"Duh!"

"I can't give you a lot of details, I work for N.S.U." He must have caught my puzzled look. "Name's not important. It's a small agency within a larger government branch. They recruited me right out of the military. Three years ago I came here on a job with my buddy Caleb and ran into Ben Grady. We'd all gone through basic together."

He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Ben's the one who insisted we go to the beach party where I met you. You kinda fell into my arms and I couldn't let go."

At this beach party, Regis once again stalked me. When I'd gone to leave, as in run screaming, I'd stumbled into a solid wall. The wall turned out to be Tank, my knight in tattered jeans. Panicked, I begged him to pretend he was my boyfriend. What started as a ploy to get rid of Regis, ended up as reality.

"When that job was done I requested to stay here and make this my home base. The P.I. thing was an excellent cover. It gave me an excuse to ask a lot of questions and not stick out in the crowd. So they set me up with a legitimate business and let us go to it."

That explained all the business trips, without me. The business trips I'd been convinced were for Tank to meet someone else. "You could have told me. I would have understood."

"No, darlin', I couldn't."

I finally voiced the fear which burned in me. "Did you leave me for another woman?"

Did I even want to hear the answer?

Tank sat on the coffee table and leaned toward me. "No. I didn't. When I left and made you believe there was someone else... it cut my heart out. We have an agent, who's been deep undercover in a crime syndicate for over seven years. The operative got wind my activities had spooked one paranoid pain in the b.u.t.t, so I had to disappear for a while. If Carlos had become serious about checking me out, he'd have found you. Making it look like we split was the only way I knew to keep you safe."

Tank was a good actor. He'd fooled me and everyone I knew.

"Well... It so happens that my 'problem' met a...premature death in New York." Tank chuckled at my reaction. "Not by me. He apparently was making some extra bucks his boss didn't know about and that was okay. But he was using the extra dough to buy gifts and trinkets for the boss's mistress and that's not okay."

Tank reached out and took hold of my hand, kissing the Band-Aid on my palm and then each finger individually. Between each sizzling kiss he spoke slow and soft. "I'm back for good."

Thirty thousand questions scrambled around my brain and it didn't help that all my girly parts were waking up with his kisses. As much as I wanted-no-needed Tank to hold me tight and let nature take its natural course, we had to square away everything that happened the last few days.

I needed answers, not s.e.x. Liar, my libido growled, I needed both.

I pulled my fingers from his warm grip, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the empty beer bottles and carried them into the kitchen. I turned to go back to the living room and ran into the solid wall of his chest.

Dej vu, just like when I met him the first time on the beach.

Big hands reached out and steadied me. My palms slid across his muscled torso on their own accord. It would be so easy to stand on tiptoe, kiss him and forget all the questions racing around my hormone driven mind. Sweep them under a rug and look at them later.

I lifted my hands off his forearms. No. We were going to finish this talk and I had to keep a clear head. Stepping back a pace, I leaned with my back against the kitchen island. He gave me a look that promised more, but wisely, Tank slid around to sit on a stool at the island and waited.

I rubbed my forehead, thinking about what Tank had shared. He hadn't left me for another woman, but he also hadn't trusted me enough to be honest and tell me the whole truth. It was as if I were a ribbon twisting with each new puff of air. If it was safe for Tank to come back to me why did someone try to kidnap me? I asked him that very question.

"I'm not sure. I think it has more to do with Harrison." He answered.

"Harrison? Is he part of the crime syndicate?"

"No, Harrison got in way over his head with someone we've come to refer to as the 'Big Boss.' He tried to use his daddy's influence to squeeze out of it, but Big Boss wouldn't let him go. I've been in contact with Harry for a couple of months now and we finally got everything in place so he could turn states evidence against this elusive piece of dirt."

While Tank spoke, I began fitting the pieces together in my mind. But my puzzle still had gaping holes in it.

"How did I get involved in all this? You told me he was a suspect in a murder."

"I know. We figured Harry's phone was tapped, so we had him call his parents weekly and talk about Lulu. Through Dango, my buddy with the L.A.P.D. whom you met just recently"-I rolled my eyes-"we created a cover story of Harrison getting friendly with a call girl and going A.W.O.L. when he was implicated in the murder. To make his disappearance look and feel legit we had Raymond call you to report him missing. We actually have Harry stashed away in a motel."

That explained the strange vibes I'd gotten from the Grants. It had all been an act. I knew it!

Tank continued. "That way when I showed up to nose around it wouldn't look suspicious, given our history."

While I digested this information, I replayed everything that had transpired over the past couple of days. "I went to L.A., searched Harrison's condo and it was all for nothing...the hooker outfit...the call girls-" I stopped midsentence. "The call girls. I talked to some hookers. They knew Lulu and Harry. How can that be?"

