“Karin, you know what I want.”

She knew.

Oh, God, she knew.

She wanted it, too.

But this was wrong. She had a job. He had a case. They were going to have to work near each other, at least for a while. What was she thinking? Even if they weren’t working near each other, this could go absolutely nowhere. TJ Vasquez was not the man for her.

He was not the man for any one woman.

“TJ, I don’t think—”

“Shhh.” He shook his head slowly, firmly, and stared deep into her eyes. “Woman, you think far too much.” He moved closer, until she was drawing her very breath from his.

She wasn’t thinking now.

She was feeling….

Dear Reader,

This is officially “Get Caught Reading” month, so why not get caught reading one—or all!—of this month’s Intimate Moments books? We’ve got six you won’t be able to resist.

In Whitelaw’s Wedding, Beverly Barton continues her popular miniseries THE PROTECTORS. Where does the Dundee Security Agency come up with such great guys—and where can I find one in real life? A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY is almost over, but not before you read about Cinderella’s Secret Agent, from Ingrid Weaver. Then come back next month, when Sharon Sala wraps things up in her signature compelling style.

Carla Cassidy offers a Man on a Mission, part of THE DELANEY HEIRS, her newest miniseries. Candace Irvin once again demonstrates her deft way with a military romance with In Close Quarters, while Claire King returns with a Renegade with a Badge who you won’t be able to pass up. Finally, join Nina Bruhns for Warrior’s Bride, a romance with a distinctly Native American feel.

And, of course, come back next month as the excitement continues in Intimate Moments, home of your favorite authors and the best in romantic reading.

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

In Close Quarters
Candace Irvin

CANDACE IRVIN

The daughter of a librarian and a sailor, it’s no wonder Candace’s two greatest loves are reading and the sea. After spending several exciting years as a naval officer sailing around the world, she finally decided it was time to put down roots and give love another chance. To her delight, she soon learned that writing romance was as much fun as reading it. Candace believes her luckiest moment was the day she married her own dashing hero, a former army combat engineer with dimples to die for. The two now reside in Massachusetts, happily raising two future heroes and one adorable heroine—who won’t be allowed to date until she’s forty, at least.

The more I learn, the more I realize

how little I truly know. My deepest thanks

to the following folks for loaning me their expertise

in an effort to mask my ignorance:

Special Agent Dennis Leahy, ATF;

Dr. Sandy Norton, USN-MC;

Dr. Harold L. Crossley, DDS, Ph.D.;

Ms. Debby Delany, RN;

Ms. Marie Provenzano, MS, RN;

and Mr. Jason Lizot, NREMT, ORT.

I’d also like to thank my critique partners

CJ Eernise Chase and Sharon Cline

for their eagle eyes, razor pens and unstinting honesty.

And, as always, my husband, David,

for his unfailing support.

For Helene Beharry,

a nurse of the highest caliber. As a woman,

she soars even higher. Sis, you’re still my idol.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

Her career was over.

Karin slumped down into the swivel chair at her desk, staring at the single typed sentence screaming up from the sheet of paper in her hands. Class twos are walking. Oddly enough, she was stunned more by what the words didn’t say than what they did. She flipped the sheet over and examined the back.

Nothing.

No name, no signature.

Not a single identifying mark on either side to even hint at the sender’s identity. Against hope, she grabbed the matching envelope off the stack of manila folders on her desk and slipped her index finger into the torn end as she tipped it upside down.

Empty.

She slapped the envelope back down, sucking in her breath as her own name stared up, mocking her. Lieutenant Karin Scott, MD. Good God, why her?

And why now?

Rap, rap, rap.

Karin shot straight up in her chair as the knock on her door reverberated through the office. Who…? What…?

No time.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she wrenched up the cover of the ten-pound Physician’s Desk Reference she’d dumped beside the files and crammed the incriminating note inside. She heard the door to her office swing open behind her just as she slammed the cover down.

“Eric?”

