Chapter 1
“Joe. Joseph Temple, if you want to be formal.”
“Let’s be informal, Joe.” Mae swallowed hard. “Now how about you tell me what the hell you’re doing in my kitchen, holding a gun?”
Congratulating herself on delivering the line in a strong, cool voice, she clutched at the marble counter behind her so she wouldn’t collapse to the floor.
When he slipped the offensive object behind him into his waistband, she nearly fainted with relief, but she couldn’t let herself give in to anything resembling relaxation. Not yet.
Not when the real danger still surrounded her. She had a feeling this guy—Joe—although clearly a dangerous man from the vibes she got, seeing the way he handled his weapon too casually—might not be her biggest concern.
In fact, he might even be on her side.Hallelujah.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I needed to be careful upon entry. We weren’t sure of your current status.”
“We?”
“Zero Go Team, ma’am.”
Ma’am?Shit. She couldn’t be that much older than this young buck.
“Call me Mae No offense, Joe, but how do I know you’re with . . . the team?”
She’d contacted the Zero Go Team two days ago with an urgent SOS and had almost given up on them. She now wished she’d found out about them weeks ago. If she’d known things were going to get this crazy, this dangerous—
“No offense taken.” He added, as if an afterthought, “Mae” Joe reached into his inside jacket pocket and took a folded paper from it. He was dressed oddly, wearing jeans with what looked like an old tuxedo jacket, a fabric tail covering his butt—and his gun—effectively. She would say it was a vintage jacket, circa 1942. And she ought to know. Costuming was her business and she was a vintage clothing whore.
Snatching the paper from him, she hoped he wouldn’t notice her hand shaking. Her entire body began to vibrate with the dawning of how dangerous a mess she was in. She unfolded the paper and muttered a curse as she strained to read it. Even though she was still four years away from her fortieth birthday, her eyesight had started to give her trouble. She managed to make out what the paper said. It was a letter to her from some general. She had no idea who the man was, but there was a stamp with the Zero Go Team seal.
Handing the paper back to him, she congratulated herself on the return of her steady hand.
“Okay. So you’ve come to the rescue. Now what?”
“Now we leave,” he said. “Your home’s security has been compromised.”
She laughed. It was the kind of laugh you’d hear from someone on the edge of hysteria. He gave her a look. She clamped her mouth shut.
“What was your first clue? The bullet holes through the windows or the upended furniture?”
“I think it was the bullet holes that caught my attention. More subtle than the upheaval of your furniture, but more telling, in my experience.” Then the young punk quirked one side of his mouth into one of the most disarming smiles she’d ever seen, blue eyes twinkling with mischief and a dangerous dare underneath.
She shivered, and for the first time today it wasn’t because she was afraid. Yikes. What the hell was wrong with her? This kid was young enough to be her nephew.
Or was he?
He reached out as he stepped forward, as if expecting her to be skittish.
“Wait—shouldn’t I get my things first?”
“Like what?”
“You know—passport. Money. Shit like that.”
He threw her that smile again and it hit her like a shotput to the gut.
“Be quick about it. We don’t have time to waste.”
She grabbed her bag—a Louis Vuitton classic.