Dane pushed his sunglasses up on his head and slung his bag over his shoulder. He hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. When one was flying out of Afghanistan and catching four different puddle jumpers to get home, a man had a tendency to keep his eyes open and his brain alert.

His shoes kicked up dust as he started the trek into town. Everything was getting ready to close for the night. It was still another five miles before he would reach the farmhouse, but if he was lucky his brother would be on duty for the night, and he could get a ride home in the squad car. He smiled at the irony. There were plenty of people who thought he'd spend plenty of time in the back of one before he'd left town. If he was really lucky, there would be dinner still warm on the stove. He hadn't had a decent meal in a couple of days.

The closer he got to town, the more he realized things had changed. Some more than others. He heard the music before he saw where it was coming from. Classic rock pulsed from a white tin building with a blue awning and several open garage doors. It was the same building that had been there before he'd left, but it was no longer a full-service gas station. A new sign with fluid black letters said Charlie's Automotive. It wouldn't hurt to stop in a see if they could tow the piece of shit car he'd left down the road. It would save his brothers from having to help him take care of it later.

Dane stuck his head in the barely air conditioned office. It was stark in appearance—white walls, grey utilitarian carpet and a solid black desk piled with papers and invoices. Another glass door led into the garage, and a restroom sign was tacked to another.

There wasn't anyone in sight, so he followed the sound of the music into the garage. Three of the four bays had cars in varying states waiting for attention, but he still didn't see anyone. The jangle of metal hitting the pavement had him moving between an old Chrysler and a brand new Ford pickup. A pair of legs covered in blue coveralls stuck out from beneath the Chrysler, knees bent and boots tapping to the beat.

""Excuse me,"" he said, pitching his voice over the music. Or at least trying to. It was hard to compete with Robert Plant.

A grubby hand felt along the ground, searching for a tool of some kind. Dane bent down, picked up a heavy crescent wrench and put it in the roaming hand. He winced as he heard the thunk of a head hit the underside of the car in surprise, and he moved out of the way as the coveralls came out from under the car with a vengeance.

The first thought that came to Dane's mind was that he'd never seen a man so tiny, but then he realized the baggy coveralls were hiding a decidedly delicate body. A smooth curve of neck and porcelain skin, smudged with grease. Definitely not a man. A grubby hand rubbed at the forming knot under thick black hair. Vivid green eyes framed with dark lashes stared at him in resentment. Mermaid eyes. Or at least that's what he'd once compared them to. But by the way they were shooting fire in his direction they resembled that of a sorceress, ready and willing to turn him to dust with a flick of her wrist.

He felt the blood drain from his face and took a step back.

She grabbed the remote from the hood of the car and shut the music off, leaving an echo in his ears. Or maybe it was his heartbeat thudding wildly out of control.

""Charlotte?"" he whispered, afraid he was hallucinating.

""Well, if it isn't the Prodigal Son himself. You worthless son of a bitch.""

Dane barely had time to duck as the heavy wrench sailed toward his head.