So the plan now was to provide him with a live-in bodyguard who was an expert in the field. Fine. But a female one? To share his one-bedroom home on wheels? Under the guise of them being married?

  He liked the idea of catching anyone out to get him, though. In addition to proving his innocence. No matter how much proof he found, the case had been so sensationalized, there would be radicals who would still believe him guilty. At least for a time. And the only way to stop the stalking was to catch the stalker.

  Stalkers, he amended silently as he paced the three-foot-wide lane that stretched between the back of his driver’s seat, past plush captain’s chairs and a couch, through the tiny kitchen, by the table and four chairs in the bay window slide out, across the shared bath and laundry room, to the bedroom door. And then back again.

  There’d be more chance of hiding for the time it took to figure it all out if he appeared to be holed up with a woman, just enjoying life. And if someone found him, his potential assailant wouldn’t be prepared for a bodyguard’s defense.

  With the undercover-bodyguard plan, Joe would also have more chance of going undetected, giving him some desperately needed privacy, if he appeared to be just a guy living on the road with his wife. It had become kind of a thing, he’d been told. Minimalistic living.

  He’d agreed to the plan because it fit his main goal—other than proving his innocence—traveling undetected.

  But having done so, he’d been fretting for the past hour, wasting precious investigative time, wondering how on earth he was going to share his small space with anyone, let alone a woman. His butt bumped the wall every time he showered in the confined space. No way he could get in there picturing hers having done the same.

  She’d have to use the park’s public shower facilities.

  Which meant they’d have to stay in parks.

  He’d spent the majority of his month on the road sleeping in a parking lot here or a rest area there. Finding dumping stations as needed.

  But that meant the majority of his days were taken up with driving and he wasn’t getting enough investigating done.

  Not that he couldn’t go over and over the evidence as he drove. Or slept, for that matter. He’d memorized every detail during the two months before his trial...

  And... He stopped in tracks on the solid wood floor, bending down a tad to see out the window over his double ceramic kitchen sink. A small, light blue–ish SUV had just pulled up next to his car in the parking area allotted to spot nineteen. The passenger door opened, a body sprang out, grabbed a large duffel out of the back seat and shut both doors, and the SUV made a circle around their site, heading back toward the main park area, including its exit.

  She’d arrived.

  All small-boned, red-curly-haired, five feet five of her. Dressed in lightweight purple pants, a shortish white blouse and tennis shoes. Without socks. As a wife cover, he could see it. But how in the hell was this sprite going to protect him?

  Had someone in the firm been financially ruined by the Bellair collapse? And this was the type of protection the firm was giving him for the exorbitant fee he’d agreed to pay?

  Had he been set up?

  Had someone tapped into Sierra’s Web’s plans for him? Sent someone in his bodyguard’s stead?

  Was she an impostor? Sent to gather intel?

  Or poison him?

  Maybe his mind was getting a bit dramatic on him, but Joe’s dread increased. Not because he was afraid of one smallish woman or any harm she might have been sent to do, but because he was back to square one.

  If this petite, fine-boned person was the best Sierra’s Web could provide for his protection, he was once again going to be alone in proving his innocence and finding any hope of getting even a small portion of his life back.

  So be it.

  He wasn’t giving up.

  He’d send the visitor on her way, unhook the rig, hook up the car and head out.

  As always, it was up to him to protect himself.

  He just had to get better at it.

  * * *

  She should have told the rideshare driver to wait. Joe Hamilton was footing the four-hour round-trip bill—he could afford the extra minutes. Feeling uneasy, reminding herself that she was in an RV park with other residents around, with an office where she could call for another ride if need be, she approached the shiny beige-and-brown rig, noting the three slide-out room expanders. A potential attacker could hide under any of the three and there’d be no way for occupants of the thirty-three-foot vehicle to know they were there.

  First order of business was mirror additions, or better yet, cameras, positioned to show her all angles of the rig at all times, including underneath it—right from her phone, preferably.

  Two electrically dropped metal steps led up to the door of the rig. Standing to the side of them, she reached up and knocked on the tinny-sounding screen door. And when the more solid inner door opened, revealing a tall, slim man in cargo shorts that hung to his somewhat bony knees, she pulled open the screen door and climbed up. The two outdoor steps, and then onto the first step inside the rig that led up to the living area.

  Wood floors, shiny and clean, were just below eye level. Better than looking up at the male crotch covered by a loosely hanging white T-shirt.

  “Stop right there.” His voice wasn’t loose. Or slim-sounding. The deep, commanding tones dug into her, shooting her gaze straight up to her new employer’s face.

  What she could see of it through the long hair and beard.

  No one had prepared her for the drastic change to his appearance. Good move, though, for someone trying to avoid recognition. She, along with a good part of the nation, had seen his short-haired, cleanly shaven photo all over the internet in the month since he’d been found not guilty.

  Not to be confused with exonerated, which meant proven innocent.

