The Professional Read Online Free PDF

of worn blue jeans. Sex on feet. And most definitely out of her league.
    She waited until Cora put a bite of pie in her mouth, then abruptly stood and pressed a kiss onto the older lady’s startled cheek. “I’ve got to get home. See you tomorrow.”
    Impulsively, she snatched her dessert—no point in letting it go to waste—and fled.
    * * *
    T HANKS TO THE twin connection, Jeb was accustomed to a heightened sense of intuition. Though he and Judd weren’t identical, the link was still there and unusually strong. As a boy he could remember having a sudden craving for strawberry ice cream, only to find his brother at the kitchen table, the carton in front of him, spoon in his mouth.
    While in his teens, he’d been out on a first date with a girl when Judd had gotten a speeding ticket and the onset of panic and anxiety had ruined his evening. Even now, as early as last night, he’d felt a familiar spike of elation—much to their shared discomfort, an orgasm would do it every time—followed by a keen sense of loneliness. A text had arrived a minute later from Judd, a simple “I’m fine.” No doubt the girl in the bed next to him prohibited a phone call.
    At any rate, Jeb had learned to listen to his instincts and, after Mosul, would never ignore them again, regardless of “orders.” Had he pulled back at the first prickling of his scalp instead of pushing forward as commanded, he would have avoided the ambush that had killed the rest of his team.
    He’d been first, dammit. It should have been him coming home in a flag-draped coffin.
    How he’d avoided the spray of bullets that had cut down everyone else was a mystery he didn’t think he’d ever be able to explain. In fact, only the small camera attached to his helmet which had transmitted a live feed back to base—and had unequivocally proved his position—had kept him from an official inquiry.
    Regret and remorse, his constant companions, pulled at him, but he beat back the sensation and focused on the unusual—even for him—intuitive cue currently yanking a knot behind his navel.
    It had started the instant she’d walked into the diner.
    She was a relatively unremarkable female, mid-twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes, average height and weight. Despite the chilly weather, her face bore the fading shade of a decent tan, suggesting she was fit and healthy. She wore a sensible jacket over a pair of orange scrubs, probably a nod to the Thanksgiving season, but put him in mind of a convict. His lips twitched. Undoubtedly, that wasn’t the look she was going for. She was with an older woman with decidedly more style and a quick check of their body language revealed a certain reluctance in the younger woman and a sense of excitement from the other.
    Odd.
    The knot and jerking sensation intensified, then his fingers began to tingle and a ripple of awareness skidded down his spine. With effort, he resisted the urge to stare at her, though admittedly he didn’t understand the impulse. Frankly, he could discern more from the corner of his eye than most men with the benefit of full-on vision and he didn’t see anything remotely notable about her. She was neither beautiful nor ugly. She wasn’t especially tall or short, thin or fat. Her hair was brown, not too dark or too light, but that basic common shade in between. It was shiny, he noticed, but the messy bun on the top of her head prevented him from recognizing the length. Based on everything else about her, he imagined it was shoulder-length. Again, not too…anything. She was rather plain, if he were honest.
    And yet…
    He shifted, determined to focus instead on the older couple who’d stopped to welcome him to Twilight Acres. He was of the opinion that the person he was talking to deserved the full benefit of his gaze. Looking elsewhere was rude.
    “Yes, that’s right. Foy’s grandson,” Jeb said for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. He’d been greeted more out of curiosity than