Driven by Fire by Anne Stuart

good reason for his cantankerous mood—you didn’t fuck people of interest.
    Maybe it’d been too long since he’d been gotten laid. He’d been too busy setting up the American Committee to bother, and his partner had been having enough sex for both of them. Not that Bishop ever slacked off on the job—he was a great multitasker, and Ryder actually liked his wife, Evangeline. He just needed things to settle down into some kind of normalcy, and that didn’t include falling into the sack with a woman who could be as treacherous as a snake.
    But Parker, oblivious to the convoluted direction his thoughts were taking, simply stood there. “What makes you think the house on Royal Street is his only residence? There are at least three other places that no one knows about . . .”
    “The house in the Quarter, one in Lafayette, and the apartment in Atlanta,” he rattled off, much to her obvious annoyance, “and I’m sure he could buy any number of bolt-holes for you, if you decided to ask him. I thought you made it a habit not to accept anything from your crooked family.”
    “That’s easy enough to say when no one’s trying to kill you,” she muttered.
    She looked like an unhappy little girl with her rumpled hair and troubled expression, at least, when he wasn’t looking any lower than her face. It was almost comical, but Ryder wasn’t amused. “You don’t need to break your holy vow, Parker. No matter how much protection your father offers, it won’t be enough.”
    “Why? I’m not worth anything to anyone. I’m not an international terrorist or a trafficker or even a very good lawyer. Scratch that—I’m a damned good lawyer, but not good enough that anyone would want to kill me. It doesn’t make sense.”
    He could almost believe her. She really did seem confused, but there was still the faint trace of guilt to her. She was hiding something from him, and until he found out what it was, she was the enemy. “You’re old enough to know life doesn’t make sense.” His voice was caustic.
    “I suppose you’ve got an impregnable place somewhere that’s just the thing to keep me safe?”
    “The house in the Garden District. You’ll stay there until we find out what’s going on.” He wasn’t giving her a choice in the matter. “Whether you believe it or not, that place is impregnable.”
    “Unless I try to step out the front door.”
    “My point exactly.”
    He could see her frustration. “I believe you,” she said finally. “I brought Soledad there, didn’t I?”
    “Speaking of whom, she’s been wandering around the place when she was told to stay put. Remy isn’t having any of it, and he can be an absolute bastard when he wants to be, and they’ve all had to be on high alert since they heard what happened to your home. We need you to keep her under control.”
    “Home?” she echoed dully, and he could see she was thinking about the bomb. Who the hell could have set it, and why? What was Ms. Parker mired in so deep that people were determined to take her out? He tended to be on the sides of the victims, but with Jenny Parker he wasn’t sure which she was, an innocent or the devious target of a rival group of criminals. If she’d been involved in the trafficking, surely he would have come up with a trace of evidence by now—he’d been looking hard enough. All he had was circumstantial—her appearance just as they were raiding the ship, her speed in settling the victims so they couldn’t answer questions. He hated liars, and Jenny Parker was lying to him.
    “Don’t think about it.” There was no sympathy in his crisp voice. “Denial is more than a river in Egypt, and it can come in handy on occasion.”
    “You just don’t want a crying female all over the place,” Jenny said, sounding morose enough to be believable. Almost.
    “You’re right. I’m going to find out who’s behind the attacks. I’m going to find out everything. And your cooperation would help.”
    “Like