road was gravel and made perilous by potholes. Conall drove at the pace of a crawl. The shocks were none too good on this aging Chevy Suburban, borrowed from the fleet of seized vehicles kept for occasions when agents wanted to be inconspicuous. Conall had been assured that, belying the appearance of dents and a few pockets of rust, there was plenty of power under the hood if he needed it.
A small grunt escaped Henderson when the right front wheel descended with a clunk into a particularly deep crater. “Why the hell isn’t this road paved?”
“It’s private. Only five houses on it.” Conall had counted the mailboxes out at the corner. “Too expensive to pave, even if the residents could all agree to share the cost.”
“The least they could do is fill the damn holes.”
Conall didn’t bother to explain what a headache it could be for residents to coordinate on even such a relatively modest project. A couple of the households might be short on bucks; the home-owners closest to the county road might not feel their share should be equal. Probably the only vehicles that used the road belonged to home-owners or visitors; kids would have to catch the school bus out at the main road, and obviously the post office had declined to deliver off the pavement. Probably even garbage cans had to be hauled out to the main road for pickup.
Which gave him the idea that, once he knew what day was garbage pickup, he’d wander out here and investigate the neighbor’s cans. If they were smart, they wouldn’t be careless enough to dump anything but kitchen garbage and the like in their cans, but you never knew. Crooks were often stupid, a fact for which law enforcement personnel gave frequent thanks.
Last driveway on the right, his directions had said. No house number was displayed at the head of the driveway he turned down. Scruffy woods initially screened the house from view; alders, vine maples, a scattering of larger firs and cedars, scraggly blackberries and lower growing salal. At least there were no potholes here, instead a pair of beaten earth tracks separated by a grassy hump.
They came out of the woods to see fenced pasture and, ahead, a white-painted farmhouse that probably dated to the 1920s or 1930s. Red and white beef cattle grazed the pasture on one side of the driveway, while on the other side a fat, shaggy Shetland pony and a sway-backed horse of well-used vintage lifted their heads from the grass to gaze with mild interest at the passing Suburban.
As they neared, Conall could see that the house had two full stories with a dormered attic to boot. Several of the wood-framed, small-paned, sash windows on the first floor boasted window boxes filled with bright pink and fuchsia geraniums. The wide, covered front porch with a railing looked welcoming.
The one outbuilding, probably a barn in its past, apparently served now as garage. The double doors stood open and he could see what he thought was a Subaru station wagon in the shadowy interior.
The setup was good, he reflected; they’d been lucky to find a neighbor willing to cooperate with a surveillance team, and even luckier given that this one and only suitable house happened to have an unused attic that offered a perfect vantage point. Still, he studied the facade nervously, half expecting children to swarm out like killer bees from a hive. God, he hoped there wouldn’t be babies squalling all night. Although babies might be preferable to kids of an age to be curious.
No one, adult or child, swarmed out. Or even peered. Lace curtains didn’t twitch.
“This woman expecting us?” Conall asked.
“So I’m told.” Henderson glanced at his watch. “It’s nap time.”
“Is that like the eye of the hurricane?”
His partner’s raw-boned face split into a grin. “That’s one way to describe it.”
They parked beside the barn and pulled out a duffel bag each before starting across the yard to the house. They could come back later for their equipment.
Walking across the lawn, Conall realized he felt no sense of anticipation whatsoever. Okay, this might not be the most exciting operation ever; surveillance gigs never were. Even so, he used to feel at least mildly stirred at the beginning of any new challenge. Lately…
He shook off the momentary brood. He liked action, not sitting in the middle of a cow pasture watching grass grow. No wonder he wasn’t worked up about this particular assignment.
Somehow he hadn’t convinced himself. Boredom wasn’t the whole problem. His dissatisfaction had other causes. He just hadn’t nailed them down yet.
There was no doorbell. Henderson rapped lightly instead. Conall thought he heard a TV on somewhere inside. They waited, finally hearing the sound of someone approaching.
The door opened and a woman stood there. Behind her was a girl—maybe a teenager?—but Conall was only peripherally aware of her. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the woman.
He hadn’t come into this situation with any expectation, so he didn’t know why he was so startled. Then he barely stopped himself from grimacing. Of course he knew why; what he hadn’t expected was to find himself sexually riveted by their reluctant hostess.
She was average height, maybe five foot five or six. Slender but strong, her curves subtle but present. Her feet were bare, her jeans fit snugly over narrow hips and fabulous legs. Her yield-sign yellow T-shirt fit even better, displaying a narrow rib cage and high, apple-size breasts to perfection.
Her face…well, damn, she was beautiful. Stunning. High, winged eyebrows, a model’s cheekbones, a luscious mouth and small straight nose. Her eyes were an unusual mix of brown and green. The colors were deep and rich, not like the typical hazel. And her thick, wavy hair was midnight-black and hung loose to her waist.
God help him, he wanted to grab her, carry her upstairs and find a bedroom. And they hadn’t even said hello.
Man. This wasn’t a good start to what promised to be a lengthy stay. Conall had the wry thought that the stay might be considerably shortened if she noticed he was aroused.
And maybe that would be a good thing. Right this minute, Conall couldn’t imagine living in close proximity to her without breaking down at some point and coming on to her.
Way to lose his job.
His jaw flexed. For God’s sake, if he was that desperate, he’d look for a woman while he was in town. Any woman but this one. Get laid.
He realized how long the silence had stretched. Conall cleared his throat. “Special Agent Conall MacLachlan from the DEA. This is Jeff Henderson. I believe you were expecting us.”
CHAPTER TWO
HENDERSON HAD BEEN gaping, too, but he managed to snap out of it and offer his hand. They shook. Conall offered his badge instead of his hand. He didn’t dare touch her.
She examined it briefly, then glanced at their duffel bags. “That’s all you have?”
“We have more stuff in the car. We thought we’d find out where we’re to set up first.”
She looked past them to the gray Suburban. “At least you don’t have one of those government cars. That would have given you away in a heartbeat.”
Jeff’s face relaxed into a smile. “True enough,
