Her words stunned him. Did she really believe he would hurt her in any way? She had to know he wouldn't. She had to know the Colby Agency didn't do that kind of work. Neither did Alexon, to his knowledge.

"I just want to talk to you," he a.s.sured her quietly. He could feel her withdrawing. Instinct told him she'd make a run for it before she'd let him take her in. "Can we go somewhere and talk? Somewhere quiet and safe? You pick the place," he offered, hoping to allay her fears.

"What do you want to talk about?" she demanded, uncertainty underscoring her c.o.c.ky tone.

For a moment before he responded, he thought about what he should say. He needed her full attention. He needed her open to the options he intended to offer. To achieve that, he needed to make her see just how precarious her position was.

He edged closer. When she heard what he had to say she might just bolt. "We need to talk about why Alexon thinks you murdered your uncle."

If he'd slapped her, Scout wouldn't have been any more surprised. How could anyone think she'd killed her uncle? It was insane. Beyond insane ...

Her heart was pounding again, her pulse throbbing so hard she was certain a heart attack was imminent. Her breath all but stalled in her lungs.

She had not killed her uncle.

But, she realized, ice filling her veins, she couldn't prove she hadn't. She'd been the last person besides the murderer to see him alive.

"I didn't kill him," she said with more strength than she'd considered herself capable of. Surely Max didn't believe that lie. He knew her better than that. She thought of the days they'd spent together in isolation and the way she'd gone back to rescue him after getting Dr. Kirstenof to safety. Max had to know she wouldn't murder a man in cold blood.

"I believe you," he said, his voice quietly rea.s.suring. "But there are others who aren't so sure. We need to clear up this situation before it gets completely out of control." He eased closer. "Let me help you."

The urge to run nearly overpowered her desire to trust him.

She was so tired. She needed time to grieve, but she couldn't. Keeping her baby safe was all that mattered anymore. But how could she do that if Alexon convinced the police she was guilty of murder? There was only her word against the killer's.

She'd been at the scene and had run away. It didn't take a rocket scientist to trump up motive.

She was screwed.

Big time.

Her gaze sought Max in the darkness. She could make out his form, the outline of his face, but not his eyes. The realization that they stood alone in the middle of the cemetery was immensely telling. Alexon had sent him to find her, to bring her in. They trusted him enough to back off and let him do the job.

That was not good ... at least not from her vantage point.

Instead of backing away herself, or making a run for it, knowing that he would only catch her, she stood her ground. He was faster than her and outweighed her by a good seventy or eighty pounds, so running would be pointless. If she only had her weapon ...

"If you believe me, then why are you armed when I'm not?" Scout held perfectly still while he contemplated her question. She didn't even breathe. If he wanted her to believe him badly enough he'd make a show of faith. She almost smiled. In about ten seconds she'd have him. Her father had taught her this trick and it always worked, unless, of course, the other party involved was a lowlife sc.u.mbag criminal. And that wasn't the case at all.

"I tell you what," he said congenially, "I'll put my weapon right over here on this headstone, out of reach, and then we'll talk. That sound okay to you?"

She nodded, then remembered that he couldn't see her. "Your backup piece, too," she told him, remembering the ankle holster he'd worn four months ago.

"No problem." Max placed his weapon on the headstone, then crouched down to retrieve the other one. "I want us to be on equal footing here, Scout. I'm not the enemy. I want-"

Knowing he could easily stop her with the backup piece and, at the same time, knowing he wouldn't dare shoot her, she grabbed the nine-millimeter from the headstone. Her fingers instantly curled into position.

"Give me your keys," she ordered as she pressed the barrel of the weapon to his forehead. He'd already snagged his backup gun, but she knew he wouldn't use it.

He shook his head, the movement clear despite the spa.r.s.e moonlight cutting through the clouds. "Don't do this, Scout."

"Give me your keys," she repeated hotly. "Don't think I won't use this."

He laughed softly, but, to his credit, wasn't fool enough to move. "No you won't. You didn't go back into that jungle to rescue me four months ago only to shoot me tonight."

"Things are different now," she said pointedly. "There's a possibility I killed my uncle, or have you forgotten?"

His sigh was audible. "Let me help you."

It was so tempting. But how could she be sure she could trust him? Alexon had hired him. Alexon was the enemy. Max didn't understand the kind of people he was dealing with.

And he didn't know ... the other. It was best if he didn't.

"If you want to help me, give me your keys," she repeated.

Just then the clouds parted and moonlight cut through the darkness, revealing the intensity on Max's face.

"The only way you're walking out of here without me is if you shoot me," he said, determination glinting in those luminous blue eyes. "And I know that isn't going to happen."

Scout firmed her resolve and c.o.c.ked the weapon. "You sure about that?" Raising one eyebrow in a skeptical tilt, she added, "Remember, I'm desperate." She pressed the barrel a little harder against his skin, flinching inside with the effort it took. "Now give me those keys." She had a rental and didn't need his vehicle, but she didn't want him following her.

