didn’t look at him. But she answered. “I put together a lot of the data evidence that helped put them away.”
She’d said it, but Tony sensed she didn’t truly believe it. “True enough,” he said, and waited.
“But if they wanted revenge, wouldn’t they go after Draven? Or Sam and Ian?”
“Didn’t work out so well for them last time, going up against those two.”
At the mention of the unlikeliest couple at Redstone a trace of a smile curved her mouth.
That luscious mouth he couldn’t keep his eyes off.
¡Maldita sea!
He knew when he resorted to his native Spanish that he was in trouble. And damning everything at large seemed to require that.
“You don’t think it has anything to do with the spying case, do you?”
The smile faded. He regretted that, but this was more important.
“No,” she said, in a tone of voice he could never have imagined coming from her. Weary, hurt, broken…he wasn’t sure what it was, only that he didn’t like it. Not from her.
“Then what? Or should I ask, who?”
Finally, she looked at him. Her usually bright blue eyes were shadowed now. Haunted, in a way he’d seen only in people in trouble, or in people from his days on the streets.
“Lilith,” he said softly, aware but unable to stop himself from removing the safe barrier of formality of last name only.
“Daniel Huntington.” She took a deep breath. “My ex-husband.”
He blinked. He’d known she’d been married, but also that it had ended before she’d come to Redstone. Long enough ago that it hadn’t concerned him. Realizing he’d been glad to learn that had been his first clue that he was slipping into dangerous territory.
His brow furrowed. “I thought…Then why ‘Mrs.’ Mercer if it’s your maiden name?”
“I dropped his name. People assumed the Mrs. because they knew I’d been married, and it was just…easier.”
And kept men away? he wondered. Not that it would keep some away, but the some it wouldn’t deter would be the kind she wouldn’t be interested in anyway. He knew that much already.
“What about him?” he asked.
“Josh suspects that if these things are more than accidents…he might be behind it.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Past history. But it’s as impossible that it’s him as it is that it’s Stan Chilton or Santerelli.”
He could see that she didn’t want to get into it, so although he knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, he changed tacks. “Where is he? Local?”
“That depends,” she said, finally giving him the level look that was her norm, “on whether you consider Chino local.”
He shrugged off the first thought that hit him; half the kids he’d grown up with were in Chino. At the California Institute for Men. But there was no way…
His thoughts faded as the way she was looking at him slowly registered.
“Yes,” she said, that weariness he’d heard before echoing in her voice again.
“He’s…in prison?”
“Has been for nearly two years.”
He was beyond puzzled. The only thing he could think of was that the man had committed some white-collar crime.
“He’s on the Level I side? Minimum security?” he asked, although he didn’t understand why the man wasn’t in some country club kind of place instead of a hard-core lockup like Chino. Guys from his world went to Chino. Not hers.
“No. Medium security.”
Belatedly it hit him. If Josh suspected her ex might be behind what had been happening to her, then he must have a reason.
“What is he in for?”
She held his gaze with that nerve that had only wavered for a moment. “He tried to kill me.”
She’d seen that look before. The shock, the incredulity. It was nothing new to her, that kind of skepticism.
So why did it hurt, when she’d thought herself inured to it long ago? Had she simply gotten unused to thinking about it? Or was it more complicated—was it that it was this man doubting her that made it sting?
She gave herself a mental shake. She’d left all the doubts behind, and she was not going back. She stood up abruptly. “If you don’t believe me, then you surely can’t believe there’s any need for this. Tell Josh so, and we’ll both get back to business.”
He was on his feet before she could take a step. “I never said I didn’t believe you.”
“You didn’t have to, Mr. Alvera.” She saw him wince slightly at the formal appellation, but didn’t stop. “I’ve seen that expression too many times to mistake it.”
“What you saw was…shock. Amazement. Astonishment. But not disbelief. You wouldn’t lie.”
That flat, bald assessment mollified her somewhat. But the way he was looking at her still made her uneasy. She studied him. Tried to separate the tough and efficient agent she knew he was from the darkly handsome, rakish appearance. Tried to think only of his dedication to Josh and to Redstone, and not how the dimple that carved his right cheek when he smiled took him from dangerous to charming in a split second.
“This isn’t just going to go away, is it?”
He shook his head. “Nor am I. So we might as well get started.”
She was, she thought tiredly, going to have to explain. She sank back into her desk chair, wishing herself anywhere else, confronting any other onerous task.
And when did wishing ever help you out of a bad situation? she asked herself.
“Never,” she muttered.
“What?”
She grimaced; she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just reminding myself that wishing is for children.”
He sat back down himself, and was silent for a moment before he said softly, “Yes, it is. And the day you outgrow wishing is a sad one that comes too early for too many.”
Something about his tone enabled her to get it out, what she never talked about. “You want the condensed version?”
“For
