Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) by Jamie Denton

clenching with what he recognized as desire. Guilt continued to nudge him, but he sidestepped it and clung to the anger simmering below the surface instead. Anger was good. It not only let him know he was still alive, but it gave him something else to concentrate on other than the need he had no right to feel.
    He reached for her and held her upper arms in a tight grip. “You’re going to have to learn. Your life depends on it.”
    She struggled, but he refused to let her go. The soft floral scent of her perfume teased his senses, threatening to slam him back to a time when angry words between them were about as common as a blizzard in August.
    â€œThe evidence against you is staggering,” she argued. “And you haven’t told me a damned thing since you dragged me here. If you want me to trust you, then start talking, Jared. And you can start by telling me who killed your wife.”
    â€œThe same people that are now after you are responsible for Beth’s murder.”
    As if he’d slapped her, she flinched, and something in her eyes died. “Her name was Beth?” she asked, her voice suddenly quiet.
    He let go of her and his hands fell to his sides. “Yeah,” he said, “her name was Beth.” Sweet, caring Beth. Sadness weighed him down. She hadn’t deserved to die. He might not have been the one to pull the trigger, but he was to blame for her death. All because he’d gotten tired, and been arrogant enough to believe that maybe they’d finally given up trying to find him.
    He’d underestimated them, a mistake he would never make again.
    â€œWas she very young?” Peyton asked.
    He knew where this was going—straight down a path where the tracks were still fresh. Ignoring her questions was a possibility, but he understood that if he’d been completely honest with Beth, she might be alive today. A wrong he could never right.
    He nodded before moving to the edge of the bed to sit. “She was only twenty-six.”
    The next question was inevitable. He could see it in Peyton’s face when he looked up at her. The one that would compound the guilt he already felt, the one that would hurt them both when she asked it.
    â€œWere you in love with her?”
    A direct shot, right to the heart of the matter. No wonder she made a great prosecuting attorney. She didn’t hedge bets when she wanted information.
    He could easily lie. Doing so had become second nature to him. He could even attempt to protect Peyton’s feelings, if she had any left for him, but why? They were the past. He was with her now only to keep her from ending up with a bullet through the back of her head. Wasn’t he?
    Then what was that kiss about?
    He settled his elbows on his thighs and let his hands dangle between his knees as he stared down at the worn carpet and chose to ignore his conscience. Lifting his gaze to hers, he said, “I cared about her. Love?” He shrugged. “I thought I knew what it was. Once.”
    She winced, and it filled him with a morbid sense of satisfaction. “Any other questions?” he asked sarcastically.
    â€œJust one,” she said, crossing her arms. “You stopped running, didn’t you?”
    â€œI didn’t plan to,” he said after a moment. “I hired on as a cook in a truck stop when I ended up in some small town I didn’t even know the name of, somewhere between Manhattan and Topeka, Kansas. Beth managed the place at night and waited tables on the graveyard shift. The cook walked out and I was in the right place at the right time. She hired me on the spot without asking a lot of questions I made a habit of evading.”
    Still leaning against the dresser, Peyton crossed her slim ankles. “You couldn’t have used your social security number or they’d have been on you right away. How’d you get around that?”
    â€œI’d give a phony number, then stall for a week or