to her information, he’d wounded an undercover FBI agent at the sting—an agent Abby knew very well. Leo Fisher was her former fiancé.
Though their breakup had been exceedingly nasty, she didn’t wish Leo dead. At least, not most of the time. She’d been glad to hear that he was expected to recover from the bullet wound in his leg.
As she rocked on the rump of the horse and watched the landscape unfolding around her, a familiar twinge of regret brushed through her. Too bad things hadn’t worked out with Leo. For a while, she’d thought she loved him.
But she wasn’t sure. Because they were both undercover agents, it was possible they were both playing at being in love—acting the way they thought people in love ought to behave. With all her undercover identities, she sometimes forgot what it meant to be real.
Her thoughts returned to her current assignment. In addition to shooting Leo in the leg, Mac Granger had gunned down and killed a drug dealer who had been watched by the FBI and Denver vice cops for months in an unusual cooperative investigation. Usually, the death of a drug dealer was no cause for mourning, but this particular guy had indicated a willingness to talk about higher-ups in the drug distribution chain and about dirty cops. Now he was dead, thanks to Mac Granger. It made sense that Mac had killed the dealer to keep him from talking.
Because Mac was off duty during the obligatory Internal Affairs investigation into the fatal shooting, his lieutenant had agreed with the FBI plan for Mac to go to the FBI safe house—the location of which was, of course, undisclosed except to Mac who was supposed to relax and take time for his wound to heal.
That was where Abby came in. Her job was to befriend Mac Granger and to ultimately offer him a bribe.
Julia glanced over her shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell me about your assignment?”
“I can guarantee that you’re going to hate the way I’ll be acting around Mac Granger.”
“As Vanessa?”
“The high-powered sex-bomb,” Abby said. “I want to attract his attention.”
“With the way you’re dressed, that shouldn’t be a problem. Roger started drooling the minute you arrived.”
“We won’t tell Roger that I have a third-degree black belt in karate.”
“Lethal,” Julia said. “And I’m glad. If you were the real Vanessa, I’d worry about keeping you in line.”
“It’s all an act,” Abby assured her. Always an act.
At the top of a rise, they looked down at the safe house which was at the end of a graded gravel road. The two-story cedar structure had a large covered porch at the front. On the opposite side was a sundeck that overlooked a barn and two storage sheds.
“I see an unfamiliar car,” Julia said.
“Must be Mac.”
“That’s odd.” There was a hint of irritation in her voice. “We usually don’t allow our guests to have their own transportation.”
Part of the plan was to allow Mac some mobility in the hope that he might implicate himself. “I promise to keep close surveillance on him.”
When they entered the safe house, Abby made an immediate detour to her upstairs bedroom. The first thing she did was kick off the spike heels and flex her aching toes. Why would anyone wear these things on purpose?
In the bathroom, she repaired the dramatic makeup that made her brown eyes look huge and dewy. She applied a fresh coat of fire engine-red lipstick. Putting on all this sleazy glamor wasn’t nearly as difficult as maintaining a believable attitude for a gold-digging bimbo.
Though she had no intention of seducing Mac Granger, she wanted him to notice her. She plumped up her boobs inside her fuzzy pink sweater. With her feet wedged into the high heels again, she sashayed down the staircase toward the kitchen.
From inside the kitchen, she heard Julia giving Mac the rules of the house.
“You’ll need to make your own bed,” Julia said. “And keep your room tidy. We aren’t a maid service, but we do provide three square meals a day. If you have any special dietary requirements, you need to tell me.”
“No problems.” The deep male voice sounded cranky. “What else?”
“No weapons. No visitors. Don’t leave without notifying me or one of the other agents. And, obviously, tell no one that this is a safe house.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’m going into Redding tonight. I grew up here and have a couple of buddies who live nearby. We’re going to meet at the tavern.”
Interesting, Abby thought. From her brief bio of Mac Granger, she knew he was born near here and attended the local high school. But she hadn’t been aware that he still had ties in the area.
She slithered into the kitchen and took her first look at Detective Mac Granger. He stood just over six feet tall and was very nicely put together with a broad chest and narrow hips in button-fly Levi’s. He wore a loose-fitting, fisherman’s knit sweater in the same dark blue as a policeman’s uniform. His sandy blond hair was neatly trimmed and combed straight back from his forehead. Though Mac had grown up in the mountains, his blue eyes showed the world-weary expression of an urban homicide cop who had seen too much. It wasn’t going to be easy to outsmart him.
Julia introduced them, using first names only, and asked, “Vanessa, would you like to help prepare dinner?”
“Cooking?” In her role as the spoiled hussy, Abby gave an appalled gasp. “Oh, honey. I don’t cook.”
“Never?”
“I barely even eat. But I do mix a great martini.” She zeroed in on Mac. “I’m ever so pleased to meet you.”
He turned toward Julia. “I’d be glad to help with dinner.”
Abby scowled. Mac hadn’t shown the least bit of interest, hadn’t even glanced at her cleavage which—thanks to a WonderBra—was as significant as the Grand Canyon.
As Julia set Mac to work, slicing fresh veggies for a tossed salad, Abby sidled up beside him. Rubbing against his arm, she purred, “Let me help you with that.”
“Grab a knife,” he said as he rolled a cucumber across the countertop toward her.
She picked up the cucumber and caressed it—a hopefully unsubtle innuendo. “Tell me about yourself, Mac. Where are you from?”
“Denver.”
“I thought you were from around here.”
He shot a suspicious glance in her direction. “Why would you think that?”
“I heard you talking before I came in.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes. “Is it true? Are you a mountain man?”
“Not anymore. I left Redding when I was eighteen.”
“But I bet you still ski. You look athletic.” She squeezed his bicep. “I bet