"I overheard you tell Polly you were going to find some hookers on the street so I had to rustle up some 'girls' for you to talk to. I owe huge favors to a couple of our female agents. The cars driving by were other agents making sure you believed them." He pushed to his feet and paced like a caged animal. "I don't know why I haven't heard anything yet."

My eyes widened as a realization hit me. "If I intercepted a coded confirmation would I understand the message?"

He stopped pacing. "Probably not. Why?"

"Well, this morning, while you were in the shower, I answered your phone by mistake. The message was, enter a four digit code from your computer or something like that. I forgot to tell you in all the excitement."

He looked grim as he pulled out his laptop and placed it on the kitchen table. He waited, impatiently tapping the sides as it booted up. I watched as he opened file after file, entering codes and scanning information as it flashed across the screen. He pulled out his phone and entered some numbers, then went back to his laptop. Fixated on the various emotions crossing his face, I knew exactly when he reached the 'ah ha' moment.

Then his brow furrowed again.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

His gaze remained vacant for a long moment and then he smiled. I knew in my bones he did that to rea.s.sure me. He shut the computer down and asked, "Do you want pizza?"

"Pizza?" I stammered.

"Yeah, I'm starved." Tank grabbed his jacket and threw it on. Shoving his laptop back into his leather saddlebag, he tossed the strap over his shoulder and headed down the hall to the front door.

One minute we're talking about spies, secret information, undercover operatives and he wants to go for pizza?

He called out. "I'll be back in about thirty minutes, forty-five tops. Do you want everything on it?"

From the kitchen I yelled back, "Yes, no, wait... No anchovies." I hated anchovies. Too salty and they made me bloat. I heard Tank roar off on his motorcycle and idly wondered how he'd carry the pizza home. I started to put the empty beer bottles in the recycling, then stopped abruptly.

He wasn't going for pizza. He was going to meet someone.

Geez, Tank. When will you trust me?

I grabbed the keys and ran out to my car but the empty driveway reminded me that I didn't have a car anymore. It had been towed. Stomping my foot in frustration I watched the tail lights of his bike turn the corner.

He'd be miles away before I could get Aunt Tillie's 1964 Austen-Healy Sprite started. Shoving the keys into my pocket I turned to go back into the house. Tank better have a good explanation when he got home. A glint in the waning sunlight caught my attention. I paused when I saw, to my left, what looked like a copper wire snaking across my driveway leading into the neighbor's shrubbery.

I don't know what happened first, the deafening sound or the sudden force of wind that threw me to the ground. Immense heat seared my neck and arms and a piercing, sharp pain slammed near my temple.

Everything went black.

Chapter Thirteen.

Tank rumbled down the quiet street and brought his motorcycle to a stop near 105 LaRue. He kicked out the stand and locked his bike. Not that it would do much good in this neighborhood. Shrugging the collar of his leather jacket up, he started walking toward a run-down section of tenement houses and buildings.

Late afternoon sunlight struggled to reach the asphalt, cutting a narrow ribbon through abandoned cars, strewn garbage and dilapidated, forgotten billboards. Faded curtains twitched in a murky window; the only sign of life. After a few minutes the acrid stench of garbage no longer burned the back of his throat, but his eyes still watered.

He thought back on Shelby's attempted abduction and subsequent series of events that led to him revealing what he did for a living. A dead weight settled in his stomach when he thought about what could have happened if he hadn't followed her this morning. If he'd have been even ten minutes later he probably never would have seen her again. He couldn't imagine life without her. Even when she was mad, he loved being around her.

Sometimes he preferred her spittin' mad. Kinda kept things interesting.

He remembered the dazed look on Tony's face when Shelby stood over him like an avenging angel, holding a gun that was too big for her hand and a wry smile tugged at his mouth. She handled it like a pro. That was his girl.

He should be back at their place cozying up with her, trying to steal a few more kisses. Instead he was in this flea infested area meeting Rodie, one of the best undercover operatives the agency had.

Rodie left an urgent message in an encrypted e-mail to meet him behind 105 LaRue at eighteen hundred hours. Tank was uneasy. Everything about this stank, much like the neighborhood. In the seven years he'd worked with him, Rodie contacted him twice outside their arranged meetings. And both times had been nothing but bad news.

Tank itched in his don't-wanna-itch-place, again.

The alleyway behind the row of neglected warehouses had two exits. He entered the one furthest away from 105 LaRue in order to get a lay of the land. He'd learned in Afghanistan to be cautious. A quick look at the roofline a.s.sured him no one was set up to sniper, although anyone could be hiding behind the dumpsters and recycling bins that littered the alley.

