He chose his answer carefully, not wanting to divulge any of the disturbing suspicions circulating about Anthony’s death being more than just an accident. “It’s still under investigation.”

“And it’s confidential information,” she added for him, bitterness creeping back into her voice.

He sighed heavily, wondering how many times she’d heard that same line from her own husband. “Yes, it is.”

She flicked the flower over the rail and watched it flutter to the landscaped lawn. “Well, when you’re at liberty to share the privileged information, I’d like some answers on what, exactly, happened.”

He nodded. Giving her closure was the least he could do for her. “As soon as the investigation is concluded, and the reports released, I’ll let you know.”

And for Paige’s sake as much as his own, he hoped the rumors of criminal involvement surrounding Anthony were unfounded.

1

Three months later


JOSH GLANCED out the windshield of his black Thunder-bird and scowled at the thick, gray clouds overhead. The dreary, temperamental weather settling over North Miami Beach suited his mood, which was grim, with an angry undercurrent as ferocious as the jagged bolts of lightning streaking across the darkening sky. The elements of the brewing storm about to break weren’t much different from the sense of betrayal raging within him.

Shifting his gaze to the luxurious, custom-built home he’d parked in front of, he attempted to push his surly emotions aside so he could mentally prepare himself for the unpleasant task ahead. Not easy, considering his personal feelings for the woman inside that house.

Paige.

Dread settled in his chest, and he scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling the burn of his two-day stubble against his palms. It had been that long since Lieutenant Reynolds had summoned him into his office and verified what had been mere speculation among the cops working on the case Anthony had been assigned to. With the help of the officers still working undercover on the case, Internal Affairs had concluded their investigation of the sudden, merciless death of Anthony Montgomery. The official reports had confirmed the rumors no one in the department, least of all himself, wanted to believe.

Anthony Montgomery had been dirty, and he’d tangled Paige in the middle of the mess. Because of Anthony’s deceit, she was about to be dragged into a world where violence and greed reigned.

Josh was her best hope of surviving.

A fresh wave of anger gripped him, and he tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. It outraged and disgusted him that Anthony had stooped low enough to put his own wife into such a dangerous situation.

You were his best friend, Josh, ol’ buddy. You knew better than most that Anthony rarely thought of anyone but himself.

Yeah, he’d seen that selfish, arrogant side of Anthony many times in the years since they’d graduated from the Academy together, but he’d believed marriage to someone as gentle and caring as Paige would tame and humble him. Not so. If anything, Anthony had grown more cocky and reckless. His last actions on earth proved his disregard for the wife he’d left behind.

Tamping down the flare of emotions, Josh flipped up the collar of his lightweight jacket, slid out of the vehicle and headed toward the front of Paige’s house. Thunder shook the heavens, and the wind began to howl and whip through the nearby palms and trees. Then the sky split wide open, and big, fat drops of rain began to fall. Within seconds, he was drenched.

With a distinct curse, he leapt onto the tile steps and ducked under the awning covering the front porch, which sheltered him from the pelting rain and wild winds.

“Great,” he muttered. Dragging his fingers through his wet hair, he pushed the thick, unruly strands into some semblance of order. His face was wet, too, the excess moisture trailing down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. “Just great.”

Puffing out an aggravated breath, he knocked firmly on the heavy oak door. Through the etched-glass insets he could see the soft glow of lights illuminating portions of the house, then a slim, blurred figure moving toward the foyer. A lock unlatched, then the door opened.

“Josh!” Paige smiled, surprise and pleasure brightening her striking green eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Recent revelations caused his fierce protective instincts to rise swiftly to the surface. “Do you always open the door to strangers without asking who’s standing on the other side?”

She blinked, taken aback by his abrupt question. “You’re hardly a stranger, Josh.”

He resisted the urge to reach out and shake her. “You didn’t know it was me when you opened the door.”

A dark auburn brow lifted, and she crossed her arms over her chest She looked nice and cozy and dry, Josh noted grumpily, taking in her cocoa-colored knit sweater that hung to mid-thigh, and slim leggings in the same shade. Her feet were bare, though, her toenails a light shade of pink. And her hair was down, a thick luxurious tumble of cinnamon and fire. The tips of his cold fingers tingled at the thought of burying them in such silky, sensual warmth.

