Chapter One
I convinced my boss that Hugh is the guy to help us. I think he is. But it’s possible… I just want to see him again.
—Dr. Eleanor Smithers, Brigade Notes
Hugh Johnson knew within a second of entering his bungalow that somebody else was inside. First, his hound dog didn’t bother to meet him at the door. Second, a vaguely familiar scent of wild bluebells wafted in the air.
He tossed his keys near the bowl sitting on an entryway table his mama had insisted he own and kept walking down the hallway, striding into his comfortable living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased trees and a bubbling brook outside. There he stopped cold. “Ellie,” he murmured, his normally relaxed body going on full alert as he took in the small woman lounging on his worn couch with the dog’s head in her lap.
She smiled pretty pink lips, her blue eyes sparkling behind wire-rimmed glasses as she stroked the dog’s head. “Your door was unlocked.”
Heisenberg groaned happily beneath her palm, keeping his eyes closed in pure bliss.
Hugh had the oddest desire to change places with the dog. “Not much crime out here in eastern Kentucky,” he murmured, studying the woman he hadn’t seen in…what? Ten years? “You’re all grown up, Eleanor.”
“I should hope so.” Even though she was wearing a black pencil skirt and fancy silk shirt, she’d kicked her shoes off and had her legs, her long and bare legs, on the hunting and fishing magazines scattered across his coffee table. She’d shoved a tattered and well-read Steve Berry thriller to the side.
Her ankles were crossed, and her toenails were painted with purple sparkles. Her blonde hair reached her shoulders in the wild mass he remembered. “You’re looking…good,” she murmured, a slight pink filling her cheeks.
He’d always liked how easily she blushed. Then he glanced down at his ripped jeans and threadbare Metallica T-shirt. “I’m on vacation.”
“It’s over,” she said softly, her gaze sobering.
His heartrate ticked slightly. Not much, but some. He scratched behind his ear and then stuck his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “It’s great to see you and all, but what are you doing here?” He hadn’t seen her since they’d both graduated with their bachelor degrees in chemistry from Kentucky.
“That’s it?” She tilted her head to the side in a way he remembered as being cute. Now, on her all grown up, it was sexy. Very. “No Southern hospitality? No…have a beer?”
All right. He’d never been much of a game player, but he was on vacation from his job after a pain-in-the-ass month, and a beer sounded fucking fantastic. Not much threw him off balance, and right now, he wasn’t liking the feeling in his gut. So he moved for the kitchen, leaned down to open the short and round fridge, and drew out two bottles. A quick flip of the tops, and he strode for her, handing over the ultra-cold brew. “If I remember right, you don’t like beer,” he murmured before lifting his bottle and taking a big swig.
She eyed him over hers and took a delicate drink. “I’m surprised you remember me at all.”
His eyebrows lifted of their own accord. “You were my lab partner for two years. We were friends. Why wouldn’t I remember you?” Not once had he ever truly understood what was in the woman’s head.
She lifted a small shoulder, her gaze even and veiled. Interesting. That was a skill she’d acquired after college, apparently. “You were always surrounded by girls. Figured I was one of many.”
He sat in the chair adjacent to the couch and kicked a pair of boots out of his way. “I was the quarterback on the football team.” Which had led to a bunch of dates. “Until I wasn’t.” The day he’d blown his knee out in his senior year had changed the life he had planned. One hit and it was over. Completely. He grinned. “We never slept together, Ell. That made you one of…one.” It was true, and they both knew it.
She snorted, her nose pert and scattered with freckles. “You were definitely a man-whore.”
He thoughtfully took another drink. She was pretty. Very. Small hips, little waist, high breasts. His body came alive in a way it hadn’t in a surprisingly long time. “Come here to scratch an itch that never quite went away?”
Her jaw dropped and then snapped shut. “Of course not, you egomaniac.” More pink in her cheeks.
“Sorry.” The words came out before he could think. “There was a time, after my injury, when I’m pretty sure I was a complete ass.” The three months after, when the football scouts stopped calling were a blur, but he could remember her bringing him…what? Cookies? And his homework. Yeah. That, he remembered. “If I did anything that irritated you, I’m very sorry, Eleanor.” He meant every damn word. Without her, he probably wouldn’t have graduated.
She took another drink. “You were cranky. Like a bear with a thorn in its paw. But you weren’t mean, Hugh.” She sighed. “I don’t think you have that in you.”
The woman was wrong. Everybody had that in them. Now more than ever. Memories started flooding back. Working with Ellie. Her smile and her sense of humor…and her way of carefully thinking everything through before saying anything. Oh, she’d get to her reason for being in his place, but she’d do it in her time. He could live with that. “Where have you been, anyway?”
She glanced down at the dog, who was almost purring in her lap. “Here and there. Graduate school. Chemistry and computer science,” she answered before he could ask.
He grinned. “Dr. Smithers. It fits you.” Then he paused, surprised by how unsettling his next thought was. “If that’s still your name. Did you get married?” Why did the thought feel like a punch to the nards? He hadn’t seen her in eons.
“No.” She wetted her lips.
His pants tightened. “Me either.”
“I know,” she said softly, meeting his gaze again. “I have a dossier on you.”
