Boneyard Ridge by Paula Graves

looking at him through narrowed eyes, as if she was already regretting her decision to play this thing his way. But somewhere in the glittering gray depth of those hazel-tipped eyes, he also saw a hint of grudging admiration that sent an alarming amount of pleasure zinging along his nerve endings.
    Once her initial agitation had settled down to a simmer, she’d taken a quick shower and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and another one of the sweaters he’d purchased in Barrowville, this time a jewel green, snug-fitting V-neck that hugged her curves like a Ferrari on a mountain switchback and brought out hints of misty green in her soft gray eyes.
    Everything about her was softer today, as if she’d shrugged off a coat of armor when she’d tossed the bedraggled remains of her business suit into the trash can in the bedroom. Her hair, free of whatever products she used to achieve that perfect, unshakable updo she wore when she was working, hung in soft, still-damp waves around her face and shoulders. Without makeup, she was a different sort of beautiful than he was used to, all dewy pink skin and a hint of tiny freckles across the bridge of her straight nose. She’d shed nearly a decade in the process, looking not much older than some of the fresh-faced baby recruits he’d known in the Army.
    “It was a little longer than that,” he answered her question, dragging his gaze from her with way too much reluctance. Clearly, he should have given some thought to the logistics of holing up in a cabin with a beautiful woman. Between combat, his injuries and his sister’s legal troubles, his sexual needs hadn’t exactly been a priority.
    As soon as he could get through this mission, he would take time to think about what came next, including his sex life. But he couldn’t let himself be derailed by lust when so much was on the line.
    Besides, so what if Susannah Marsh had a soft side? It didn’t make her any less trouble, and the last thing he needed was more trouble.
    “How long has— What’s your agency? The Gates?”
    He nodded.
    “How long has The Gates been looking into the Blue Ridge Infantry?”
    “For a while, though not in conjunction with the conference.” The conference connection information had dropped into their laps by way of a confidential informant Quinn worked with. Hunter didn’t know who the C.I. was, but Quinn thought his source was reliable, and Hunter supposed he would know. “They were part of a multistate crime organization that several of the local law enforcement agencies have been trying to roll up and put away for a couple of years now.”
    “The last I heard, they’d accomplished that goal. Something about a bunch of files that was practically a road map of the entire organization?” She sent him a sidelong look, and the wariness he saw in those sharp eyes made him wonder if she was just humoring him with her cooperation, looking for a chance to make her break. “I’ve never read or heard anything different.”
    “They’re like cockroaches. No matter how many you step on, there are always more.”
    “Didn’t your boss inform the cops that there might be a problem with the conference?”
    “He did. Nothing came of it. That’s how we became pretty sure that there’s someone in the Barrowville PD. who’s on the take. Or hell, maybe even a true believer.”
    “What, exactly, would constitute a true believer in the BRI?” She sounded genuinely curious. “You said earlier they think of themselves as patriots.”
    “They’d like to believe that. Mostly, though, their idea of patriotism is a loathing for authority, I guess.” At least, that was how he’d played it when he’d wormed his way into the local cell after Quinn had given him the name of someone The Gates suspected might be a BRI member. “All I had to do was make some noise about how the Pentagon had screwed me over after my injury, and now the government was railroading my sister, and it didn’t take long for