  Thoughts flew during the few seconds she stood there, gaze locked with his. “I’m McKenna Meredith, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, drawing on years of polite public grooming at her grandmother’s behest. “From Sierra’s Web.”

  As she issued that last credential, she grabbed the wooden rail attached to the back side of the kitchen cupboard and lifted one foot to the second step inside his mobile home, stopping instantly when a hand of steel came down, capturing her forearm in a viselike grip.

  What the...intruder? Not Hamilton. Heart pounding, she reacted with pure, carefully trained and honed instinct. Grabbing the arm of the hand holding her, bringing her own captured arm into her chest, she used both of her arms to hold his immobile against her while her free hand grabbed fingers and twisted with one smooth motion.

  Arm bar. Wrist lock.

  Twist and the man came down two steps—so close in the confined space that their bodies were touching, thigh to thigh. Their chins, hers tilted up to him, his tilted down to her, mere inches apart.

  Ready to knee the man and ask questions later, she stopped herself as her gaze met his. He might have grown a lot of hair in various places, but the eyes were the same.

  Way more vivid blue than the internet had shown her.

  And...if she wasn’t mistaken, they were glinting with humor. Or admiration.

  Not the time to tell him she’d thought he was an intruder in his own home.

  “We might be posing as husband and wife, Mr. Hamilton, but you ever touch me again without my consent, and I will not only quit the job, but I’ll file charges. Do I make myself clear?” She gave his wrist one more little twist for emphasis, just in case.

  “Loudly.” The voice definitely held something other than menace. He had to be hurting. She wasn’t breaking his arm—though she easily could—but she wasn’t going easy on him, either. You wouldn’t know it, though. She noticed teeth through the scraggly growth of hair on his face.

  The man was smiling.

  Feeling a smile of her own coming on, not liking the response, she let him go and stepped back down out of the rig until he moved farther up into it.

  Which he did. Immediately.

  Not exactly the way she’d envisioned their first meet, but, she supposed, considering the client, not all bad, either.

  * * *

  She’d had him at a disadvantage, him leaning down, being off balance...but she’d still been impressive. Rubbing his wrist, Joe backed up to the far end of the kitchen, as McKenna, large duffel still on her back, climbed up into his temporary home.

  For such a small thing, she took up far too much space.

  Distracted him.

  Confusing him. He hadn’t cared about anything but proving his innocence for months. Why in the hell should he care that her big brown eyes were frowning as she surveyed his place?

  And then it hit him... Moving aside, crossing the three feet over to the sink, he said, “There’s a bedroom, if you can call it that, back there.” He pointed to his left, through the bath and laundry area. “I’ll clear stuff out and won’t enter it again while you’re here. There’s barely room to walk around the bed, and the nightstands are basically tiny counters nailed to the wall, but there’s a TV mounted in a corner, and, most importantly, a door that locks.”

  “Does the door from the bathroom to here lock on the outside, too?” she asked, stone-faced, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. He used to think he was adept at reading people.

  “It does not.”

  With a sideways jut of her head, as if to say, whatever, she said, “I’ll just have to trust you to stay put, then,” and slung her bag down on the floor behind the passenger chair up in the front of the rig. “I’m the bodyguard. I’ll be staying out here, by the doors, in case of intruders.”

  She went on to inspect every inch of the rig’s inside, asked questions about how everything worked, which had him leaning over her in very tight quarters to show her how to flush and hold the commode handle until material was gone. While they were hooked up to a water source—meaning while they were in parks—she could hold the handle as long as she liked. On the road, where the water source was limited to what they could carry in the hundred-gallon fresh water tank, she should release the handle as soon as possible.

  The lessons then moved to the outside of the recreational vehicle—at her behest. She wanted to know how to hook up and unhook—both water and electric. How to empty tanks. Even how to connect the car for towing.

  “I doubt a dangerous situation would require you to hook up and tow a car,” he told her as they headed back to the door of the rig. Dinner would be next. Two of them, in a tiny kitchen. His supplies had been purchased with one eater in mind...

  “I’m not expecting to have to do any of the tasks we’ve just gone over,” she told him. “Other than flushing, of course. But I need to know the proper procedures so I can be on the lookout for any tampering with any of it...”

  He’d been thinking about having to split his steak, and she was talking protection against assault. Pretty clear which of the two of them had it all together.

  He needed to up his game. Substantially.

  Back inside the rig, with the door locked and bolted, he fought the mental fatigue that had been slowly descending upon him. “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping down to one of the upholstered kitchen chairs. “I know there are a lot of people who hate me. I’ve read the death threats...but I... I’m just not ready to accept that my physical person is in danger. People spew all the time. It’s how they vent, get things off their chests...”

  “You thought someone was following you when you were in your car yesterday. You lost them before getting back to your RV, but that doesn’t mean they can’t find it. Or you in it. That’s why you called Sierra’s Web—for help in keeping you safe and proving your innocence.”

