Mert came out the office door and Phoebe turned to him with relief. "Would you drive these two?"

"I was-whoa!" Mert caught sight of Bryn. "Have we met, darlin?-"

"I don't think I'd forget meeting you," Bryn said, fluttering her lashes.

Role was the right description, Phoebe thought. Quite the performance, if you didn't look in her eyes.

Mert offered his arm, shoved his brother out the front door, then turned and said to Jake, "Mind how you go with her, mister. SHe's family."

Jake nodded, no sign of worry in his eyes or manner. Either he didn?t consider the guys a threat or he Wasn't planning to hit on her, Phoebe decided. When the door closed, Phoebe said, "Sorry."

"I've got two brothers," Jake said. "Both older than me. And dedicated to keeping my ass in line."

Her smile was slow but potent. "All God's children need a goal."

Jake's laugh came natural, felt good. "Yeah," he said, "they do." Then his brain reminded him what his goal was, and he sobered.

Her eyes registered this. Her lashes flickered, turning her expression into bland and pleasant. She stood up with an abrupt movement that tipped over the chair.

"Got a bit of a performance buzz to burn off. Can we go?"

"Sure." He moved slowly around the table. She vibrated with tension, her gaze bouncing around, looking everywhere but at him. He stepped close, and she stepped back, reaching for her can of soda.

With a quick movement, Jake pulled it out of her reach. "You won't work off a buzz chugging caffeine. Come on, let's go get some food into you."

She looked startled, then grinned.

"You might regret the absence of buzz," she said with a sidelong glance as they headed for the door. "When I crash, I'm out like a light."

"You think my ego can't take a girl falling asleep on me?" he said, as he stepped past her to push open the door.

"Don't know what you can take, now do I?" She stopped for a moment, rendered briefly breathless by the fit of blue jeans across his very nice ass. She gave a little shake and stepped through the doorway, but couldn't resist murmuring her thanks for the courtesy-and the view.

"What?" Jake looked at her, as if sensing her layered emphasis.

"Nothing." She grinned. "But you'd best-feed me, Seymour."

He matched her grin as he opened the truck's passenger door for her. "Are you dangerous when You're hungry?"

She paused in the act of sliding across the car seat, leaving her long, bare legs extended for maximum viewing. He inhaled sharply, then looked up. She gave him a deliberately provocative look. "There are those who say I'm always dangerous."

Earl watched them from the shadows as they got into the truck, which pulled away and turned toward town. He slid into his SUV, pushing aside his lightly snoring date. In a moment, he took off with a spurt of gravel, turning in the same direction.

"Not exactly what I had in mind when I offered you food," Jake said, pulling limp pastries from the convenience store's microwave oven. The pungent scent of hotdog wrapped around-without making palatable-a body of smells comprised of stale cigarette smoke, popcorn, gasoline, various body odors, wet dog and something that fell under the general heading of dirt. The mix permeated every corner of the dingy store, even the pastries Jake carried to their tiny table.

A scratchy radio dispensed a country-sounding wail into the chilled air while the middle-aged clerk desultorily turned the pages of a tattered National Enquirer.

"Small-town Friday night," Phoebe said, the look in her eyes equal parts amused and resigned.

He crowded the pastries onto the tabletop with her watery juice drink and his over-strong coffee, then squeezed into the seat across from her. The table, wedged between a line of self-serve soda machines and the bathrooms, put them knee to knee and damn near nose to nose. Since she had a nice nose, it Wasn't a problem.

Even with tiredness and fluorescent lighting bleeding the color from her face, she gave off a wholesome, sexy vibrancy that was dangerous to someone who'd been on the go for over twenty-four hours and without feminine contact for longer than that.

Bryn, being a colleague, didn't count.

He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping exhaustion was why he was having trouble routing out a pesky elemental masculine response to Phoebe Mentel. Suspect he reminded himself, adding with more emphasis, prime suspect who could lead him to Dewey Hyatt. Just thinking about catching Hyatt helped Jake to sharpen his gaze, probing her expression for weak spots. What he found was strength in her steady gaze and in the line of her strong jaw. He'd seen unlikely people in unlikely places before, but Phoebe Wasn't just an odd peg in a strange hole.

She was on the wrong pegboard.

She sat on the cheap plastic bench in her long-tall-Texan getup with the natural aplomb of a royal, systematically crumbling a cardboard pastry into cardboard crumbs.

A sign she Wasn't stupid.

Her body hummed like a banjo from her performance high, one booted foot tapping out a tune only she could hear while her sad, cynical eyes went over him with laser-powered thoroughness. What she concluded, she kept to herself. A sign she was smart or just had nothing to hide?

No way to know without delving into the puzzle of her mind and life further. He did wonder why he kept seeing her sitting under the spreading branches of a magnolia tree. She seemed made to wear something white and drifting, one of those wide-brimmed hats framing her face, her dark eyes slumberous with longing, her full lips parted for fine crystal instead of Styrofoam, and a big old plantation as a backdrop.

The straight line to knowledge begins with a question, so he asked, "What?s a nice accent like yours doing in a place like this?"

The well-defined line of her eyebrow rose. "From where I'm sitting, cowboy, You're the one with an accent."

He acknowledged the hit with a lift of one eyebrow. "Georgia?"

The pause before she answered was just a beat too long. "Texas, actually."

"I Could've of sworn I heard Georgia in your voice."

She pushed aside her mangled pastry, picked up her napkin and dabbed the edges of her mouth. "You have a good ear. My mama hailed from Georgia-moved to Texas when she married."

Nice and cool. He almost bought it. He took a cautious sip from his Styrofoam cup. "How did you end up in Colorado?"

"Colorado's got more up than Texas."

"Up?"

Jake's puzzled look shored Phoebe's shaken confidence. She smiled lazily, relaxing in her seat so that her leg brushed his long enough to maybe be an accident, maybe not. Her jacket fell open a bit. A deep breath raised and lowered her cleavage.

Nothing. Not even a quick look. She'd swear his gaze hadn't left her face since that first thorough scrutiny when they'd bumped into each other back in the bar.

"Rock climbing requires vertical terrain; otherwise it's just hiking." She moistened her lips with her tongue while her cool gaze turned back his probing one.

He swallowed, a dry sound, and rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Okay." He met her gaze and raised it a grin that curled fire in her belly and her toes in her boots. She took the charm of it on the chin, a glancing blow that nonetheless went deep, mining for a response she couldn?t afford to feel. Before she could stop it, an answering smile bloomed on her mouth. That only made it worse. His grin deepened, and his blue eyes opened on his soul, giving her a quick, tantalizing peek at things she could never have.

Regret hit her next. She Wasn't expecting it. She'd committed to her course and never looked back. Until today. To stop her fingers from forming fists, she grabbed her napkin and started folding it in an intricate pattern. It calmed her mind, muted despair. To distract him, she added, "And then there's the garage-"

"Garage? I thought-"