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now. She couldn’t even flirt with the guy.
    This angered her. She wasn’t weak or helpless. She was a crack shot, a damn good ATF agent, and she needed to do her job.
    “It’s a beautiful night. Relax with me,” he said.
    Flirting, she reminded herself. Simple flirting. She could do this—she’d done it at least twenty times on her last assignment.
    Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, striving to find her center and the calm resolve that resided there. Instead, she caught a whiff of his scent, spearmint and the outdoors, masculine and tantalizing and too damn sexy for her equilibrium.
    Hurriedly, she opened them and looked around. A fat robin perched on the edge of the porch railing. Acting on instinct, she raised her camera and squeezed off a couple of shots. When she finally lowered the camera, he shook his head.
    “You look like you’re thinking about taking off and running away,” he drawled, moving slightly closer.
    Despite her instinctive desire to keep distance between them, she held her ground, gritting her teeth and trying like hell to look mildly interested. Scratch that—greatly interested.
    “Not running.” Her slightly breathless laugh had perfect timing, if she did say so herself. “But quite honestly, Matt, you’re a bit out of my league. I’m just a reporter who—”
    “Happens to be exquisitely lovely,” he interrupted smoothly.
    Despite knowing it was all an act, she couldn’t help blushing all over. “Er, thanks.” It should have helped that she knew the truth—she was passably pretty, but not even close to the level of women he usually had hanging on his elbow.
    Only one man had ever found her beautiful, and he was dead. She crushed that train of thought, aware now would be the worst possible moment to wallow in grief.
    Forcing herself to focus on Matt, she realized her reticence most likely was the very thing that made him want to pursue her. Men like him loved a challenge.
    Now would be the perfect time to say something. Anything, but she couldn’t seem to force words past her lips. Damn it. She couldn’t help wondering why it felt as if this assignment was already beginning to spiral out of control.
    The way he watched her with his head tilted just so told her he’d expected...more. Inwardly wincing, she knew she couldn’t give it to him. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.
    Glancing at her watch, she knew she’d better go back to her trailer and figure out a plan of action. If doing this felt like retreating, then so be it. “I need to go. Thank you for dinner and everything, but tomorrow is going to be a big day with the photo shoot.”
    He raised his wineglass in a sort of farewell salute.
    Then, moving far too slowly on her too-high heels, she fled.
    * * *
    “What the hell was that all about?” José asked, coming up behind Matt. Together, they watched Skylar pick her way across the grass as she headed toward her trailer.
    Matt took a long drink of his wine before replying. “Damned if I know. She reminds me of one of those wild horses I picked up at auction.”
    José nodded, looking thoughtful. “I wonder if my information was correct. She sure doesn’t act like a federal agent.”
    Staring at her wobbly retreating back, Matt had to agree. “Double-check, will you? Either she’s really a photojournalist for that horse magazine or she’s a damn good actress.”
    “Will do.” José looked pensive, a rarity for him. “I’ve also tried three times to reach my buddy in Matamoros. He’s not answering and he hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’m worried about him.”
    With good reason. Anyone brave or foolish enough to go up against the largest of the Mexican drug cartels knew they were putting their life in danger. If they were caught, they would be lucky if they were merely killed. The usual modus operandi was brutal torture and a slow, agonizing death.
    “Keep trying.” Matt squeezed José’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s just busy.”
    “Maybe.” But