Page 6 of Trap ’N’ Trace

A large iron gate blocked the road. About ten feet before the gate stood a coded lock box attached to a pole. At least the woman had some kind of security system, although it was laughable at best. Even if the fence surrounded every square inch of the property, any lowlife could scale it and walk right in. He stopped and lowered the window.

“The code is four-two-six-five.”

After punching in the code, the gates slowly swung open with an eerie creak and he drove through. Trees gave way to low shrubs and Kat’s house came into view. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever refer to this place as a house.

A hundred feet ahead, perched near the edge of the cliff, sat a gothic castle, complete with pointed turrets and ivy-covered stone walls. The only things missing were a moat, drawbridge, and the Knights of the freaking Round Table.

Dayne drove onto a circular white gravel driveway, stopping in front of a wide stone staircase. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few more questions.”

“Okay, sure.” Briefly, she pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she had a headache. She got out and set Angus on the ground. “Remy can come in. She probably needs water.”

Well, there was an invitation Remy didn’t get too often. At all, really. Most people were afraid to go anywhere near his dog, let alone invite her in. “Thanks.” As Kat headed for the door, her face looked a little pale.

Angus peed then bounded around the front of the SUV, charging right up to his K-9. He wasn’t worried about Remy hurting the little guy. Remy might be a cop, but she was also one of the most maternal dogs he’d ever known. She never met a puppy she didn’t like, and Angus was no exception.

Dayne supervised while Angus yipped and nipped at Remy’s legs. Sure enough, his K-9 took it all in stride and stood there unmoving, content to let the puppy vent its energy. Kat waited on the top step, again pressing a hand to her forehead. Then she wavered unsteadily, staggering sideways like a drunken sailor.

“Kat?” He’d already started toward her when her eyes rolled back in her head. Shit. He bolted to the stairs.

Chapter Three

Kat’s world went dark, misting over with thick gray fog. Then she was floating. No, flying. Something big and warm wrapped around her like a soothing, protective cocoon.

She snuggled closer to the warmth and found it firm against her cheek. Firm. Hard. And smelling oh-so-good. Like spring showers and fabric softener mingled with an unfamiliar scent. Subtle, masculine, woodsy cologne. Not Chad’s. Good thing, the rat bastard.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” a deep voice rumbled. A sound she liked.

Pounding shattered the peacefulness surrounding her, followed by shouting. Urgent shouting. “Police, open the door!”

I didn’t call the police again. Did I?

“Oh my god! What happened? Is she all right?” Emily. “Come in, come in! Should I call an ambulance?”

Yipping filtered through the murky haze.

“Get me a blanket,” the deep voice ordered. No, commanded. Like a soldier barking orders at his troops.

Soft cushions beneath her back and head. More yipping.

“Angus.” She struggled to sit up. Strong hands gently pushed her down. “Where’s the puppy?” Her voice was slightly slurred, but she hadn’t been drinking.

“He’s right here,” the deep voice assured.

A wet nose nuzzled her hand, and her tension eased. Then the events of the day hit her like a freight train.

The deep, rumbling voice had come from the FBI agent. Mister Just Dayne aka Special Agent Andrews. The last thing she remembered was walking up the steps then…lights out.

Slowly, the fog melted away. Clear, emerald-green eyes fringed by the thickest, darkest lashes she’d ever seen on a man stared back at her, so stunning in their intensity they were almost pretty. That’s where the pretty ended.

A face as ruggedly masculine as his—all granite-jawed and sculpted cheekbones—could never be considered pretty by any stretch. She’d had that exact thought during their two-minute encounter over a month ago. Although it was more than his appearance that had intrigued her then. The man was striking but not in the same manicured way all the men in her world were. Where the men she knew were polished and refined, Special Agent Dayne Andrews was fierce and totally sexy. That’s what she remembered most about him.

“Here’s that blanket.” Emily, her personal assistant, handed a blanket to Agent Andrews, who knelt on the floor beside her.

Remy, his enormous German shepherd, sat next to him. Little Angus stood with his paws on the sofa cushion by her right elbow, chomping down on the squeaky toy.

“Did you eat anything today?” Agent Andrews draped the blanket over her body.

She started to shake her head then thought better of it when the room began spinning. “No. I didn’t get around to it.”