A sc.r.a.ping sound ahead made him pause. He eased around the corner, checking for the source and stopped cold at the sight of a woman, her back to him. Her curly black hair was pulled away from her face and poked through a bright red baseball cap. She was watching the other exit. He continued to slide closer when movement in his peripheral vision had him reach for her shoulder, instinctively moving her out of danger.

He found himself looking at the barrel of a gun, pointed straight at his heart. Ice blue eyes a.s.sessed him from under the cap. Hands held away from his body, Tank backed up a step.

"You're late." She lowered the gun, tucking it back into a discreet holder clipped to her belt. He lowered his hands, but remained wary, not knowing if she was friend or foe. Probably friend, as she hadn't shot him. That was always a good sign.

He checked the alley to see what spooked him and decided it must been a rat. Today's activities had him a little on edge. The woman crossed her arms and leaned back on one hip, looking him over from top to bottom and then all the way back.

"So, you're the famous Agent Jake Steele. Or should I call you Tank?"

Years of training kept his stance natural. How did she know who he was?

"Who-"

"Rodie told me."

What was Rodie up to now?

"How'd you know Rodie?" Tank's brain kicked into overdrive. Why wasn't Rodie here? Was this a set up?

"Met him through Charlie and Slash."

That would have to be One Eyed Charlie and J.D. 'Slash 'em, Stash 'em' Rogers. She was rattling off his contacts like she his smart phone in front of her.

"Look... Whoever you are...."

"Liz."

"Alright, Liz. I don't know who you are, or how you know my, uh... friends, but I'm supposed to be meeting one of them here and they won't show if I've got company. Comprende?"

Tank heard her chuckle. She actually chuckled.

"Rodie told me you'd be tough. Why do you think I'm here? For my health?" Liz fished out a wallet and showed him her badge and identification card. She hailed from Washington. The uneasy feeling in his gut intensified.

"Head office sent me. Rodie's gone so deep he'll need a diver's suit. But, he managed to get two messages out. One to you, to meet here and one to me, to give you a head's up." She flipped the wallet shut and stuck it into her back pocket.

His eyes narrowed at the last phrase. Heads up, for what? "I'm not a happy camper, Liz. You need to talk to me or I'm turning around, getting on my bike and going home to my wife." He swung on his heel and headed back down the alley. Her hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Don't you mean ex-wife?"

"We're working things out." He tried to shrug out of her grip but she tightened her grip.

"There's been a hit put out on you."

He froze and looked back over his shoulder. "What do you mean a hit?"

She let go of his arm. "Exactly what I said. A hit. Your cover's been blown on the Grant case and Rodie said a contract's been drawn up."

"The timing's all wrong. Rodie sent me the message last night, before my cover was blown. How could they know to put out a hit?"

"We think today's fun and games were to draw you into the open. Confirm what Big Boss knew, or thought he did. You gotta hit the ground running and get out of here. We've got a 'copter waiting. Is there anything you need back at the house?"

Tank started to say No, then realization hit him like a power-packed punch to the gut. He ran for his motorcycle.

Footsteps pounded as Liz raced behind him, "Steele! Where are you going?"

He hopped on his bike and unlocked it; cold sweat poured down his back. His lips curled into a feral snarl, "Shelby's back at the house, unprotected."

He didn't wait for a response. He throttled the bike and roared off at top speed, toward their house. An agonizing ten minutes pa.s.sed before he skidded around the final corner and screeched to a halt. Immediately he was aware of fire-trucks, police cars and finally, a medical examiner's car.

Black.

Solitary.

Death itself parked at the end of the driveway.

Fire fighters had the flames under control and police were busy keeping spectators from crossing the temporary yellow-taped lines encircling the yard. He was vaguely aware of a car purring to a stop behind him. Then he felt a hand on his arm.

Her soft voice filtered through the cold numbness. "Steele. You gotta get out of here. We'll find out what's going on. Come on."

Anger, fast and swift, coursed through him. He shrugged off her hand. "Look, Liz. I don't give a rat's a.s.s if everybody knows who I am. Get out of my way."

He headed in the direction of the chaos. A police officer stopped him when he approached the yellow-taped barrier. "I'm sorry, sir, this is off limits to the public. You'll have to step away."

Tank reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flashed his badge in the officer's face. "Agent Steele, N.S.U."

The young officer allowed him to pa.s.s, but the look on his face let Tank know that whatever he'd find, it wasn't going to be good. As he walked across the lawn Tank formulated a plan to get as much information as he could before the authorities realized who he was and cornered him in some room for questioning.