KADE MURPHY
U.S. MARSHAL KADE Murphy took a beer out of his refrigerator and slammed the door shut. He stomped into his living room, turned on the television, and sat down on his worn leather couch. Twisting off the lid of the beer, he flicked it onto the coffee table, and watched the metal lid spin in a lazy circle. It hit the side of his unused glass ashtray and stopped with a tinny clink.
"In other news, a hotel fire nearly claimed the lives of five hundred guests. Fortunately, no one was hurt in the blaze, which destroyed the fifth and sixth floors of the ten-story hotel."
Kade's gaze shifted from the beer lid to the TV. Death and destruction. That's all the world cared about anymore. No wonder Lillian preferred cartoons to CNN. The corner of his mouth lifted as he remembered how she'd lay around in nothing but his T-shirt and watch Dragon Ball Z. He hated that cartoon, but man, he loved watching her.
She'd sounded scared when she called him yesterday. Damn it, he hadn't traced the call. The corner of Fifth and Main? In what city? Like he had to ask. He knew where she was—and she knew it was only a matter of time before he came after her.
A burst of sound from the television drew his attention to the hotel fire. Flames burst through windows and ate through the brick building; people scrambled through a parking lot, helped by firemen and paramedics. A leggy blonde, assisted by a fireman, limped toward an ambulance.
Kade's heart froze.
"While authorities haven't determined the cause of the fire, one policeman was quoted as saying its origin looks suspicious."
The blonde glanced over her shoulder, almost looking directly into the camera, and his worst nightmare was confirmed.
Lillian.
"Son of a bitch!" Anger surged hot and heavy in his gut, accompanied by the sickening feel of fear—the same ugly fear that had terrified him so much he'd driven her away. She'd told him he was the loneliest asshole on the earth and walked out of his life and right into trouble.
His cell phone rang. He unhooked the slim metal device from his belt and flipped it open. "Kade."
"Got another one, Murphy."
Kade's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"He's back on his old stomping grounds."
"I'm leaving now."
He shut the phone, re-hooked it, and walked to the closet. From the top shelf, in the back corner, he removed a shoebox and took off the lid. The single pack of Marlboros beckoned him; he grabbed the cigarettes and tossed the box to the floor. He hadn't lit up a cancer stick since Lillian left.
Kade grabbed his jacket and tucked the unopened pack into the left pocket. Then he went in search of a killer named Michael Feeney—and the woman they both loved.
***|***|***|***|***
DANE SINCLAIR
WHEN DANE WALKED into the darkened living room, he noticed two things. The front door was open and Marissa's pert rear end, not at all covered by the wisp of pink silk that was supposed to be underwear, peeked out from her nightshirt as she bent over to inspect an object on the ground.
His groin took immediate attention. It pissed him off how she could play cuddly with Brent, but still put his body at attention with a skimpy show of flesh. He should have sex with her just to get even.
"Marissa!"
She screeched and jumped backwards, straightening up and whirling around, a hand pressed against her chest. A furry mewling monster skittered around her and into the apartment. The cat had any number of objects to climb on or hide under, but it chose Dane's right leg as a sanctuary, sinking its stinging little claws into his calf.
"You frightened Sophocles!"
The censure in her tone made his jaw clench. "Who the hell is Sophocles?"
"He was a rather well-known Greek writer. Is this the first you've heard of him?"
Now she was questioning his intelligence. Dane crossed his arms to keep from strangling her. "I'm aware of who Sophocles was. Since he's been dead awhile, I assume you named the feline using my leg as a scratching post...Sophocles?"
He knew his words sound tight and harsh. But he found that he couldn't normalize his tone. A hot, dark feeling slithered through him and he didn't try to control it.
"Are you upset?"
"How'd you guess?"
"I'll pay for his room and board. Can we keep him?"
"No."
"I hate to put him out again. Nobody wants him. It's rather sad."
"There are a lot of strays, princess. You can't save them all."
She took a step, then hesitated, and apparently decided not to move closer. "Can he stay until we can take him to an animal shelter?" She seemed to sense the darkness of his mood, but she obviously couldn't give up on the cat.
"No." Dane picked the cat up by its scruff, strode past Marissa, and put Sophocles outside. "Go write a play or something," he muttered. Two baleful gold eyes regarded him then the orange-striped tom sprinted down the stairs. Dane shut the door and locked it.
"That was mean."
The disappointment in her voice pricked his conscience, but hell if he was going to feel guilty about defending his own home against hairballs. Marissa watched him. Her hands were clasped in front her like she was a nun getting ready to take her vows. The image of Marissa's slim, perfect fingers splaying against Brent's cheek had haunted him all night. His stomach churned.
"Get over it, princess. The world's a mean place." He walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light.
She followed, leaning against the stove as she regarded him. "Please stop calling me that insidious name. You only do it when you're trying to be patronizing and I haven't done anything to deserve your wrath."
He ignored her and opened the refrigerator, digging through the pizza boxes and KFC containers until he found a carton of orange juice. "You know, princess, you shouldn't be wiggling your fanny in front of my open door at two in the morning."
"I wasn't wiggling," she said matter-of-factly. "Although it appears you must have studied the subject quite extensively before rendering an opinion."
"If you wiggle like that in public, some guy might think you're issuing an invitation."
"Like you?"