Excerpt of Consumed by Fire by Anne Stuart

“You said you’d answer questions.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He sounded faintly disgruntled.

“So let’s start with the most obvious one. Exactly who and what are you?” She made it sound like he was an alien artifact or a lost species of snake, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“I think we’d better get some ground rules established. If you think I’m going to while away the next five hours telling you the story of my life and a whole lot of the kind of secrets I’d need to kill you for, you’re mistaken. I didn’t go this far to protect you only to have to turn around and cap you myself. I’ll give you … let’s say five questions, which I’ll answer to the best of my ability, as long as it won’t put you in more jeopardy.”

She stared at him, his elegant profile so familiar and yet so different without that mop of dark hair. His short blond hair was growing out a bit, and the roots were darker, but not the mahogany shade his hair had been in Italy, and his scruffy beard was brown and flecked with bits of gray, which shocked her.

“Exactly what color is your hair?” she demanded. “Your eyes, for that matter? Sometimes you look like a complete stranger, and other times I know you far too well.”

“My real hair, last time I saw it, was a sandy brown and I’m not wearing contacts right now. What you see is what you get. That's two.”

“Two what?” Of course he’d end up having gorgeous eyes. The deep ocean blue of them was almost unbelievable, but she’d somehow know they were the real thing.

“Two questions, Angel. You’ve got three more.”

“That’s not fair!” she said, outraged.

He shrugged. “You still have three questions. You aren’t going to have that chance again, so you’d better take advantage of it while I’m still in such a cooperative mood.”

“All right. But I don’t want you answering until I tell you it’s one of my questions. I need to think about this.”

“Take your time,” he said affably. “We’ve got miles of highway between us and our next destination, and your company is, as always, delightful.”

She didn’t give into temptation and call him a nasty name, mainly because she believe, in a strange sort of way, he actually meant it. Or maybe she was just telling herself that, but she didn’t care.

“I want to know who and what you are.”

“That’s two…”

“I told you, no answers until I tell you what my actual question is. I want to know who James Bishop is. Who do you work for, and what in God’s name your job is that you’d know how to kill people? Are you CIA, FBI?” She realized her first guesses would immediately make him one of the good guys, and she quickly added, “Or are you a criminal, which seems more than likely. Don’t answer!”

He took another drink of beer, then draped his strong, beautiful hands comfortably on the steering wheel as they headed into the infinite flatness of the empty countryside. His eyes seemed to be on the road but she knew he was somehow managing to watch her. Maybe he had fabulous peripheral vision or hidden mirrors; somehow he was acutely aware of her every expression. Which meant she had to be more circumspect, or he’d catch her looking at him like a love-starved kitten…

Where the hell had that idea come from? Too much beer-- probably because she’d had so little to eat in the last few days. There was no place to set the bottle, but she needed to be careful, not let maudlin emotions interfere.

“Tell me who you work for,” she said abruptly.