* * *

  Lance watched her ease into the house after he put her bags atop the dresser in his spare room. He felt an urge to wince for her, her caution and slowness giving away her discomfort even if she managed to avoid letting a grimace reach her face. He knew what a bullet could do, but clearly she had been injured by the bomb that destroyed her house, tree or no tree. Falling debris, maybe? The blast wave? He had no idea what kind of injuries she had survived and didn’t know how to ask. Seeing her move was a painful experience unto itself.

  He watched her step through the door straight into his small living room, and glance around. Hardly something out of an interior design magazine, but comfortable and marked by long years. A battered chintz-covered couch, a wooden rocker with pillows, a braided rug.

  “Have a seat if you want,” he suggested, “or explore. Single story, so your bedroom is in the back on the left. Kitchen is through there,” he said, pointing. “And you get your own bathroom.”

  She glanced at him. “In a house this size?”

  He flashed a smile. “I shared this house with my mother until she died. Two bathrooms were essential. Coffee? I can’t make you a latte, I’m afraid.”

  “Coffee would be great. I need to stay awake.”

  She needed more than that, he thought, and was relieved to see her at last settle into a padded rocker. It was almost like watching someone who was just learning how to use a body. “How about a pain pill to go with it?”

  “You a pusher?” she asked, and he was relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.

  “Hey, if there’s any time it would be safe to stuff your brain with cotton, the next few hours are probably it.”

  She just shook her head. “I’ll get some ibuprofen in a minute.”

  Well, he could provide that as well as the coffee. In his kitchen—a comfortable room because his mother had made it so over the years—he started the drip coffeemaker and got a glass of water and the bottle of ibuprofen. He carried both back to her immediately, and she accepted them with thanks.

  “I’m gonna step outside for a few minutes. Give me your keys and I’ll put your car in the garage. I’ll be back by the time the coffee’s ready.”

  She simply nodded as she tipped two pills into her hand.

  He walked out the front door and stood without moving for a while, feeling a bit like an old goat. Not that he was all that old, but that woman was raising his flagpole, as it were. He felt guilty as sin for even having such feelings when she was so clearly in recovery, but she appealed to him on the most basic level. He’d have bet the homestead that she wouldn’t like that either.

  Regardless, he needed a few minutes to clear his head and get back on the real purpose of her being here. They had work to do, and no time for dalliances, even presuming she’d tolerate it.

  The air held the musty, dusty, not-quite-green scent of midsummer. The world still hadn’t completely dried out from winter and spring, but it was on the way. They badly needed some rain, but he knew better than to wish for it. At this time of year, ponds were starting to dry up and only the toughest, hardiest of plants could make it. In a few weeks, dang near everything would be brown. That the mountains were still somehow managing to dump water into the creeks was amazing, but most of them wouldn’t be running for long.

  But thinking about rain wasn’t helping him either. He stepped off the porch, sank into her small car and put it in his aging detached garage. Then he walked around the outside of his house, trying to make a professional judgment about what needed doing to keep Erin as safe as possible. The guys coming tonight would probably have more ideas than he, because they had more experience at this kind of thing.

  But for now he looked at the windows, which no longer seemed like such a good thing to have, and the three doors, which was two doors too many right now.

  He needed more information about the kind of man who was coming after her, more than that he liked to blow up women. They must have been piecing together some kind of profile, and Lance needed to know what was in it. Impossible to guard against the complete unknown.

  And he was just wasting time and he knew it. Whatever demons this woman unleashed in him, he needed to bury them.

  Finally giving up his search for a way to ignore his response to her, he went back inside. She was still awake, sitting in the rocker, and from the way she jerked when he came in she hadn’t quite left fear behind her. She covered quickly, however. He had to give her that.

  But what kind of person wouldn’t be afraid after what she’d been through?

  “I’ll get the coffee,” he said. “You want anything in it?”

  “Just enough milk to lighten it a bit, if that’s okay.”

  “Not a problem.” He hung his hat on the coat tree by the door, then hesitated only a moment before removing his gun belt. He doubted the guy could find the place this quickly unless he was a psychic, and Erin was armed anyway. She could probably draw fast enough if necessary, despite her wounds. He did lock the door, though, something he rarely did out here.

  He filled two large mugs with coffee and carried them back to the living room. He found her sitting bolt upright in the rocker.

  “Erin? What’s wrong?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Just some twinges.”

  More than twinges, he suspected. Frustration nearly goaded him into going through her suitcases to find some of those pain meds. Instead he set the coffee on the side table, then took up position on the couch facing her. He thought he’d settled down until the words escaped him.

  “What are you punishing yourself for?”

  She drew a sharp breath and her gaze landed on him with almost physical force. The woman she had been before all this. Powerful. In control. And right now angry with him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Staying alert is just an excuse right now. You know why they give you pain meds? Not just to make you more comfortable. No, they give them to you because pain is exhausting and can delay your recovery. Plus if you can’t move around easily enough you won’t limber up. So take a dang pill, give yourself some rest and start using some of those parts that hurt too much to want to move.”

