Mountain Blizzard. Cassie Miles
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“Cover what?”
“Ground rules,” Sean said as he crossed the room toward the wet bar. “You and Hazel will be safe if you stay here and don’t communicate with anybody. I’ll need to take your cell phone.”
“Not necessary,” she said. “I’m aware that cell phones can be hacked and tracked. I only use untraceable burner phones.”
“What about your computer?”
She swallowed hard. In the back of her mind, she knew her computer could be hacked long distance and used to track her down. There was no way she’d give up her computer. “All my documents are copied onto a flash drive.”
“I need to disable the computer. No calling except on burner phones. No texting. No email. No meetings.”
Anger and frustration bubbled up inside her. Though she hadn’t finished her beer and didn’t need a replacement, she followed him to the bar. She climbed up on a stool and peered down at him while he looked into the under-the-counter fridge. When he stood, she glared until he met her gaze.
To his credit, Sean didn’t back down, even though she felt like she was shooting lightning bolts through her eye sockets. When she opened her mouth to speak, she was angry enough to breathe fire. “Your ground rules don’t work for me.”
He opened another zombie beer. “What’s the problem?”
“If I can’t use the internet, how can I work?”
“Dylan can probably hook up some kind of secure channel to communicate with your employer.”
“What if I don’t want to stay here?”
“I suppose I could move you to a safe house or hotel.” He came around the bar and faced her. “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You always said you hated lying and liars, but you’re not leveling with me. If you don’t tell me everything, I can’t do my job.”
The real, honest-to-God problem was simple: she hadn’t given up on the Wynter investigation. One of the specific reasons she’d come to Colorado was to dig up evidence against Frankie. She swiveled around on the bar stool so she was facing away from him. “I don’t want to bury my head in the sand.”
“Explain.”
“I want to know why Roger Patrone was murdered. And I want to stop the human trafficking from Asia.”
He nodded. “We all want that.”
“But I have leads to track down. If I could hook up with people from the Wynter compound and question them, I might get answers. Or I could break in and download the information on their computers. I might find evidence that would be useful to the FBI.”
“Seriously?” He was skeptical. “You want to keep digging up dirt, poking the dragon?”
She shot back. “Well, that’s what an investigative reporter does.”
“This isn’t a joke, Emily. You saw what happens to people who cross Frankie Wynter.”
“They get shot and dumped.”
Wynter’s men could toss her body into a mountain cave, and she wouldn’t be found for years. When she voiced her plan out loud, it sounded ridiculous. How could she expect to succeed in her investigation when the FBI had failed?
“If you want to take that kind of risk,” he said, “that’s your choice. But don’t put Hazel in danger.”
He was right. She shouldn’t have come here, and she definitely shouldn’t have talked to him. Trust me? Fat chance.
Their connection had already begun to unravel, which was probably for the best. He irritated her more than a mohair sweater on a sunny day. Her unwarranted attraction to him was a huge distraction from her work. She should tell him to go. She didn’t need a bodyguard.
But Sean was strong and quick, well trained in assault and protection. He knew things about investigating and undercover work that she could only guess about. Her gut instincts told her she really did need him.
“Come with me,” she said. “Back to San Francisco.”
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