He shook his head. "No dice." She released a mighty breath and firmed her grip on the weapon. "Well, I guess that leaves me no choice."

Chapter Four.

Olivia Scout Jackson was a lot of things, but a good liar she wasn't.

She wouldn't shoot him.

Even if Max hadn't known her as well as he did, the truth glittered in those gray eyes. Yes, he saw the desperation, but above all else he saw the vulnerability and fear.

There was no way she had been involved in anyone's murder.

"Let me help you," Max murmured softly. "You know you can trust me."

For three long beats she didn't move. She stood there, staring down at him with that d.a.m.n weapon boring into his skull. Just when he was certain she wasn't going to trust him, she relaxed and blew out a disgusted breath.

"Don't make me regret this," she said curtly as she lowered the weapon, disengaged it, then offered it to him b.u.t.t first.

Max pushed himself to his feet as he accepted the nine-millimeter. "I won't," he a.s.sured her.

She still didn't look convinced. But she had good reason. Her uncle was dead and people were after her. He didn't know the whole story yet, but those two things alone were enough to make anyone jumpy.

Her gaze locked with his as he shoved his gun into his shoulder holster. "So what happens now?" she asked.

He glanced around the deserted cemetery. Alexon had a.s.sured him that they would not interfere, and he hoped like h.e.l.l they stuck by their word. He needed her to trust him. It was the only way he'd get the unvarnished truth.

"We go someplace safe to talk." He placed his hand against her arm and urged her forward, heading toward where she'd dropped her weapon. "You tell me what's going on and then we figure out where to go from there."

She laughed dryly. "You won't believe me."

Max paused to look at her through the darkness. The clouds had obscured the moon once more. "Try me."

She didn't respond, just felt around for her lost weapon and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans when she finally found it.

"We'll do it your way then," she agreed. "For now. As long as you promise not to turn me in to Alexon until you've heard my side."

He agreed and showed her the way to his SUV. But she hesitated before getting in. "What about my rental?"

According to the data Alexon had given him, there was no record of her flying from Houston to Chicago. They weren't sure how long she'd been in the area; they only knew that she had ground transportation. When they'd checked with the rental agencies, however, they'd come up with zilch. If she'd rented locally, she hadn't used her own name. Max wasn't surprised at that. Scout was too smart for that kind of bad move.

"We'll come back for it," he said in answer to her question. He waved his hand toward the open door of his SUV. "I don't want to risk you changing your mind about trusting me." Might as well be honest up front, he decided. She'd see through anything else.

The dim glow cast by the vehicle's interior light captured her half smile. "I'm very resourceful, Maxwell," she retorted, using his surname for emphasis. "If I decide I can't trust you, I won't need my rental to blow you off."

Max closed the door behind her and quickly skirted the hood to climb behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he started the engine and turned on the headlights.

"My place."

He didn't elaborate. She would find out soon enough that blowing him off wouldn't be so easy where they were going. Max smiled to himself at the idea of just how frustrated she would be when they arrived at the intended destination.

The narrow lane twisted around the perimeter of the cemetery, finally widening as it neared the entry gate. Max glanced first left, then right before easing out onto the street. The drive to his place would take about forty-five minutes. Maybe he could get a few answers on the way. He needed to know two things right away: what had she taken from Alexon and why was she running?

Though he couldn't imagine Scout stealing anything there had to be some reason why she was on the run. He couldn't really see any point in Alexon making up that kind of story. It was a high-profile company with a stellar reputation. This kind of thing seemed entirely out of character. But then so did murder and thievery where Scout was concerned.

Once on the road headed to Crystal Lake, he decided to simply ask her what Alexon thought she'd taken. When he glanced toward the pa.s.senger seat, the words never made it past his lips. She was asleep. Or at least she appeared to be. He could only guess how long she'd gone without rest or food or both. His gut clenched at the thought that she was obviously exhausted. As much as he wanted to know what was going on, he wanted to take care of her first.

Maybe Alexon was wrong and Victoria was right. Maybe he wasn't the man for this job.

SCOUT AWOKE SUDDENLY.

She straightened in her seat.

The car had stopped moving-that's what had awakened her.

It was still dark outside.

Where was she?

She followed the beam of headlights to the A-frame house nestled amid the trees. Max stepped into her line of vision as he climbed the steps leading up to the deck.

Glancing around, she could just make out the dim shapes of trees. They were in the woods. Deep in the woods, the best she could tell in the faint moonlight. Wherever they were, she'd never been here before, and she didn't like that. Instantly her heart rate shifted into high gear.

A knock on the window only inches from her face made her jump. She glared at Max, who waited outside her door. Exhaustion was taking its toll on her, making it hard to gather her composure and get her bearings. She needed food and more sleep. But could she really trust this man to keep her safe while she slept through the night?

She swallowed tightly. Well, she'd trusted him this far. She opened the door and slid out of the SUV. She could give him the benefit of the doubt for a little longer.