  Those sherry-brown eyes glared at him, but he kept his mouth shut and waited it out. Finally her expression relaxed.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Moving in on you, taking over your life. And now there seems to be no way out.”

  “I know I’m irritating, but that bad?”

  Her face relaxed the rest of the way. “You’re not irritating. What’s irritating is how long it’s taking me to get back to normal. What’s irritating is how poorly thought-out this whole trip of mine was. I figured that if I just got in a car and roamed aimlessly, I’d be as safe as any safe house. Maybe safer. But now I’m pinned down.”

  “In a kill box,” he said, using her earlier description.

  “Yeah, and I should have thought that through, shouldn’t I? But I didn’t. I’m angry with myself.”

  He reckoned he could understand that, but didn’t see how it would help anything. “What’s done is done, Erin. You’ve been through a lot. Some poor decision-making is to be expected and if that’s the worst of it, you’re doing good. None of us thinks well when we’ve been through a trauma. Besides, I don’t think your decisions were all that bad. How were you to know you wouldn’t just sail to wherever without being discovered?”

  Her jaw tightened. “I should have thought. After all, somehow this guy found out about me to begin with. Somehow that didn’t seem to enter my calculations.”

  Why would it? he wondered. Not very many serial bombers chased a target across country. The Unabomber had, but he’d done it by mail. “It could have been a slipup. Yes, your bosses are concerned there might be another one, but truth is, they don’t know that. Nobody knows that yet. So they’re being hypercautious. So are we. Just in case.”

  At last she leaned back in the chair, wincing a bit. “Just in case,” she repeated. “Yeah. And it’s causing a whole bunch of trouble.”

  “Not really. Hey, you’re giving me a break from prowling the roads, writing tickets and trying to convince couples I know that they really don’t want to kill each other.”

  At last he drew a small laugh from her. Relief filled him. “It’s still not fair to you,” she said. “Me invading your house, possibly with a whole lot of trouble coming.”

  “I volunteered,” he said quietly. “Nobody made me.”

  She let go of it at last, and edged herself forward in the chair. “Half a pain pill,” she said.

  He bit back an offer to get it for her. “Your bags are in your room.”

  “Thanks.”

  She grimaced a bit as she rose, then stood still as if mentally testing herself. He had some idea how maddening this had to be for her. He’d felt that way after his own wounding.

  He had left the door to her bedroom wide open and figured she could find it without him hovering. She didn’t want to be hovered over, he could tell. Events had taken her independence from her, and she was struggling to take back every bit she could. He listened to her slowly walk down the hall, and when she didn’t call out, he guessed she’d found her room.

  He picked up his coffee, found it had gone cold and headed out with both their mugs to get fresh. Along the way he opened a couple of windows to let the breeze in. He returned just in time to see her settling into the rocker again. She’d dispensed with her jacket, revealing a sleeveless top that bared her arms...and some scars. A few small burns, a few cuts that had been stitched. Still angry looking.

  But she hadn’t ditched her shoulder holster. Interesting. He set the fresh coffee beside her and saw her take the pill with the glass of water he’d brought her earlier.

  “Okay, rainbows and unicorns,” she said.

  He laughed. “Maybe you should ditch the gun, then.”

  She shook her head slightly. “Half a pill doesn’t make me woozy.”

  But it was what she didn’t say that hit him. She didn’t feel safe anymore without her weapon. Not even here. Not even now. And maybe she was right that half a pill wouldn’t affect her too much. In which case it wouldn’t do too much for her pain.

  “God, you’re a pain,” he said finally, keeping his tone mild.

  “Really?” she asked acidly. “Okay, I’ll leave.”

  He stood. “Just looking for an excuse, aren’t you? But where will you go? You really want to be out there alone with this guy?”

  “He probably isn’t anywhere near here yet. I don’t have to go over the mountains. I can head north...”

  “More mountains.”

  “Back to Denver, then.”

  “Some mountains.” He felt a smile trying to be born, but stomped down on it. “Look, Erin, if you take so little pain medication that it doesn’t help, why bother? If you have so little trust in my department...well, I guess we can’t just make that happen, can we? So do you trust anyone?”

  “Not really,” she said baldly. “Not right now.”

  “Fair enough.” And it was fair. She didn’t know him from Adam. They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago. What else did she have to judge them by?

  “Oh, to heck with it,” she said abruptly and reached for the pill bottle she’d brought out from her bedroom. It was surprisingly large for pain meds. “One more won’t kill me. Is that trust enough for you?”

  Shocked, he fell silent. What was she trying to prove? That she trusted a man she hardly knew? Why? “I can’t figure you out,” he said finally.

  She smiled sourly. “Few can.” After popping another pill—a half? He didn’t know—she reached for her pistol and removed it from the holster, placing it on the table. “All better now?”

