Dedication

For Leo

1. Erin

1

ERIN

When I met Danny Briggs, I was a long way from home.

I need you to understand how unusual that is for me. I don’t do so well outside of my cozy, secure little burrow and I avoid leaving it at all costs. But my brother needed me so I’d driven for thirteen hours and eight hundred miles, all the way from Vegas to a tiny town in the mountains of Colorado. Now I was sitting in a café, shivering, warming my hands on a mug of coffee and feeling way, way out of my comfort zone.

Some of it was the cold. I was used to Vegas, where winter meant the temperature dropping into the fifties. Up here in Colorado, everything was covered in a thick blanket of snow and the thermometer read nine degrees. I’d driven through the night, fueled by gas station coffee and gummy bears, and the heater in my car doesn’t work. Halfway across Utah, with the stars overhead, I’d had to pull over, empty my suitcase at the side of the road and pull on more clothes. I’d wound up wearing two t-shirts, two shirts and a denim jacket. As I’d climbed into the mountains, it had gotten even colder and I’d stopped at a truck stop and bought a deerstalker with fluffy flaps to go over my ears but I was still freezing.

Some of it, though, was the town. Las Vegas is one giant machine, designed to separate tourists from their money, and I live right at the heart of it. I can feel the data humming through the air all around me, see a million neon lights twinkling under computer command, hear the slot machines clatter and jingle in a carefully-tuned symphony. Heaven. Even better, Vegas is designed to be anonymous. No one knows you, no one wants to know you. Someone like me can just hunker down and be ignored. But this quaint little town was the opposite. I had one bar of signal on my phone and everyone in the café seemed to know each other. I slid lower in my seat and tried to hide behind my laptop screen.

I checked the time: it was eight in the morning, still too early to call my brother and tell him I was in town. I brought up a tech jobs website and started job-hunting but the words blurred together. I took off my glasses and cleaned them but when I put them back on, I still couldn’t focus properly. I was in that dozy, morning-after fug you get after staying awake all night.

That’s when I noticed the guy smiling at me from across the café. I blinked and checked over my shoulder…but no, there wasn’t some hot girl behind me. He was smiling at me, which didn’t make sense. Guys don’t smile at me. Guys don’t notice me.

This one was about thirty, the same as me. But he leaned against the counter with an easy confidence I’d never have, a leather jacket open over a hoodie with the name of some band too cool for me to recognize. His smile widened as he saw me notice him: he was sort of good looking, if you went for the rough look. I felt my cheeks flare red. Why’s he smiling at me? Did I have a milk mustache, or—

The guy collected his coffee and then strolled past me and out of the café’s rear exit, turning to give me a friendly nod. When he was gone, I sat there, stunned. This never happens.

Deep in my chest, something flared into life. Cautious and flickering, ready to die at any second because better that it died than to have it snuffed out by someone else again. But it was there, fragile but hopeful. Maybe I’m not so weird. Maybe he really did smile at me because he likes me. I should have smiled back. Maybe it would have been the start of something. And my sleep-deprived brain started to fill up with daydreams: maybe the guy was a fellow nerd and techie. I imagined cuddling up and reading together, safe and warm….

Then I caught myself. What might have been didn’t matter. He was gone and I was only here for a day. I’d never see him agai—

The guy burst back in through the rear door. “Help! There’s a woman unconscious out here!”

For a second, I just gaped at him, caught in emotional whiplash. But my mom had drilled into my brother and I to help, if we could, and taught us basic first aid. I jumped up and ran over to him. “Where?”

He stepped aside to let me through the door. “There! Behind the dumpster!”

I raced out into the alley. The street was slick with ice: maybe the woman had slipped and hit her head. Or she could be homeless, and she’d passed out in the snow and was hypothermic…

I rounded the dumpster but there was no one there. Where is she?! I looked back towards the café but the guy hadn’t followed me outside: probably, he was calling an ambulance. I realized there was a second dumpster, further down the alley, and raced over to it as fast as I dared on the ice—

There was no one there, either. Cheese and crackers! Where was she? I looked up and down the alley, desperate. What if she dies because I can’t find her?

