Page 20 of Covert Temptation

Her son—where was he staying during the year before his death? Job, home, relationship status, family?

Death by jumping off bridge—faked?

How: Bungee rigged to bridge? A pickup boat?

Dante knew a lot about faking one’s death. In Blackout, none of them existed on paper. When they signed on with Blackout, they were issued a death certificate, and they became ghosts. Dead men walking.

With these questions scrolling through his mind, he set to work, searching for other survivors in Miriam’s family who would have been motivated enough to take revenge for their loved one.

He ran a hand over his jaw. The woman’s death had been the spark that led to the demise of Echo team.

And her son could be holding the matches.

Behind him, he heard a footstep. Then another.

Dante froze, mouth drying out at the thought of turning to find Kennedy standing there in a skimpy nightie.

Another step…and another.

He twisted to see her walking into the kitchen. She was completely dressed and even wore shoes.

His gaze traveled over her from ankle boots to fitted jeans that hugged her perfectly, to the enormous, soft, white sweater that swallowed her slender frame, hanging off one shoulder and ending mid-thigh. The thing probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Somehow on her, it looked both elegant and cozy.

She didn’t turn to catch him staring at her, just continued into the kitchen. Only she didn’t stop to pour coffee from the fresh pot he made to get him through the final hours of one hellof a long day. She did something more unusual—she pivoted and walked straight to the entrance of the living room.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She stopped, dark eyes seemingly darker with the light bruises of fatigue under each one. She needed sleep too.

She didn’t respond.

“Coffee’s fresh,” he told her.

“I might have some in a little bit.”

He stared at her for another beat. He didn’t want to note the way her hair lay tousled over her shoulders. Or how the watery kitchen light highlighted her dainty features.

He especially didnotwant to notice the soft bow of her upper lip.

He twisted back to the laptop.

Kennedy’s bootstap-tappedout of the room.Hewas wearing shoes for the obvious reason—so he could hit the ground running at the first glimmer of a threat. But he could only guess thatshehad her shoes on so she could make a break for it first chance she got.

The thought unsettled him and made it difficult to focus on his work. Not to mention how damn distracting Kennedy was, prancing around in those jeans that clung to her sculpted legs in all the right places.

She blazed a new path to the window overlooking the snowy field with the apple trees before turning around and heading back to her bedroom.

He opened a secure connection but didn’t even type a request into the search bar before Kennedy exited her room and walked to his bedroom.

What in the hell was she doing?

He turned his head to watch as she paced toward him and entered the living room once more.

Wait. Was he imagining things or were her lips moving?

She was muttering to herself, probably a silent rant about how much she hated him. Or a pep talk to get through their forced vacation together. Hell, who could blame her for that?

She moved to the couch, then returned to the kitchen.

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