  “Not if you don’t feel safe,” he admitted frankly.

  “I haven’t felt safe since the incident. Nothing new in that. Might as well get used to it. You’re in charge now, Deputy.”

  That, he thought, might be the crux of all of this. A sense of control was important to cops. All cops. He’d just badgered her into giving it up. Smart move, he thought irritably. What now?

  Fifteen minutes later the pills started hitting. He could see it in her softening posture, in the way her breathing grew more relaxed. That much was good.

  “So you lived here with your mother?” she asked.

  “Yeah. When I quit the force in Denver and came up here, she was living all alone. It made sense to move in with her. She needed some looking after since my dad died. Things were pretty generally going to hell, and she wasn’t all that well. Diabetes was catching up with her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. It was impossible to convince her that insulin shots and oral meds didn’t make it possible to continue eating down-home cooking. Stubborn woman.”

  “Seems to run in the family.”

  At that he smiled. “Good experience for dealing with you.”

  She smiled, really smiled. Oh, yeah, those pills were kicking in. “I’m a handful, or so I’ve been reliably informed. My bosses keep telling me to color inside the lines.”

  “A bit of a rogue?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t do anything illegal. I just don’t fit too well in the box.”

  A short sound of amusement escaped him. “The FBI seems like a strange place for someone who doesn’t fit in the box.”

  And at last a laugh from her. “It’s interesting, all right. They give me my head sometimes, because I’m good. Was good?” The verb seemed to perplex her for a moment. “Oh, man, the fog and unicorns are here.”

  “Try to rustle up a rainbow.”

  Giving another laugh, she settled into the chair as if it felt more comfortable now. The sight relieved him. She picked up her coffee and drained half of it, probably trying to keep her head clear. “The pain seems a long way away right now.”

  “Good.”

  She dragged her gaze back to him. “So no wife?”

  “An ex. Years ago.”

  “Same here,” she admitted.

  “But you said something about him stalking you.”

  She lifted both eyebrows. “I did? When?”

  “Your call from Fran,” he reminded her.

  “Ah. Well, he calls from time to time. Wants to put it back together. But he’s not the kind of stalker I’d be worried about. Just a minor nuisance.”

  “And this Tom guy?”

  “My ASAC. Trying to mix business with pleasure. Never a good thing.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Definitely not. One bad marriage was enough. Mixing it up with a career would be stupid. I’m not always stupid.”

  He hid a smile. “Rarely, I would imagine. Maybe just since you were wounded.”

  “Oh, I’ve been stupid before, like when I got married the first time. I still can’t remember why I thought that would ever work.”

  “Love overrode reason?” he suggested. He was beginning to enjoy this softer side of Erin.

  “I can’t even remember that. I just know I don’t punch a time clock—I’m a bit obsessive when I get on a case and he couldn’t handle the hours. So the complaining started, and the more he tried to squeeze me into his box of expectations, the more I rebelled.”

  “A lot of boxes out there,” he remarked.

  “Do you fit in any?”

  He thought about it, deciding she deserved an honest answer. “I was happy with my marriage. She wasn’t. So whether that box fit, I can’t tell you. But I enjoy my work a whole lot, and piddling around this place taking care of things. So yeah, I guess I found a happy box.”

  “Good for you.” Her eyelids had just started to look heavy when she snapped them open again. “Can I get some more coffee?”

  “Sure. Want me to show you where?”

  She got out of the rocker more easily, and walked with a more comfortable pace into the kitchen.

  “Okay,” she said, “you were right about the pills. But I can’t keep taking them.”

  “Got it. Just remember, you’re not alone. You’ve got a team again.”

  “When are those guys coming by?”

  “Tonight. You’ll like them. They have a very individual box of their own.”

  Back to the living room with the coffee, but this time she didn’t settle. Now that she could move, she wanted to. He just hoped she didn’t overdo it. He watched her pace the small room and figured she’d probably love to get out for a walk. He wouldn’t trust her on the uneven ground out there, however. Not on those meds.

  “I had a little house,” she remarked. “About the size of this. I planted all kinds of flowers around it. All gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head a little. “That’s the least of it.” All of a sudden she faced him, feet planted firmly. “Do you know what it does to you when a guy in a police uniform shoots you?”

  He nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.

  “He isn’t really a cop, of course, but the fact that he could get a uniform and fool me for as long as it took? That’s probably how he was getting these other women. Officer Friendly.”

  “Ugly,” he answered.

  “I’ve worked on cases where cops used excessive force. I’ve seen the attempts to cover it up, and seen the results when we get called in. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust the uniform easily. But I wasn’t prepared for that, distrustful or not.”

  Those pills were sure making her chatty, not that he minded. He was actually enjoying it. “I’ve known some dirty cops. Cops who push the line. I don’t like it.”

  She nodded. “I hate it. Just a few bad apples make it harder for everyone. When you can’t trust the uniform...” She gave a little shrug. “How did I get off on this?”