I took a few more steps down the alley and then stopped. Realization hit, spreading through my mind in a sickly gray cloud. No. No, no, it can’t be….

I ran back to the café and burst in through the rear door, eyes already on the table where I’d been sitting. My laptop was gone. So was my phone. So was my backpack.

And the guy who’d smiled at me was halfway across the café, my backpack in his arms, heading for the front door.

Everything was in that bag. Not just the laptop and phone he’d shoved into it but my money, my ID, my car keys…. “Stop!” I called, but my voice was swallowed up by the noise of the café. Why couldn’t I have a big, booming voice like my brother? “Somebody stop him!” I yelled. This time, a few heads turned and people frowned with concern, but it was too late: the guy was already hurrying past them.

I ran after him. I only have short legs but I put everything I had into running and, as the guy slowed to haul open the front door, I caught up. Just as he stepped out onto the street, I grabbed his shoulder. “Stop!”

He turned and scowled at me, all the warmth gone from his eyes. He shoved me in the chest and I skittered backwards, hit the door and went down hard on the sidewalk.

He smirked and his lip curled in disgust, like he couldn’t believe how easily I’d been fooled. I could see it all, now. How he’d picked out his target, the geeky girl on her own. The smile, to make me feel special and put me off guard. The story about the unconscious woman that made him seem like a caring, helpful hero.

I watched, tears filling my eyes, as the guy ran towards the curb, where his buddy sat waiting on a dirt bike.

I was an idiot. Of course a guy hadn’t been interested in me.

And there were no heroes.

Someone slammed into the guy, ramming him sideways like a semi-truck hitting a car at an intersection. The guy hit a wall and cried out: I thought I heard a bone snap. He crumpled and slid to the ground, dropping my backpack.

“You just stay there, sunshine,” said the man standing over him.

The accent was British, but not the British of butlers and tea parties. This was rough as brick, filthy as a smokestack. It was supremely cocky, completely unafraid. In the darkest alley in the worst city in the world, that accent would tell you to come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.

The guy on the dirt bike paled and roared off.

The man turned, his black overcoat flaring out around him, and walked towards me. I was still awkwardly half-sitting against the door where I’d fallen. As he came closer, I had to crane my head way back to keep him in view. He was big, a full head taller than me, and wide in the shoulders, too, and he was wearing a black suit under the overcoat. On some guys with a lot of muscle, suits look awkward and wrong: they look like kids forced to squeeze into their Sunday best. But on this man, the suit couldn’t have looked more right. The dark fabric flowed over his legs, flattened by the breeze against thickly-muscled thighs. The shirt was as white as the snow around us and beautifully tailored, following the vee-shape of his upper body and then skimming a hard, flat stomach. The black tie drew a perfect line between the broad swells of his chest, the tip pointing cheekily down towards his groin.

I craned my head further back and saw black hair cut short, the wind tousling it just a little, as if nature herself couldn’t resist him. Hard cheekbones and a strong jaw. Dangerously sexy lips, wide and full, the corners lifted into a permanent little smile, as if he didn’t take anything in life completely seriously.

And then I saw his eyes.

They were a color I’d never seen. Absinthe green, glittering and intoxicating. They were clear, honest: they didn’t play games or try to pretend he was something he wasn’t. They didn’t promise anything except a wild, filthy ride.

He looked down at me and his smile widened, turning into a full-on grin. His eyes sparkled and something in my chest just lit up and went ding ding ding, like a pinball machine hitting a super bonus multiplier.

He offered his hand to pull me up. I reached for it and saw that my palm was scraped from the sidewalk. The man noticed, too, and his eyes narrowed: a quiet, dangerous rage. He looked over his shoulder at the guy who’d stolen my bag and the guy shrank back against the wall. It was like a warm blanket was being wrapped around me: I’d never felt so protected.