"Welcome to my castle," he said with a magnanimous wave of his arm. "Go on inside and make yourself at home. I'll be right in."

He'd turned on the exterior lights, she noticed as she made her way toward the deck. The headlights behind her went out and the engine died. As she ascended the steps, the sound of a vehicle door closing echoed, and two seconds later Max jogged up next to her.

She didn't glance at him when he opened the front door to the house. He waited, allowing her to go inside first. When he'd closed the door behind them, she finally looked at him. He armed the security system and gave her a rea.s.suring smile.

"The bedroom is at the top of the stairs. Have a nap or a shower if you'd like. I'll rustle up something to eat."

Did she look that bad or was she simply that easy to read? Determined not to spurn his kindness, and to trust him until she had reason not to, she offered a halfhearted smile. "I'd love a shower." Though she didn't have a change of clothes with her, a long, hot shower would relax her tense muscles.

"Make yourself at home," he called over his shoulder as he headed toward what she presumed to be the kitchen.

Before going upstairs Scout took a moment to familiarize herself with her surroundings. The front door opened into one large room. Log-and-c.h.i.n.k walls and hardwood floors glowed, warm and inviting. The ceiling soared upward, to where a second-floor balcony overlooked the expansive room below. The furnishings were on the Spartan side, few and simple, but comfortable looking nonetheless.

She moved in the direction she'd watched Max go and peeked at the small but efficient kitchen. On the other side of the enormous living area was a small powder room. The only exterior doors were the one they'd entered, adjacent to the staircase, and the one she noted in the kitchen. Her gaze roamed up the staircase. There would be windows up there, but no door, she imagined. Unless there was a second-story deck on the back of the house.

Having seen all she needed to downstairs, she followed the path her gaze had taken, climbing the stairs slowly, mostly because she was totally spent.

The bedroom was large as well. Though it, too, was spa.r.s.ely furnished, it did have lots of great exercise equipment. Scout moved around the room, allowing her fingers to glide over the smooth surfaces of the various machines. She was impressed. No wonder Max had such a great body. She could see him working out every night before bed, or maybe every morning before his shower. Either way, her mind immediately conjured the image of him completely naked. She shivered and banished the picture. She had to keep her attention off that. She was in enough trouble already.

There was no second-floor deck, which meant no escape route from up here, unless she wanted to risk jumping, and she didn't. Maybe if circ.u.mstances were different she might take that kind of chance to evade capture. But she wouldn't risk her baby to save herself.

She stilled next to the huge four-poster bed that claimed one side of the room. No matter what else happened, she had to make sure he didn't find out about the baby. She closed her eyes and forced back the little voice that wanted to argue with that decision. She couldn't risk it. If he found out ...

Exiling those thoughts, she moved into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, placing her weapon carefully on the marble vanity top. She stroked the locket she always wore and decided that Max didn't need to know about the baby. He wouldn't understand. She was certain of that.

What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. In fact, now that she thought about it, she realized the knowledge might even put him in danger.

That decision made, Scout stepped beneath the hot spray of water and closed her eyes, effectively pushing away all thought, reveling in the feel of the water sluicing over her skin. All she had to do was relax, eat and maybe even get some rest. If Alexon had hired Max to find her, then perhaps that's why they had backed off. They would wait and let him bring her in. That could work to her advantage. She could take a little time to regroup and plot a new strategy. If nothing else, she was relatively sure she could keep Max from turning her over for a day or two, anyway.

All she had to do was keep him from learning the truth.

If he believed her when she told him Alexon's own people had killed her uncle, then maybe he would help her disappear. But she couldn't disappear until she'd taken down the man who'd killed her uncle. She wasn't leaving another murder unsolved. Not when she had witnessed it with her own eyes. Not when she couldn't get that voice out of her head. If Max didn't want to help her, she'd do it on her own.

In the kitchen, Max spread the array of cold cuts on the counter and reached back into the fridge for the mayo and mustard. He remembered from their stay under observation that she hated mayo and loved cheese, any and all kinds. So he piled her sandwich high with three different cheeses and twice that many meats. He kept a variety of sandwich fixings available, since he rarely had the time or inclination to cook. Lettuce, no tomato and extra pickles. He topped off the mountain of fillings with a second slice of sourdough bread and garnished it with his favorite pitted olives on the side.

After preparing his own sandwich, he placed both plates on a tray, grabbed a bag of chips and snagged two beers from the fridge. He'd just placed the laden tray on the dining table when Scout descended the stairs.

She wore the same clothes, but her hair was damp from a shower. She looked good. Too good. Already he had experienced some major difficulty keeping his hands away from her. He wanted to touch her.

Her skin was as smooth and pale as cream. The blackness of her hair stood out in such stark contrast that it never failed to draw his attention. But the dark circles under her eyes reminded him of the loss she had recently suffered, and he chastised himself for allowing his thoughts to go down that path. She didn't need a lover right now, she needed a friend. And he wanted desperately to be that for her.