  “I called Sierra’s Web so that I can get my life back, not because I’m afraid of being killed.”

  “At least one of the IP addresses that has been on your trail can be traced to a man the FBI believes is guilty of a murder for hire. They just can’t find enough evidence to prove it.”

  He didn’t want to know how a private firm of experts had come up with that information so quickly.

  “We work closely with local and federal police,” McKenna, still standing in the middle of the living area, answered his unasked question. “I’m an expert bodyguard, not a babysitter. I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t real cause for concern.”

  He wasn’t ready to hear that, either.

  But was saved from arguing the point when her phone rang. The call was brief. “Yes.” “Yes.” And “I’m on it.”

  “We have to go,” she said before the cell was even back in her pocket. “I’ll take care of the electric—you get the plumbing...”

  He had to follow her out the door to continue the conversation, but he pushed the buttons for the slide outs to close inside the rig, bringing the kitchen table only a foot from the sink and shrinking the bedroom so there was no room to walk at the end of the bed, either.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice low in spite of the trees and yards separating them from the rest of the campers in the park.

  “Glen Rivers, the firm’s forensics partner, just found a message board on the dark web with your name on it. A group of extremely angry people—and if they’re on the dark web, chances are they are extreme, period—are working together, trying to find you. They’ve just posted a picture of you with your long hair and beard getting into your car. The attached message says it’s a possible sighting of you and that you might be in or around Quartz Landing.”

  The dark web was gunning for him? A whole new kind of terror hit Joe then. He’d never really feared for his life before. Only feared for the quality of it.

  Getting the rig unhooked, the car loaded—with mud smeared on the license plate—and the two of them out of there didn’t take long. With McKenna belted in the passenger seat across from him, Joe drove as quickly as he safely could out of the park and down the road. “Highway or back roads?” he asked when he hit the intersection where the choice had to be made.

  He’d asked the question rather than just making the decision.

  That’s when he knew that he’d accepted the necessity of having a pretend-wife bodyguard in his sphere.

  And he admitted, to himself, that he wanted her there.

  Chapter 3

  She had him take the highway. The lightless two-and-a-half-hour stretch east to Phoenix wasn’t a length of road she wanted to be on in the dark of night, but it was better than equally dark, less trafficked single-lane roads through the desert where even a big rig could disappear without a trace.

  She was good. She wasn’t a superheroine.

  “You do this often? Protect someone on the run?”

  Staring ahead at miles of darkness, broken only by the headlights coming at them from across the median and the taillights ahead in their lane, McKenna assessed any answer she might give him. Not trusting your subject made it difficult to know how to interact with him.

  If Joe Hamilton was innocent, she felt for him. If he wasn’t, he’d brought his current situation upon himself. The latter seemed more likely. Was easier to believe.

  The latter deserved nothing more from her than the best of her ability to keep him safe.

  Answering his questions didn’t fall under that jurisdiction.

  Unless he didn’t trust her enough to follow her orders if immediate danger arose...

  “All of my clients are in some kind of perceived danger.”

  Both hands on the wheel, Joe’s gaze remained pointed out at the massive expanse in front of them. He’d remained in the right lane, letting faster vehicles, less laden travelers, whiz past them. Any one of them could be someone out to get him. “Get over,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” He did glance her way then, but she looked away. She needed him focused on his driving, not on her.

  “Get over and stay in the left lane,” she said then. “I can’t see what’s coming up behind us, and someone could easily drive up beside you. All it would take is one shot...”

  She watched him as she delivered the blow without any kind of couching or compassion, cringing inside at the rudeness that would most certainly hurt her grandmother’s sensibilities. Something she still cared about...

  With an obviously stiffened chin, Joe immediately signaled, changed lanes and stayed put. “I’m going to be pissing off a lot of people, clogging up the fast lane,” he offered, but he didn’t argue.

  Which earned him a kudo and deepened the guilt she felt for how she’d talked to him. Truth was, the guy was...compelling. A mixture of she wasn’t sure she could trust him and curiously wanting to help him.

  “My most recent case involved an eighteen-year-old boy who was testifying at a high-profile gang trial.” She wanted him to know that he was safer with her than by himself.

  In a perfect world, she’d be able to promise him that she wouldn’t let anything happen to him, but life didn’t work that way.

  “I’m assuming, since you’re here, that the trial ended.”

  “It did.”

  “And the kid is safe.”

  Her hesitation came as a result of the clench in her stomach. She felt his glance, knew she’d failed to be the pure professional she’d sworn she would be around him.

  Regardless of their unusually intimate circumstances.

  “They got him?” Joe’s tone held more compassion than fear. Concern for the kid rather than worry that he’d just put his own life in her hands.

  “No,” she said.

  “Then what?”

  She should never have brought up the case. It was still too close, too raw. She’d been with the kid for five long weeks. Had, through daily electronic calls and meetings, grown to know his mother and younger sister, too.