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containing the books she’d bought. The books that had slipped from her hand when he had looked at her.
    “Forget something?”
    “Umm… Sorry, I guess I got a bit distracted. Thank you.”
    “Listen, could I buy you a cup of coffee?” He hurriedly tried to find an excuse. “I don’t get the occasion to talk to someone in the same line of work where there isn’t competition.”
    “I’d love to, but I don’t go out with married men, no matter what we might talk about over it.”
    Jack watched her flip her long curly hair.
    He was crazy, part of his brain reminded him. She’d been flirting and he’d mentioned his wife. Stupid, Jack. Where is your wife? He could have sworn he heard her say, “I’m dead, Jack, and I’m never coming back. So why are you standing there like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar?” Sissy was only in his head.
    “I’m not married, and it’s just coffee.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain, but Olivia narrowed her eyes.
    “You mentioned earlier your wife was Irish.”
    “She was. She passed away a year ago.”
    Those eyes of hers were dangerous, hot storm clouds and rain, a promise of something more. They were witch’s eyes, filled with secrets. What man in the world could resist trying to discover their mysteries?
    “I’m sorry for that. She must have been young. Let’s be on our way then. I’ve some time before I have to get back, and I might as well give it to you.”
    He’d been expecting her to wallop him with those books. She was clutching them like weapons.
    “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a stranger and we’ve known each other all of five minutes? Maybe I moonlight as a murderer.”
    Olivia’s smile came quick and easy enough for him to trust it. “Oh, if I thought that, you’d be the one in trouble. I could catch a killer in life as well as I do in my stories, or I could be a gold digging black widow out for your worldly goods.”
    Jack laughed. It had been a long time since he’d felt like laughing. It felt good, and that was something at least. He owed this strange woman with witch’s eyes, if only for that.
    * * * *
    Ryan was just finishing up the quarterly on the Myer’s account. He buzzed his secretary.
    “Hold my calls, June. No one gets by you.”
    He just needed a few minutes to put himself back together. A knock sounded on the heavy wooden door. Ugh, what now? Couldn’t a body contemplate his being killed in peace!
    “Yes, come in, June.” She stepped quietly inside, her heels sinking into the carpet without making a sound.
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ryan, but Mr. Myers is here to see you. I know you said to hold all your calls, but he said it was imperative he speak with you.”
    Ryan sat stiff as a board at his desk, the image of a cool aloof professional, when inside he was raging out of control. “Hold him off ten minutes, then send him on in. I really need to finish this.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She slipped quietly out, and closed the door discretely behind her.
    He sunk his head into his hands the moment he heard it click shut. He’d called again, that voice which couldn’t be put with a face. It commanded. You obeyed. He hated the gravelly tone, those worries, even these damn books and numbers that had once been his escape.
    He wished he’d never set foot on the plane. Now he’d have to report the call to Special Agent Spiller, wait and wonder when and how it would all be over. His health was at stake because of the stress, and his life was in danger. People on both sides of the law watched his every move, and he never knew if an eye blink in the wrong direction would catch him a bullet. He could run, but which one would catch him? Which did he fear more? The US government? Or the voice of his tormentor?
    Ryan thought back to how he’d gotten here in the first place. He’d taken the job because it was as far away from Kate as he could be. He couldn’t stay where his heart and home were. It had just