“If the purpose of your visit is a lecture, Detective Marchiano, I don’t need it.”

“Seems to me you do.” He scowled at her for being so naive, and at himself for letting his mind drift to other forbidden enticements. “You’re too damn trusting.”

Before the night was over, though, he was going to shatter that guileless trust of hers, the serenity of her life, and make her suspicious of everyone she came into contact with.

The way she viewed the world would never be the same.

“It’s a trait some people appreciate,” she replied lightly.

“And others take advantage of.” The tail end of a gust found its way into his corner of the porch. A chill shivered throughout his body and made goose bumps rise on his damp flesh. The glowing warmth of her house beckoned.

“You know, Josh, you look like hell, and you’re as surly as an angry bear.” She tilted her head, regarding him with a small degree of amusement “If you’re looking for me to invite you in, you’re going about it the wrong way.”

If he’d been standing on her doorstep under different circumstances, he would have laughed. His relationship with Paige had always included plenty of good natured teasing, and the smiles and laughter that seemed to be lacking in her relationship with Anthony. They’d always gotten along well-too well, he sometimes thought, connecting on so many levels that stretched beyond simple friendship.

Today, laughter wasn’t on the agenda. Instead, he blew out a harsh breath that did nothing to ease the anxiety knotting up his insides. “This isn’t a social call,” he said, his tone heavy with regret. “I’m here on official business.”

“Oh.” Her smile fell away, as did the tenderness and teasing. She automatically stepped aside to let him enter.

He brushed past her and into the foyer, welcoming the rise in temperature. The interior of the house was warm and inviting, redolent with the pleasing aroma of fresh-baked bread and another richer scent he couldn’t name, but his empty stomach appreciated nonetheless.

He stopped just inside the entryway, when the soles of his leather loafers squeaked against marble. Not wanting to muddy the expensive Oriental runner leading to the living room, he toed his shoes off by the door.

“Criminy,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “Even my socks are wet.” He took those off, too, and put them with his shoes.

Paige tried to smother a grin, and failed. “You’re absolutely soaked, Josh.”

He jammed his hands on his hips and glanced down at himself. There wasn’t a dry patch on his jacket, and his jeans were plastered to his hips and legs. The wet denim was heavy and clammy against his skin. “Right down to my briefs,” he confirmed wryly. “I got caught in the downpour.”

“Let me get you a towel.”

She left him standing in the foyer, and returned in less than a minute with a fluffy, cream-colored towel. He took it from her and dried his face, then ran its thickness over his dripping hair.

“Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and I’ll throw them in the dryer?” she suggested.

He stopped towel-drying his hair and met her gaze. A faint smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “And run around in the buff?”

A lovely shade of pink suffused her face. “No,” she said primly. “I haven’t cleaned out all of Anthony’s stuff yet. I’m sure I’ve got an extra pair of sweats you can use.”

A shiver snaked down his spine, making him all too aware that he was chilled to the bone-and would remain so for hours if he didn’t change out of his wet clothes. He’d be no help to Paige if he got sick; she needed him healthy, his mind sharp and his body alert.

“I’d appreciate that.” Unzipping his jacket, he shrugged it off and hung it to air-dry on the elegantly carved mahogany coatrack by the door.

Her gaze went to the holster strapped to his left shoulder, and the 9mm Beretta tucked within it, a direct reminder of who and what he was. A cop. His automatic pistol was as much a part of him as his limbs were, a natural extension of his persona as a homicide detective. He rarely left home without it, and it would be his constant companion until this new ordeal was over.

Judging by the aversion glittering in her eyes, she resented that particular intrusion into her home. Her life.

Guilt rippled through him, and he resisted the impulse to reach out and touch her, to offer reassurances. But he couldn’t extend false hope. Couldn’t dispense with his weapon no matter how much she wanted him to. Not when her life was at stake, and the future so uncertain. She needed to accept his presence, and reconcile herself to the fact that he would protect her with the most persuasive, and lethal, means possible.