The man took my hand in his big, warm one and hauled me to my feet. I’d been wrong before. He was over a foot taller than me: my eyes were level with his pecs.

“I’m Danny,” he told me in that deliciously rough London accent. “And who are you?”

2. Danny

2

DANNY

ONE MINUTE EARLIER

The sky overhead was eggshell blue and a bright sun made the snow drifts sparkle like they’d been dusted with diamonds. It was bitterly cold outside but I had the Jaguar’s heater set just so and as I swung the car around each corner, I had a big, stupid grin on my face. It was a beautiful day and I was doing my favorite thing in the world. Who could ask for anything more?

It was my first day off in months. The private military team I worked for, Stormfinch Security, only needed us for jobs a few times a month, but between the jobs there was planning and scouting and lots and lots of training. My best mate JD, a big Texan who commanded our motley crew, had us doing five mile runs before the sun was even up and skulking through the local forests doing night training long after dark. When I wasn’t training, I’d been helping Kian, the Irishman who handled all the admin and got us our missions, to turn a derelict factory into our base.

Today, though, JD and Kian were both in Washington, answering questions about what we’d been getting up to. Kian had told JD he had to wear a suit and it had been so long since he’d worn one, I’d had to help him tie his tie. “Wasn’t what I signed up for,” he’d grumbled. “Sitting in a meeting all day being grilled by pencil-necks. Why can’t you do it? You love wearing a damn suit!”

“I’m not the leader of this merry band, though, am I?” I’d told him, adjusting the knot. Something I was eternally grateful for. I’m no leader. I couldn’t take that responsibility, couldn’t make those judgment calls that decided whether someone came home alive or in a box. I’ve always been the light-hearted one, the joker. Maybe that’s why we work so well together: I’m the Robin to his Batman.

JD had looked so miserable, when he was dressed, that Kian had sighed and said he could wear his Stetson, and that had cheered him up. I shook my head, chuckling. I loved the big doofus.

I flicked the wheel and slid the car around the corner onto Main Street, letting the back end slide just a little on the ice. I love the throb of a big V8: primitive and simple, like me. I had the Jag tuned exactly the way I wanted it and it felt alive, ready…all I was doing today was cruising but I could feel it begging me to let loose, it wanted to go fast. I patted the steering wheel lovingly. Good girl. Maybe later.

A plan started to take shape in my head. First, I’d stop at the little café down the street for a cup of coffee. I’m a Brit so I mainly drink tea but I’ve spent enough time in the US that I’ve come around to having one big, steaming mug of joe in the morning and this place did the best in town.

I’d get my coffee, cruise around a little more, then there was an engine I wanted to work on. This afternoon, I might call Jackie. Or Stephanie. Or that dental receptionist…Hannah? I’d got myself a nice little list of booty calls around Mount Mercy, women who melted when they heard my accent in a bar and liked it even more when I was on top of them, whispering in their ear as I spread their legs and told them all the filthy things I was going to do to them.

Okay, maybe driving is my second favorite thing.

I made sure the women knew upfront that it was just fun, that it wasn’t going to turn into anything, and they always nodded eagerly: that’s all I want, too. But I knew that after a few months, they’d start to get attached and I’d have to gently push them away. I hated doing it, but it was the only way. I couldn’t give them what they needed.

I couldn’t love them.

Back to the plan. After the booty call I’d grab a bite to eat and then in the evening, when JD got back, I had to take him out for a drink. It was going to be a tough night for him: the anniversary. Of course, JD being JD, he wouldn’t talk about it, but I could at least sit in a bar with him and make sure the poor guy wasn’t on his own.

I pulled up in front of the café, turned off the engine and stepped out. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the café’s windows. Looking sharp.

“Somebody stop him!”

The yell came from inside the café but it took me a second to find the speaker. She was small and slender built and she was drowned in all these layers of clothes that made her seem even smaller, but it was more than that. She sort of…hid, like she didn’t want anyone to notice her.

