sure he stayed between her and the gun. She was predictable. He depressed the hook switch on the phone while she frantically dialed.

“Don’t call the police. It would just be more of an embarrassment for you.”

Colby held the phone to her chest like a lifeline. She stared at him, wide-eyed. A rabbit cornered by a wolf. The pressure of the handset against the thin, worn cotton only emphasized what he was trying not to notice. Okay, what he didn’t want to admit to noticing. He turned away, picked up the gun, stuffing it into his jacket pocket, and limped to the kitchen table. With a groan, he slowly sank into a hard wooden chair. “I’m Mace Walker. Maxi’s brother.” He didn’t bother to look at her, he assumed she would make the right choice at this point.

From behind, Mace heard the receiver clatter onto its base. Huh, he was right. He massaged his right thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Maxi’s brother.” The whisper had come from behind him. But within another second she was standing in front of him, hands jammed on her hips, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have a brother.”

Mace looked at the gathered cotton at her waist, trying to ignore--but failing miserably--the way the hem of the shirt was now cockeyed and almost flashing those pink panties. Those panties probably smelled so sweet. He massaged his thigh harder.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “I’ve known Maxi for over a year and she has never--not once--mentioned a brother. And she certainly didn’t tell me he’d be visiting.”

She stood for a minute, appearing undecided what to do. With an exasperated huff, she pulled out the chair across from him. With a tug on the hem of her nightshirt, Colby settled into it. The tug was a sad attempt at covering her long length of thigh, but it certainly covered that sweet little package wrapped in pink satin. Okay, concentrate, damn it.

“She doesn’t tell anyone she has a brother so no one asks questions.” He stood and left the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a prescription bottle and her gun. He released the full clip and unloaded the round in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine as the lone hollow-point bullet rolled across the kitchen table. She really could have shot him. He tossed the empty gun in her lap, making her jump. Leave it to a woman to be more dangerous than the Mafia. Fuck.

“I hope you have a license for that.” He stuck the clip in his jacket pocket, and went to the cabinet for a glass.

He was relieved the glasses were still in the same place where he left them two years ago. He had horrible visions of his sister taking over his house and redecorating it all girly-like. He was glad she had enough sense to leave things be.

When he crossed to the sink, he realized he was wrong. Maxi had changed some things. He frowned at the little yellow ceramic duck with a blue ribbon tied around its neck which held a sponge. That would have to go.

After filling the glass with cold tap water, he swallowed a pill and took a drink. On second thought, he popped another. He settled across from Colby again, studying her while he waited for the painkillers to kick in. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line, a shame for those luscious lips, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Why wouldn’t she want anyone to know she has a brother? Were you in jail?” Her eyes widened for a second. “Are you an escaped convict?”

Mace couldn’t help but smile. She had to be kidding. “Yeah, I’m an escaped convict and you’re my hostage. You have to do what I say. Get naked and lie on the table.”

Mace watched for a reaction. Nothing.

Colby Parks looked stone-cold, not even a twitch of a smile. “I want to see some proof you are who you say you are.”

Lady, someone must have burned you good to make you so mistrustful you have to interrogate a friend’s brother. Oh, and carry a gun. He couldn’t forget that. But, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. It was like looking at his reflection; he would be just as cautious and suspicious if he were in her shoes--he glanced down at her naked feet--or in those cute, pink painted toes.

“What, knowing which cabinet the drinking glasses are in isn’t proof enough?”

“Don’t toy with me. I want to see some ID.”

Her determination fascinated him. Determined, not afraid of guns, one hell of a hottie ... a redheaded, green-eyed, freckled one, to boot. Colby reminded him of an uptight school teacher. The kind who, at night, would let her hair down and get wild. She could be a sex kitten under her stubborn exterior. His type of woman. Mace grinned. His mind drifted back to their conversation and he realized she waited expectantly. “ID? Like my inmate’s ID card with my mug shot and number on it?”

“An ID would do.”

“Sorry, I left it behind when I scaled the walls. Had to pack light. It was a long swim from Alcatraz to land.” Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to appreciate his sense of humor. He sighed, the pain in his leg was slowly easing. His relief was short-lived, for some reason he now had a headache. He looked over at the reason. “Where is my dear sister, anyhow?”

“Away.”

“Hmm. I figured. She wouldn’t have needed a house-sitter if she was only on a date.”

“She’s on her honeymoon.”

