He frowned.

Another possibility hit him. Why had he never considered that Ginger might not be the target, but rather the priceless artifact she’d been carrying? He slid his arm around her shoulders and tucked her closer to his side, making faster tracks through the press of humanity.

Ginger shot a quick, startled glance up at him before continuing, “Every year, my little smart-aleck son would cradle those three porcelain antiques and shake his head, saying, ‘Two years, for Pete’s sake. That makes them the three wise slackers, if you ask me.’”

“That certainly sounds like Kyle.” Hank could envision the boy saying something like that, except Kyle wasn’t a boy anymore. He would be turning twenty-seven soon.

Her boys had grown up in a blink. He’d tried to help out when he could, but being on the road so much, he’d barely been there for his own kids. Ginger had done a damn fine job with her sons while launching her own political career.

She was one helluva strong woman. He’d taken her presence in his life for granted for a long time.

Why had he needed a scrap of red satin to open his eyes to the fact that perhaps they had something to offer each other besides friendship? For a supposedly world-class military strategist, he’d certainly missed an obvious answer right in front of his eyes.

He and Ginger could offer each other something more if only he could get them both home safely.

He glanced down the road to see if their car had been pulled around to the front of the garage yet as the mechanic had promised to do when finished, but no luck.

Damn it, what was taking so long to fix a simple flat? The hair on the back of his neck stood up in that battle-honed sense that something wasn’t right.

Screw waiting around for the mechanic to pull his car around front. He was going to light a fire under the man. The risk of staying out in the open was too high. He needed to get Ginger to that safe house now.

And pray the all clear was authentic.

Chapter 5

And just when she’d thought they were in the home stretch.

Damn.

Ginger clutched Hank’s tense-as-steel arm and stared at the strange man kneeling beside their car inside the repair shop. His finger probed one of the bullet holes.

That by itself wouldn’t have been too much cause for concern. Except the towering man standing beside him peering into the crowds with narrowly slitted eyes sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the brisk breeze winding a corkscrew path around the shoppers.

Here she’d been worried about something else being wrong with the vehicle. It had held out far past her expectations, surviving a shoot-out, a mad chase and record-breaking storm conditions with only a simple flat tire. Only to be finally detected by…who?

Friends or enemies? “Hank?”

She tugged on his sleeve only to find him already evaluating the situation with keen eyes. “Keep close. Be ready to make fast tracks back into the crowd.”

The tall man staring into the shopping masses brushed gazes with her, looking past. Then back.

Holding.

His hand slid inside his long duster, a hint of lethal black gun showing.

Ginger curled her toes in her shoes. “Bolt?”

“Yeah.” Hank slid his arm around her waist and tugged her into the anonymous press of merry humanity.

Her heart pounded in sync with their feet, in time with the packages slamming against her legs. “What are we going to do? You said the car-rental place was sold out for the holidays. And you didn’t want to draw attention by stealing a car. You said we’re close. Are we near enough to walk?”

“No.” He kept his arm hooked around her, guiding her through the milling shoppers while making sure they stayed side by side.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Thinking. Hoping.”

He hauled her into the anonymity of a cluster of people listening to a quartet of carolers. She wanted to ask more about his “hopeful” plan. Hank always had contingencies lined up for emergencies and this most definitely qualified. She chewed her lip and waited while he stared with searching eyes along the street vendors and stalls to where their pursuer stood by a living crèche, no longer chasing them for the moment, thank heavens.

Hank dipped his face to her ear, his smile brushing her cheek. “Forget worrying about getting caught stealing a car or walking. I’ve just found our ride.”

“You have?” Of course he had. When had Hank ever faltered? Apparently she was the only one who had fears and doubts. “I wouldn’t have thought a village this small would have two car-rental places.”

“Oh, it doesn’t have another car-rental place.” His smile caressed her cheek, swirling away some doubts but stirring up a lot more questions.

He pointed toward a line of decked-out sleighs.

Ginger tugged the sleigh blanket over her legs to ward off the chill, bells jingling with each step of the two horses’ feet through the snowy landscape. Hank had estimated an hour from the village to the safe house by this mode of transportation, which meant they should be arriving in no more than fifteen minutes since he’d paid the driver extra to haul butt.

So far, so good. No sign of their lurking bad guy buddy from the village, and the sleigh ride actually provided a bit of anonymity from the main thoroughfare.

Hank’s warm frame radiated heat beside her, close, so close, at times she thought he might even kiss her again. Her heart kicked up pace faster than the cars swishing past on the country road beyond the mask of pine trees.

Their driver seemed to be making good time, happily humming along atonally to whatever he was listening to on the headphones peeking from under his cap.

The snow-laden trees passed in a blur, ancient cottages tucked in the woods at unexpected places, their chimneys puffing smoke into the evening air.

“Here,” Hank growled low, pressing something solid into her hand. “You may need this.”

