with a parrot had what it took to sell men out. Beneath the fragile sexual awareness, though, was a woman who wasnât a complete pushover. Heâd sensed, practically tasted it in those moments when sheâd abandoned everything except what she craved.
Maybe that was the real problem. A pushover wasnât his style. Zoe had grit, too much of it for him to shield his emotions, which only brought him around to regretting how theyâd met. If she was innocent, it was a sure bet sheâd never want to see him again.
His buddy Vitus was right: He needed to stop working on special cases. The rush was addictive, but it was the innocents who could eat a man alive.
If Zoe ended up being not guilty, he had the feeling he was going to see her face in his nightmares for a very long time.
Like forever.
But there were already faces there, in the one place he couldnât avoid. The faces of his buddies. The ones who hadnât been lucky enough to walk away from the ambush heâd survived. Sometimes, he seriously questioned who was the lucky one among their number. He was alive but not really living. The past had a stranglehold on him, one that was the driving force behind his involvement in the operation he was engaged in. Just one shoulder-held air-to-surface missile and the intel to tell the enemy where to be. That was all it took. He had to hold on to that knowledge when he was looking into Zoeâs eyes.
His mother sure hadnât raised him to use women, no matter the reason.
But his buddiesâ mothers were all new recipients of American flags. He was in position to keep other mothers from the same fate.
So why didnât he feel better about it?
The answer was simple.
Zoe.
If she was hiding a black heart, she was a master of deception.
Mercer walked out the door because he couldnât dismiss the possibility of her being exactly that.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Zoe woke up tired the next morning. There wasnât enough coffee in North America to improve her mood, either. Her workday crept by like a lame tortoise in the cold.
She tied on her running shoes and took off the moment it was close to quitting time. Running took her focus off her thoughts. She didnât return home until her legs were threatening to cramp. Her hair was slick with sweat, and most of the anxiety that had been needling her throughout the day was gone.
But she froze when she found Mercer back on her front porch.
âYou look surprised to see me, Zoe.â
She brushed her hair back and became frustrated with the urge to improve her appearance for him. âSince you left at just about the same moment you finished getting what you wanted, I am surprised to see you.â
Peevish? Maybe. But she was going to call it as she saw it.
âWould have called you but you left your cell in my jacket pocket.â
He held up her cell phone and wiggled it. She hesitated before reaching for it. Recalling last night wasnât a problem. Images replayed across her mind with a crystal clarity that aroused her despite her temper.
Only she didnât recall putting her cell phone in the pocket of that jacket.
âYeah, well ⦠thanks for bringing it back. I wouldnât have noticed it missing until I was packing for my next party.â
Mercer frowned. âYou have more than one cell phone?â
She plucked the phone out of his hand and slipped it into her lightweight sweatshirtâs pocket.
âMost guys ask for a girlâs cell phone number.â She fit her key into the front door and heard Harley greet her. She turned and blocked the doorway. A ripple of apprehension traveled along her nerves because even standing on the top step, she still wasnât eye level with Mercer. Keeping the man out of her house wouldnât prove easy.
Yeah, try impossible â¦
âBut you didnât ask for my number and you neglected to leave yours, so thanks for returning my phone. Good