I followed her eyes. A guy was running towards the café’s door, a cherry-colored backpack in his arms with a laptop sticking out of the top. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

The woman raced across the café and caught up with the guy just as he got through the door. “Stop!” she pleaded.

The guy turned to her and straight-armed her back into the door. She smacked into it and went down hard.

Something swelled in my chest, scalding and powerful, expanding to fill my whole body. I ran at the guy. He didn’t notice me, focused on getting to his buddy who was waiting for him at the curb on a dirt bike.

I’m built for strength, not speed, but I was powered by raw, primal rage and I was accelerating with every step, coming at him like a freight train. Five strides away, four, three…the guy finally heard me coming and turned to look but, by now, it was far too late. I slammed into him and rammed him up against a wall. See how you like it. Admittedly, I might have done it a little harder than he’d done it to the woman. I heard a rib break. Good.

He slid down the wall and slumped on the sidewalk. “You just stay there, sunshine,” I told him. I glanced at the guy on the dirt bike to let him know he was next, and he went sheet-white and roared off.

I marched over to the woman. For a moment, all I could see was the deerstalker she was wearing and then she looked up at me and—

Something happened. That feeling I’d had when I saw her being shoved, that protective need, came back even stronger. She was just so small, so…vulnerable. Her eyes were big and innocent and they were this very pale shade of blue that I could imagine on a butterfly’s wing. They peered out at me from behind big, gold-framed glasses. And how many layers was she wearing?! There was an old denim jacket, covered in sew-on patches, then a soft cotton shirt, then another shirt, then a t-shirt and I could see the collar of another t-shirt peeking out from beneath that. It was like she was trying to keep warm, but she hadn’t any cold-weather clothes to put on. She’s not from around here.

I could feel myself smiling. Not my usual flirty smirk, more like the stupid smile I got when I was driving, that good feeling that bubbles up from down in your chest when you’re having fun. I’d never had it with a woman before. But then she wasn’t like any of the women I normally met. They were all confidence, perfume and hair flicks: they knew what they wanted and they knew how to play the game. This woman…I wasn’t sure she even knew what the game was. She reminded me of some small animal, nose twitching the air nervously.

She was…cute. Adorable, in fact. And I didn’t go for adorable, but…

I put out my hand to help her up. She reached and I saw that her palms were scraped and red from hitting the sidewalk. Hot rage blossomed in my chest again and I twisted and glared at the guy I’d taken down. He shrank back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

I took her hand gently in mine and hauled her up to standing. God, she was just a little thing. Even smaller because she wore sneakers: I was used to women in heels.

I said what I always say. “I’m Danny. And who are you?”

But it came out differently. I barely recognized my own voice. I’d been using that line since high school and every other time I’d used it, what I’d really been asking was, “What do I need to do to get your panties off?”

This time, I actually wanted to know who she was. What’s going on?!

“Erin,” she said, uncertain. There was something in her voice, an accent, but it was difficult to catch from just one word.

She frowned, her blonde brows knitting, and pulled off the deerstalker. Underneath was ash-blonde hair pulled back into a long braid: it fell down her back, swinging. She rubbed at the back of her head, wincing a little: she must have bumped it, when she went down. And as I looked down at her in that unguarded moment, I realized…she was beautiful.

I hadn’t seen it immediately, I’d been fooled by how cute she was. But she had that kind of beauty that crept up on you and then hit you all at once, and once you saw it…. She had high, delicate cheekbones and her lips were blush-pink and looked so, so soft…

She was lovely. She just hid.

“Are you okay, Erin?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “Yes.” She frowned again, pushed her glasses up her nose and shook her head. “No, I’m not hurt, yes, I’m okay.”

Her awkwardness put her back into adorable mode. But it didn’t matter because I was equally fascinated by both sides of her, now. Her accent was deeply country, soothing and gentle, like a warm shaft of sunshine in the middle of all the cold and snow.

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