Mace straightened up, his eyes narrowing. “Honeymoon?” He tried to read her expression but it was nonexistent. At the moment, she was a rock.

“Yes, you know, the trip you go on after you get married?”

He ignored the dig, thinking her humor was no better than his. “She got married? To who? When? Where did she go?”

Colby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Mace wanted to protest because he could no longer see the hard pebbles of her nipples through her shirt. “If you’re her brother, why don’t you know about this? Why weren’t you at the wedding? Did you have a falling out or were you really in prison?”

“Neither. We were separated by necessity.” The half-assed explanation sounded lame even to his ears.

“Separated by necessity,” she said slowly, the words rolling around in her mouth like she could taste them. “And how long was this so-called separation?”

“I don’t know.” Of course, he knew. But saying it out loud made it sound worse. “Two years,” he mumbled.

“Two years,” she repeated with a frown. “Then you’ll just have to wait until she gets back. I don’t feel I should tell you her personal details.”

With a weary sigh, Mace rubbed a hand over his eyes. Too tired to argue, he said, “And when will that be?”

“In two months.”

Mace cursed softly. Two months? Who goes on a honeymoon for two months? “I might not be here that long.”

“You won’t be here at all. I wasn’t given any instructions about letting visitors stay while she was away. So you’ll just have to hide out somewhere else.”

“Think again. I own this house.”

He grinned when Colby stiffened in her chair and her hands landed back in her lap. Her knuckles whitened, her grip tightening on the empty gun.


*
Colby stood and laid the gun on the table, studying the man across from her. Mace Walker’s presence alone was enough to rattle her at first, but now she was torn by conflicting emotions. He said he was Maxi’s brother. This house was his, not hers. Why hadn’t Maxi told her? Could she trust him? He certainly didn’t look trustworthy.

His intensely dark, almost black eyes and his unshaven face unnerved her. His dark clothes seemed suspicious since his bulky leather jacket was oversized, perhaps large enough to conceal something. Creeping into the house after dark made him even more suspect. Maybe she should call the police anyway. Possibly he was just trying to get her to let her guard down, only to rape and murder her in her sleep. Then again, maybe he was telling the truth. He did sort of look like Maxi, but in a more beefy, masculine way.

“I still want to see some ID,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

With a grumble he pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. A photo ID was tucked in the clear plastic front pocket, but he didn’t remove it and she couldn’t see it clearly from where she stood. He dug until he found something specific. He handed her an old, expired driver’s license, one in which he looked much younger ... and his expression was worry-free. No frown lines marred the man looking at her from the photo, but it did prove he was Macen Jeffrey Walker and the address was for the house they were sitting in.

“What, you haven’t had a driver’s license since you were...” Colby glanced at the date. “Eighteen? Been in the slammer that long?” She did some quick figuring. He was thirty-six. She now had serious doubts he had ever been imprisoned, but she wanted to pay him back for scaring her earlier. It was only fair.

“No. Not any with my real name on them.”

“Ah. So what do you do,” Colby read his name off the license, “Mr. Macen Jeffrey Walker, that you haven’t seen or even talked to your sister in two years, don’t have a current driver’s license with your own name on it and have to creep into your own house after dark?” She flipped the license back to him. She couldn’t wait to hear his explanation.

He caught the license in midair, taking his time tucking it back into his wallet before answering her. “Oh, this and that. You know, a lot of traveling.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“That’s too bad, Colby.”

Colby wasn’t sure what he meant. But one thing she was sure about was her name on his lips bothered her, for more reasons than she wanted to admit. “Not really. Your job wouldn’t have anything to do with manufacturing license plates, would it?”

“Sort of. I do the hiring, in a way.” Mace stiffly pushed himself up from the chair and swept long fingers through his coffee-colored hair, the kind of coffee he probably drank. Black and strong. “Well, I’m beat. I’m going up to bed.”

“Wait...” Colby followed him into the foyer, realizing he had two bags sitting by the staircase. She hadn’t noticed them earlier in the tussle. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

As he leaned down to pick up his duffel bags, his hand gripped the banister tightly, so tight she wouldn’t be surprised if there were indentations from his fingers in the wood.

“I don’t care what you think. I’m tired. This is my house. I’m going to my bed. Those are the facts. Live with them.”

Clearly, he was struggling to keep a blank face. He was in pain just walking up the steps, evident by the white brackets around his pressed lips. She wondered how old his injury was. She stood there helplessly while he carried his bags up the stairs.

