A man that handsome couldn’t disappear anywhere.

      He’d escaped her clutches without telling her anything at all. Darn. Either he was good at deflecting or he was just as curious as she was by nature.

      She couldn’t make up her mind.

      Then the crowd parted a bit and she could see his butt, a very nice, flat butt, cased in denim. As a female, she couldn’t help but respond to the sight. Eye candy indeed.

      No, Liza couldn’t forget Max McKenny. Even as she nodded, listened and talked, he was the image burned in the forefront of her brain.

      There was something there. And she wanted to know what it was.

      But when she looked around again, he had vanished from the room.

      A deflector who was good at disappearing acts? She could feel her instincts rev into high gear. Before she was done, she was going to know everything about Max McKenny.

      Dear Reader,

      Having a lot of journalists in my family has given me some familiarity with their inquisitive natures and often frank questions. They’re fun to listen to, they have wonderful stories to tell, but they’re not quite like the rest of us. They sometimes deal with some pretty ugly things, and being suspicious seems to become second nature.

      You want to get a journalist’s attention? Give them the feeling you’re hiding something. Ordinarily it won’t matter unless you’re someone in a position of power or influence, but they can be a little tough with their curiosity and questioning even with family and friends. It seems to be built in, and then it’s finely honed. They want to know everything about everything.

      And that’s how this story was born. I wanted a heroine with just that tart, sharp nature, that curiosity, even that hint of black humor. And then I wanted it to drag her into a dangerous situation. Being a journalist can do that, sometimes when you least expect it.

      Wanting to know too much gets Liza Enders into trouble. It also gets her into love.

      Enjoy!

       Rachel

      About the Author

      RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

      Guardian in Disguise

      Rachel Lee

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To inquisitive journalists everywhere,

      especially some who belong to my family.

      Thanks for digging for the truth.

       Chapter 1

      Liza Enders looked around the room at all the people gathered for the faculty welcoming tea. Yes, they called it a tea, which struck her as a grandiose description for a gathering of faculty members at a junior college in Conard County, Wyoming.

      A “tea” should have paneled walls, leather chairs, old Victorian tables and heavy curtains.

      Instead the faculty occupied a cafeteria with folding tables, plastic chairs and vertical blinds on the windows. The sandwiches were quartered but still had crusts, the beverage was a punch made of a soft drink poured over a brick of ice cream, and there was hot, tinny coffee in huge urns. The coffee cups were institutional, white with a green line, and the punch cups were plastic.

      It was hard not to laugh.

      “Tea” indeed.

      She knew most of the faculty already because Conard County was her hometown and she’d already taught her first course over the summer session. This tea was the only one held each year, however, and the college didn’t spring for more intimate evening gatherings with the dean. No, they held this one social each year and all faculty were required to attend.

      That meant the one new guy stuck out. Of course, he would have stuck out anyway, given that he didn’t remotely resemble his peers.

      Most of the faculty looked like underpaid teachers, which they were. All teachers were underpaid, just as journalists were. Liza knew all about that, having recently been laid off from her job as a reporter.

      They dressed casually but nobody had this dude’s kind of cool. And cool was the only word she could think of to describe it. He stood there holding a mug of coffee without using the handle, his denim-clad hips canted to one side in a way that was going to drive his female students nuts. His black T-shirt showed off some pretty good musculature—not at all common among the bookish types —and instead of the usual faculty jogging shoes or cowboy boots, he wore black motorcycle boots. Cool, she thought again.

      Her instincts, honed by a decade as a reporter, drew her in his direction. Those little differences in appearance and stance suggested an interesting story, not a curriculum vitae of academic accomplishments.

      She ran her eyes over him as she eased toward him, appreciating the picture of maleness, and allowing herself to enjoy the moment of attraction. God knew, she wasn’t attracted to any of the other male professors—most of whom were married, happily or not.

      But she was curious. She’d spent a lot of time getting people to tell her things, and she was sure she’d get this guy’s story before this sham of a tea was over. Then her curiosity would be satisfied and she’d be able to return her attention to more serious matters. Like teaching, and figuring out what she really wanted to do with her mess of a life now that her true love, journalism, had spurned her in massive cost-saving layoffs.

      That still rankled. The hunk in the black T-shirt would provide a little distraction and satisfy her now under-satisfied need to know everything about people. Especially intriguing people.

      Something about this guy caused her nose for news to twitch like mad.

      When she reached him, she extended her hand and gave him her friendliest smile. “Hi. I’m Liza Enders. I teach journalism.”

      He shook her hand, a firm grip. “Max McKenny, criminology.”

      That totally snagged her attention. “Really. I did the cop beat until I was promoted.”

      “That’s a promotion? Getting away from cops?”

      He smiled at last, and she was almost embarrassed by the way her heart skipped a beat. Such a good-looking man already had enough going for him without adding a devastating smile. Slightly shaggy dark hair with just a bit of wave to it, eyes the color of blue polar ice. Yummy. What was it he had just said? Oh, yeah …

      “It’s considered one,” she finally answered. “The cop beat is rough but not all that difficult in terms of gathering information, so it’s usually given to the newest reporters. Most of us don’t last long at it, though.”

      “Why not?”

      “Between the hours and the stories? Well, you teach criminology, but I also covered auto accidents.”

      “Oh.” His smile faded a bit. “That would be rough.”

      “The average survival as a cop reporter is about two years,” she agreed. Then it struck her: he was learning about her.

      She cocked her head a little. Had she just been deflected? She didn’t know many people who could do that, including crooked politicians with a lot to hide. “What about you? Law enforcement background?”

      “Some,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”

      “Well, your course will be popular. Seems like CSI made