"Just for tonight."

"Does it happen often?"

"No. It was kind of a last-minute thing."

"Who knew she was here?"

"No one. Why?"

His eyes narrowed. "She was attacked in your bedroom. I don't need to spell out what it means, especially to a smart cookie like you."

Instead of stinging him with a rude comment, I closed my eyes. I heard the steady swell of crickets. No other animal noises caught my attention. d.a.m.n. Something was wrong besides the absence of wind. I couldn't place my finger on it. It was like someone was watching me.

Tingles raced up my spine.

Dawson's big hand closed over mine. His ragged thumb swept a continual arc over my knuckles, and his breath tickled my ear. "Talk to me."

I shook off the lure of his touch. "Ssh. I'm listening. Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."

He went still and listened.

Then I heard it: pebbles shifting on the path between the house and the barn. Someone was out there. No time to run inside for a gun. My adrenaline kicked in, and I was on my feet and slithering through the darkness before Dawson knew I'd left.

Everything fell away and I became one with the night. I dropped to my haunches in the shadow of the ash tree. Listened for the sound of clothing rustling. Or heavy breathing. Or more footsteps.

Nothing.

A twig snapped. By the machine shed? I couldn't tell. I crept closer.

My bare feet barely registered the bite of gravel as I tiptoed to the corner of the barn. The odor of charred wood lingered. Should I cut through? Surely the not-so-sneaky b.a.s.t.a.r.d wouldn't be stupid enough to hide in the barn.

Part of me wished for my rifle and scope, but I knew I'd be tempted to follow my training and shoot first.

Screech. Bang. The clank of the gate opening.

A diversion? Or was the idiot really taking off through the field with a quartet of nasty bulls ready to give chase?

My senses narrowed to auditory. Fury charged my system, but I kept my breathing normal. Then I heard light footfalls creeping alongside the barn. I braced myself to attack.

One leg appeared, then two. I kicked my foot between the gait midstride and the person toppled to the ground.

Before I had a chance to immobilize my prey, the man rolled me and I landed on my a.s.s.

I jumped up. So did he. He rushed and knocked me into the side of the barn, pinning me against the warped wood.

"Jesus Christ, Mercy. What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" he hissed in my ear.

Dawson? How had he gotten over here so fast? "Me? What were you doing?"

"My G.o.dd.a.m.n job."

I snorted.

"Don't start."

"Well? Did you see anything?"

"Besides a coyote hightailing it out of here?"

"A coyote? Where?"

"Over by the propane tank. It must've smelled the burning feathers or something to bring it this close in."

So much for my sharpshooter's instincts. "You didn't see anyone?"

"No."

Even if my vision wasn't perfect in one eye, I had a hard time believing I'd miss an animal that size. I got the feeling the sheriff hadn't seen a coyote. "Quit s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with me, Dawson."

"What do you mean?"

"Since when has a coyote grown smart enough to open a gate?"

"You heard the gate open?"

"Didn't you?"

Pause. "No."

I attempted to shove him. "I'm sick of your lies. Who are you really working for? Kit McIntyre? What do you get for trying to burn my place down, Dawson?"

"Why would I do that?"

"That's what I'm asking, dumb-a.s.s."

His hand swept from my forehead down to the base of my skull.

My muscles went rigid as a 2x4.

"Either you're in shock or you've got a head injury. Because no way in h.e.l.l did I do this, and you should know that."

I hated this. I thrashed against him.

Then Dawson had pressed my left cheek against the wood, layering his sweaty face to mine. "Mercy, say something."

"Let me go."

"Why won't you let me help you . . . dammit. Stop squirming." He released a pent-up breath. Slowly he angled back, muttering something.

I looked up at him.

Big mistake.

Those steely gray eyes locked on mine.

And I became acutely aware of how close we were. Of the solid feel of him against me and the fast beat of his heart against my chest. Of his ragged breath beading the perspiration on my skin. Of the adrenaline pumping between us like a dare.

Even our reactions to the situation were strangely synchronized.

My gaze dropped to his mouth. "Dawson-"

Then that mouth was on mine. His lips glided back and forth insistently until my lips parted for his. His hands came up from manacling my wrists to cradle my head. He fed me sweet kisses, hot kisses, hungry kisses, wet kisses. Kisses that plainly told me he'd imagined kissing me like this and wasn't about to let the opportunity pa.s.s him by.

I wasn't an idiot; I didn't even pretend I wanted to push him away.

Neither of us had expected this complication. Hadn't seemed to stop us from wanting it. Acting on it.

My last coherent thought for a while was holy s.h.i.t.

Not a breath of wind stirred as our breathing leveled. I braced myself for that awkward moment when you realize you've done something incredibly stupid. When you want to kick your own a.s.s and the a.s.s of anyone else dumb enough to be within kicking distance of you.

Then his warm mouth searched for mine again. d.a.m.n if my lips didn't open. d.a.m.n if I didn't sink into the kiss like I hadn't been kissed in years and had to stock up for those cold, lonely nights I found myself alone. Embarra.s.sed by my emotional greed and physical need, I pushed his shoulders and ripped my mouth from his. "Let go."

"Not until you look at me."

I didn't want to look at him. In my mind's eye I saw his male smugness. A c.o.c.ky, I-gave-it-to-you-good smirk, and I created several smart-a.s.s comments that would diffuse the situation and give me the advantage.

I opened one eye at a time. No such expression distorted his face. "What?"

"Don't pretend this thing is one-sided, or let loose a scathing remark that'll cut me down to size. I couldn't take it after . . ."

I bit my tongue and studied the spots scattered on the T-shirt stretched across his chest. c.r.a.p. Had I drooled on him?

He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair, making the strands stick up like baby chicken feathers. "Look. I can stay tonight-"

"No. I appreciate the offer, but we'll be fine."

"You won't give an inch, will you?"

"If whoever did this sees your official vehicle parked out here all night, they'll think I'm scared and then they win."

"It's not about winning, Mercy. It's about your safety."

"I've got eight guns, eight thousand rounds, and a really bad att.i.tude. That's all the protection we need."

"Not what I meant and you d.a.m.n well know it."

I smoothed my shorts, trying once again to hide the ugly wounds on my upper thigh from his prying eyes. "So we lost our heads. It happens."

He brooded, studying me suspiciously.

"Dangerous situations trigger reactions and a heightened sense of awareness. Kind of like combat stress."

"That's your explanation for what just happened?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because it's a bulls.h.i.t excuse."

"You have a better one?"

Dawson laughed. "Not an excuse, but a theory I might tell you sometime when you aren't being such a pain in the a.s.s."

"Why is that funny?"

"Because after all that's happened, you still don't trust me, do you?"

My cool detachment took over. I looked him dead in the eye and answered, "Nope."

It didn't faze him. He stared back with equal aloofness.

Which p.i.s.sed me off. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't blab what just happened to everyone in the county."

"No problem. No one would believe it anyway." He spun on his boot heel and swaggered off.

Well, h.e.l.l. That hadn't gone the way I'd planned.

Early the next morning the phone rang and I answered it quickly to keep it from disturbing Hope. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Mercy? Good, you're there."

A second pa.s.sed before I placed the gravelly voice. "Rollie?"

"Yeah. I was afraid that uppity Sophie Red Leaf wouldn't let me talk to ya if she answered."

"So you disguised your voice?"

"Yep. You free for a bit this morning?"

"Sure."

"I'll swing by to getcha in about fifteen minutes."

I grabbed my Sig and a water bottle. The day was sticky. Even the tease of moisture was a blessed change from the oppressive dry heat.