He couldn’t just walk away leaving her unsettled. Should she stay? Should she go? And if he wanted her to go, should she leave now or in the morning? Colby followed him up the steps. She decided to test him. “If it’s okay, I’ll gather my things in the morning.”

Mace stopped abruptly at the top of the stairway, before turning to tower over her. Colby halted in her tracks, instinctively grabbing the banister for balance. “You don’t have to leave. Maxi hired you, so you can stay and finish your job. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town anyway. I’d hate to have to find another house-sitter on a moment’s notice when we have a perfectly good one already.”

Colby tried not to show her relief. She had nowhere else to go; the house she was renovating wouldn’t be habitable for at least another two months. That’s why she was so grateful to Maxi for letting her housesit. The timing had been perfect ... well, except for this little snag.

Little wasn’t the word for him. He had to be six-foot-three with his boots on. She was sure his jacket made him look heavier than he really was. But his legs were long and lean, especially encased in those sinfully snug, worn blue jeans. Damn, but she could appreciate a man with a good ass in well-fitted jeans.

Mace turned away suddenly to continue down the hall. Maybe he didn’t like women staring at him. It was only fair after feeling his eyes burn her bare skin earlier.

She trailed him to the end of the hall, keeping her distance when he pulled out a ring of keys, inserting one into the first door on the left. She had wondered why the room across from hers was locked. She had attempted to open it one day when she was vacuuming. Maxi’s room was down the hall and Colby was sleeping in what she assumed was a guest room. Now it made sense--the secret room of the secret brother.

She tried to peer around him when he swung open the door, but only saw the dust rising behind him when he flipped on the light. She was prepared to follow him in to see the locked sanctuary, but he blocked her view and her way when he turned to face her.

“Well, good night.”

Colby extended a hand to stop the door from slamming in her face. She showed him her empty gun. “What about my clip?”

Mace frowned. “You’ll get it back when you show me you know how to properly handle and shoot the thing. Good night.”

The terse parting and the shutting of the door in her face was a sure sign of her dismissal.

Colby stood, her fists planted on her hips, staring at the closed door for a few minutes. She listened to the rustling behind the door, wondering what he was doing. Getting ready for bed, most likely, genius. She should be asleep herself.

She would find out more about him tomorrow. Especially if they were planning on staying under the same roof, she thought, crossing the hall to her room.

After climbing into bed, still rumpled from when she had jumped out of it earlier, she placed her gun on the nightstand so it would be within arm’s reach. She was tempted to put her gun under the pillow, but she’d probably blow her own head off if she ended up tossing and turning. It might be empty at the moment but...

A wicked smile crossed her face as she opened her dresser.

Inside it lay another clip. Along with three more boxes of ammo.



* * * *

Mace threw his bags on the bed and sank down beside them. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair while letting out a long, soothing sigh. He gazed around the master bedroom. The furniture had a layer of dust. Pictures of his late parents and his sister dotted the room. His alarm clock had never been set after the last power outage: it flashed 12:00 incessantly. He glanced at this watch. It was almost midnight.

He was home. Really home. Not in some strange motel in some unknown town surrounded by people who shouldn’t be classified as human.

He was sick of the city life: the noise, the rush, and the constant wariness. He had felt a lot of the tension in his body dissipate the moment he had driven into Malvern. This town was quite different, more laid back, and even though it was a large college town, its population was only a fraction of New York City’s.

He was disappointed, though. He really had been looking forward to spending time with his sister, Maxi, the only person who really understood him. He wanted to run things by her, bend her ear a bit. Hell, more like a lot. He needed to figure out his future. But now he’d have to wait. Wait to be around someone who loved him for who he really was.

Not loved or even hated him for whom he pretended to be.

He didn’t know how long he was going to last, doing what he did. The job was taking a toll on him. He was tired of spending time with people he reviled and couldn’t trust. He was tired of having to agonizingly memorize details of a made-up life. An existence where one slip-up could cost your life or a colleague’s.

He rubbed his thigh. His last assignment had been a killer, both emotionally and physically. He just needed time now. Time to forget.

Time to heal.

He thought about the redhead just across the hall from him. He felt a twinge of guilt about his brusqueness toward her. On the other hand, it was hard to be nice when you’re being threatened with a loaded weapon. He had to admit he was impressed with her guts and determination--whether it was real or just an act to cover her fear.

Mace had originally thought his time home would be boring. Dull. Uneventful.

Colby Parks just might have changed that.