The woman narrowed her shockingly blue eyes. Even at the distance separating them, they were the color of the shallow waters of the Caribbean Sea. Nevertheless, she showed no signs of relinquishing her perceived vantage point. “That someone is going to be you if you move a muscle. I rented this house from Dan Malone, and he didn’t mention anything about a nephew.”
“That’s impossible.” He shook his head slowly. “Uncle Dan would never rent this place.”
Her chin tilted up in defiance despite the slight tremor in it. “Well, apparently, he would, and he did. Three days ago. To me. Now leave.”
He noticed the gun’s weight was taking its toll on the woman’s extended arms as they began to shake and sway. He let out a loud, weary sigh. “What can I say or do to convince you to set the gun down, or better yet, put it away?”
“You can leave, that’s what you can do.”
“Sorry, honey, that’s not going to happen.” He noticed her eyes flared in silent fury at the personal endearment. “What else?”
“If you’re really his nephew, prove it.” Her tone told him no matter what he said, it wouldn’t make a difference to her.
He scanned the room and realized that if his uncle did lease the house to this woman, he’d kept it fully furnished. Nothing had changed, and all the Malone family’s things still decorated the comfortable room. No evidence of personal items that might belong to the woman who stood before him was in sight.
Even though he thought it was strange, he ignored the simple fact for the moment and pointed to the mantle over the red brick fireplace. “The picture on the left is of my uncle, brothers, and me on last year’s fishing trip. My hair’s a little longer now, but that’s me on the far right. I’m in many of the photos around the room, but that’s the most recent.”
He stayed perfectly still as the woman approached the fireplace to look atthe picture, keeping enough distance between her and KC to ensure he wouldn’t attack her. He could easily overtake her, but she was obviously scared, and there was no point in anyone being hurt unnecessarily.
She glanced at the photo, then back at him, but said nothing. Evidently, she was still wary.
“And the football trophy next to it is from my senior year of high school, when we won the state championship. It has my name on it. If you let me take my wallet out, I can show you my license.”
The woman thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “OK, but slowly.”
He eased his leather wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it on the floor at her feet. Keeping the gun trained on him, she cautiously lowered herself to the ground to pick it up. Opening the smooth leather case, she studied his license and then tossed the brown wallet back to him. He caught it in his right hand and slowly returned it to his rear pocket, keeping his left hand where she could see it.
The tension in her face and shoulders eased slightly, but the weapon was still pointed at him. “Okay, I’m convinced youarerelated to Mr. Malone, but it doesn’t explain what you’re doing sneaking inhere in the middle of the night, scaring the hell out of me. You have to leave. Now!”
KC let out another frustrated sigh. The situation was getting old and annoying really fast. “Look. I already proved I’m Dan’s nephew. Can you put away the damn gun before you accidentally shoot me?”
Her hand shook. “How do you know it would be an accident and not on purpose?”
Oh, for Pete's sake. He lowered his arms and bent to retrieve his duffel bag, only a smidgen faster than a snail’s pace so as not to alarm her. “Look, lady, I wasn’t sneaking in here. I still don’t know who you are, and right now, I’m too exhausted to give a damn. Shoot me, or let me go to bed. It’s two o’clock in the morning, and I haven’t had more than a three-hour nap in over fifty-four hours.”
Her jaw dropped as he walked toward the hallway leading to the two downstairs bedrooms. “But... but you can’t stay here.”
He stopped and glared at her over his shoulder. “Why the hell not? Look, I’m about to drop dead of exhaustion, and I’m not getting back into my car to find another place to sleep when there’s a comfortable, empty bed right here. I’m also not going to hurt you. Trust me, you’re safer with me thanalmost anyone else. We’ll work this out in the morning. Right now, I’m going to go to sleep.”
The woman stared at him in shock, mouth agape, gun in hand, as he strode down the hall. He entered the smaller of the two bedrooms, shut the door behind him with a faint resounding click, and turned the lock. He honestly didn’t think she would shoot him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
What is Uncle Dan up to now?
She had to be someone the older man decided to help—he was always coming to the aid of people down on their luck. And from the look on her face, she fit the Dan Malone profile of a person who could use a helping hand. While he wouldn’t deny she had been sexy as sin in her T-shirt, pretending to be a female Rambo, she was a little too skinny. And the dark circles under her eyes appeared to be from more than having her beauty sleep interrupted.
It was too late to wake his uncle, although KC was tempted, so he quickly stripped down to his boxer briefs and literally fell into bed. The last image in his mind as sleep overtook him was a pair of long legs and a white T-shirt.
Chapter Three
What the hell?
Moriah lowered herself to the couch and continued to stare at the door the stranger had closed moments before. She still wasn’t sure what had happened or why the man, KC, he’d called himself, was still here and what she would do about it. Heck, she wasn’t even sure if that was his name or his initials. She’d only looked at his picture when she glanced at his license, too scared to take her eyes off him for long.
She couldn’t go back to sleep with a strange man across the hallway from her room. She couldn’t force him to leave on her own—he’d proven that. She also didn’t want to call Mr. Malone at such a late hour to come over and get his nephew out of there. And shedefinitely wasn't calling the police to remove him—that would result in too many questions she couldn’t answer. Moriah reluctantly realized her only option was to make a pot of coffee, stay up, and wait for KC to wake up. Then she would convince him he had to leave. If he wouldn’t, she’d have to hit the road and disappear again.
Four miserable hours later, Moriah was still sitting on the couch, the gun on the cushion beside her within easy reach, as she sipped her third cup of coffee. She didn’t know why she bothered drinking the potent brew because it made her more nervous than she already was.
The only light in the room came from a lamp on the end table, casting a soft glow across the space. She’d flipped off the kitchen light earlier because it felt too bright, too exposing, and the chandelier over the dining table had been even worse. A well-worn copy ofJawslay facedown beside her, where she’d dropped it after trying—and failing—to focus on the same page for the fifth time.
