LITMIR.BIZ

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Mac was off duty during the obligatory Internal Affairs investigation into the fatal shooting, his lieutenant had agreed with the FBI plan for Mac to go to the FBI safe house—the location of which was, of course, undisclosed except to Mac who was supposed to relax and take time for his wound to heal.

      That was where Abby came in. Her job was to befriend Mac Granger and to ultimately offer him a bribe.

      Julia glanced over her shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell me about your assignment?”

      “I can guarantee that you’re going to hate the way I’ll be acting around Mac Granger.”

      “As Vanessa?”

      “The high-powered sex-bomb,” Abby said. “I want to attract his attention.”

      “With the way you’re dressed, that shouldn’t be a problem. Roger started drooling the minute you arrived.”

      “We won’t tell Roger that I have a third-degree black belt in karate.”

      “Lethal,” Julia said. “And I’m glad. If you were the real Vanessa, I’d worry about keeping you in line.”

      “It’s all an act,” Abby assured her. Always an act.

      At the top of a rise, they looked down at the safe house which was at the end of a graded gravel road. The two-story cedar structure had a large covered porch at the front. On the opposite side was a sundeck that overlooked a barn and two storage sheds.

      “I see an unfamiliar car,” Julia said.

      “Must be Mac.”

      “That’s odd.” There was a hint of irritation in her voice. “We usually don’t allow our guests to have their own transportation.”

      Part of the plan was to allow Mac some mobility in the hope that he might implicate himself. “I promise to keep close surveillance on him.”

      When they entered the safe house, Abby made an immediate detour to her upstairs bedroom. The first thing she did was kick off the spike heels and flex her aching toes. Why would anyone wear these things on purpose?

      In the bathroom, she repaired the dramatic makeup that made her brown eyes look huge and dewy. She applied a fresh coat of fire engine-red lipstick. Putting on all this sleazy glamor wasn’t nearly as difficult as maintaining a believable attitude for a gold-digging bimbo.

      Though she had no intention of seducing Mac Granger, she wanted him to notice her. She plumped up her boobs inside her fuzzy pink sweater. With her feet wedged into the high heels again, she sashayed down the staircase toward the kitchen.

      From inside the kitchen, she heard Julia giving Mac the rules of the house.

      “You’ll need to make your own bed,” Julia said. “And keep your room tidy. We aren’t a maid service, but we do provide three square meals a day. If you have any special dietary requirements, you need to tell me.”

      “No problems.” The deep male voice sounded cranky. “What else?”

      “No weapons. No visitors. Don’t leave without notifying me or one of the other agents. And, obviously, tell no one that this is a safe house.”

      “Fine,” he said. “I’m going into Redding tonight. I grew up here and have a couple of buddies who live nearby. We’re going to meet at the tavern.”

      Interesting, Abby thought. From her brief bio of Mac Granger, she knew he was born near here and attended the local high school. But she hadn’t been aware that he still had ties in the area.

      She slithered into the kitchen and took her first look at Detective Mac Granger. He stood just over six feet tall and was very nicely put together with a broad chest and narrow hips in button-fly Levi’s. He wore a loose-fitting, fisherman’s knit sweater in the same dark blue as a policeman’s uniform. His sandy blond hair was neatly trimmed and combed straight back from his forehead. Though Mac had grown up in the mountains, his blue eyes showed the world-weary expression of an urban homicide cop who had seen too much. It wasn’t going to be easy to outsmart him.

      Julia introduced them, using first names only, and asked, “Vanessa, would you like to help prepare dinner?”

      “Cooking?” In her role as the spoiled hussy, Abby gave an appalled gasp. “Oh, honey. I don’t cook.”

      “Never?”

      “I barely even eat. But I do mix a great martini.” She zeroed in on Mac. “I’m ever so pleased to meet you.”

      He turned toward Julia. “I’d be glad to help with dinner.”

      Abby scowled. Mac hadn’t shown the least bit of interest, hadn’t even glanced at her cleavage which—thanks to a WonderBra—was as significant as the Grand Canyon.

      As Julia set Mac to work, slicing fresh veggies for a tossed salad, Abby sidled up beside him. Rubbing against his arm, she purred, “Let me help you with that.”

      “Grab a knife,” he said as he rolled a cucumber across the countertop toward her.

      She picked up the cucumber and caressed it—a hopefully unsubtle innuendo. “Tell me about yourself, Mac. Where are you from?”

      “Denver.”

      “I thought you were from around here.”

      He shot a suspicious glance in her direction. “Why would you think that?”

      “I heard you talking before I came in.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes. “Is it true? Are you a mountain man?”

      “Not anymore. I left Redding when I was eighteen.”

      “But I bet you still ski. You look athletic.” She squeezed his bicep. “I bet you’re real good at sports.”

      He shrugged off her grasp and concentrated on slicing a tomato. Talk about unresponsive! This disregard had to stop right now. Abby purposely sliced too close to her index finger and nicked it.

      “Ow. Ow. Ow,” she wailed. “I cut myself.”

      She held up her finger so Mac could see the drop of fresh blood beside her French tip manicure. In a baby voice, she said, “Would you kiss it and make it better?”

      He glared. “That’s not going to happen.”

      At least, he was looking. Maintaining eye contact with him, she placed her cut finger on her tongue, closed her lips around it and sucked.

      His eyebrow lifted. Though he said nothing, his expression showed utter disdain. Calmly, he returned to his chopping.

      She pulled her finger out of her mouth with a pop and glanced at Julia who was doing her best not to smirk.

      Apparently, the sexy vamp act wasn’t going to work on Mac. So what kind of woman did he like? Somebody cute who made him laugh? A helpless damsel in distress?

      Julia asked, “Want a bandage?”

      “I guess I’ll be okay.” Abby didn’t bother with a sexy pout. Mac wasn’t looking. “I don’t like this cooking. I want to set the table.”

      After Julia showed her the plates and silverware, Abby carried them to the dining room. She turned a task that should have taken a few minutes into a big production, moving a dried flower display from the great room to the center of the long oak table. Maybe Mac liked the “happy homemaker” type.

      When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, she fussed. “These flowers aren’t right. You know what would be really beautiful? I saw some golden aspen leaves outside. We should pick some and put them in a vase.”

      “Great idea,” Julia called from the kitchen. “While you’re outside, you can bring in a few more logs for the fireplace.”

      Abby made one more attempt to get Mac’s attention with her sexy disguise. Since he didn’t seem impressed by her boobs or her fluttering eyelashes,

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