She looked down to find a revolver in her hand. “What do you mean? The e-mail said all clear at the safe house. I can understand why you didn’t want to risk any stranger coming to pick us up. But what’s wrong with us going to a known entity?”

“Contingency plan.” He kept his voice low, soft enough not to be overheard by the iPod-addicted driver in the seat in front of them. “If something happens to me.”

She swayed, the thought, well, unthinkable. Her fingers closed around the weapon, which also happened to cause them to clench around his hand. “All right.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

She welcomed the smile his question brought. “I was shooting targets in the woods with my daddy before I got my driver’s license.”

He winked and released the gun. The ominous black weapon rested in her lap now instead of her precious crèche, which lay within reach at her booted feet. She covered the gun with the red plaid blanket, then reached to secure her hood around her head while the wind combined with their brisk ride to try and tear off the cover.

Hank flipped up the collar of his coat to protect his ears—simple, but efficient, much like the no-frills man himself. “We don’t have much time left to talk, Ginger. Tell me more about the family crèche there. Is that something from your Dutch grandma’s side of the family?”

“No, actually, it’s a piece from Benjamin’s family.”

“Do you remember anything more?” He kept one gloved hand in his coat pocket—undoubtedly around his gun—while the other stayed around her.

“I seem to recall his father bought it for his mother for Christmas about fifty years ago.”

“Anything else?”

“What are you getting at?” She rubbed her hands together under the blanket, then placed them back on the weapon.

“Have you considered that someone may want the crèche instead of you? You said yourself it’s a priceless piece of art.”

“Oh, wow,” she stared at the velvet purse at her feet. “Wow. That makes an obvious kind of sense. Does it have any bearing on what we should do today?”

He brushed at a branch that came close to swatting their heads. Snow still showered down around them, drifts building in the sparsely populated outlying area of the village. “My gut’s telling me the safe house really is our best bet.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay? No questions about whether or not there are moles on the inside waiting there to shoot you since I’ve given you this gun?” He glanced down at the lump where the blanket covered the weapon.

“If your instincts tell you the odds are better for us to go in, then I trust you.”

“In my job.”

With those three words and their implication about other aspects, things heated up between them. She tried to think of how to answer him honestly. “You know I keep you with me because you’re the one person in my life I can totally trust. Too many times I’ve found out people only wanted me for access to the Landis fortune or a senatorial ear.”

“What if I let you down? I’m not a perfect man.”

“You’re mighty close.” So why couldn’t she bring herself to throw caution to the wind and fling her arms around him for another kiss?

Hank Renshaw was a lot of man to live up to. She’d loved and lost one of those larger-than-life men before and, lordy, they left a huge void behind them.

Her hands starting shaking at just the simple thought.

Simple? Not simple at all. Losing Benjamin had shaken her world to the foundation. Nothing, nothing had compared to the agony of that time. Only throwing herself into her job and being a mother had gotten her through.

Any dating she’d done had been totally superficial. She realized full well after that kiss with Hank—after knowing the man—things with him could never be uncomplicated. She stared at the winding street ahead, full of ice and heaven only knew what other roadblocks or hazards.

She wasn’t one to take the easy route. A person only had to look at her life to see that.

Hands still trembling inside her leather gloves, she leaned closer to absorb more of his body heat. Sure enough, a jolt of awareness shimmered up her arm, an echo of what she’d felt when they’d kissed.

When his gaze had locked with hers back at the airport lounge.

Things were definitely different. They couldn’t resume their old ways. She was scared to her cold toes. She just hoped she could continue to muster the resolve she’d used in countless international negotiations to carry her through figuring out where this attraction would lead them.

Hank slid his arms from around her and reached under the blanket to take one of her hands in his, holding tight. “Do you need another blanket? You’re shaking pretty hard.”

Touching him, she could swear he’d already piled on a stack of blankets, the comfort of him steaming through her. “I just want us both to get to that safe house in one piece.”

She squinted to peer through the blur of trees as best she could, and the roadway behind the traffic seemed sparse but steady. No suspicious vehicles slowing to watch them. “Do you think they were on the lookout back there since we were close to the safe house? Maybe they were just curious about the car because of the damage.”

“Anything’s possible right now.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. The college-aged student peeled aside his hat and pulled out one of the earpieces while Hank called out some final directions. Hank eased back in his seat.

Before she had time to think overlong about what he’d said, the sleigh whipped onto a tiny rural road alongside a small row of old townhomes in a converted farmhouse. Window boxes were decorated with pine boughs and white lights.

Hank leaned over as if to kiss her and whispered in her ear. “Pretend we’ve come to visit our European cousins for the holidays.”

His mouth sketched across hers before reaching over the seat to pass her the crèche and one of the packages. He paid the driver and helped her from the sleigh, looking for all the world like visiting guests. Except she knew his hand in his pocket gripped a 9 mm as they trudged through the snow toward the corner unit, where a decorated tree glowed in the window.