She knew that voice. God, no.

She couldn’t help it. Her stomach bottomed out. Nausea surged into its place. She staunched the wave in the nick of time. Of all the officers she had to run into on her first day, why him? Come to think of it, it was actually fitting. After all, the bastard had taken a crack at ruining her career himself. Two deep breaths, a quick glance to make sure the note was firmly hidden, and she was ready.

She twirled the chair smoothly about and nodded. “Doug.”

“You?”

Judging from the disgust darkening the man’s eyes, Doug Callahan was even less thrilled to see Karin than she was to see him. Funny, she wouldn’t have thought it possible. But as Doug’s tan bleached down to rival the collar of his white Navy uniform, she realized something else, and she smiled. “You didn’t know.”

The sleaze recovered quickly, slicking his hands through the barely regulation surfer waves on his head before locking his arms across his chest. “Sure, I did.”

Karin ignored the blatant lie and smoothed the skirt of her own whites as she tipped back in her chair. “Of course, the fact that you didn’t just proves you’re not the golden boy you think you are.”

A shrug, followed by a sneer. “I just figured you’d fall off the side of your ship on the way to the Persian Gulf and save yourself the humiliation of washing out.”

“Liar.” She offered up her own shrug. “Not that I’m surprised. You do have a knack for it. Or rather, you did…until me. Tell me, Doug, how many other women have you had to stoop that low with? Five? Ten? Every woman you’ve ever dated or, rather, tried to date?”

He didn’t answer.

But the color was revving back into his face, only to stall at his taut cheeks. He tried covering by stepping into the office and stalking down the line of steel bookshelves on her right. It didn’t help. Mottled fury was still riding high on his cheeks as he bypassed the pair of file cabinets and the X-ray reader to hook his hind end onto the edge of the desk cattycorner to hers.

She couldn’t help it.

She grinned.

Hell, maybe the next two years of residency wouldn’t be as bad as she’d expected. Not if she’d be able to break up what were bound to be eighty-hour workweeks with an occasional jaunt down to the pharmacy just to irritate the hell out of— Pharmacy?

The note.

Panic slammed back up her throat, strangling what was left of her smirk. She sucked in the remains, damn near choking on them as she fought the urge to double-check the armload of reference books and files she’d lugged in from her car, and the envelope Mr. Anonymous had secreted into the stack of paperwork already awaiting her arrival.

She needn’t have bothered.

Doug jerked his chin toward the teetering pile on her desk. “Already in over your head, eh?”

He couldn’t see the damn thing, could he?

The nausea returned. It must have shown.

“By God, you are.”

She stared into his now-gleaming gaze, at the blue rapidly turning black with triumph. Or was that satisfaction? Almost as if… Oh, Lord, why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Had he sent it?

The mere thought was worse than petty. It was cowardly and underhanded, as well as thoroughly reprehensible.

And it was right up Doug’s alley.

She drew herself up in the swivel chair and stared right back at him. “Don’t you have someone else to harass?”

Triumph or satisfaction—whichever had caused his own smirk—went up in flames. “You were ordered not to use that word in connection with my name ever again.”

Despite the panic still thundering through her veins, she relaxed enough to let her eyes widen. “Oh, did I mention your name? You probably misunderstood me. A nasty habit of yours. Then again, maybe it’s your guilty conscience— Oops, I forgot.” She leveled a equally steely gaze on his. “You don’t have one.”

“Lieutenant Callahan, please dial seven-five-three-two.”

She could have sworn that was relief edging out the fury in his eyes as he jerked off the edge of the desk to respond to the hospital’s page. He turned toward the door.

She couldn’t help it. She grinned again. “Leaving so soon? There’s a phone right here.”

Idiot.

Why was she still baiting him? She needed Doug out of here so she could think. When she’d first opened the envelope, she’d assumed the accusation was true. Now she wasn’t so sure. Yeah, she definitely needed to think.

Alone.

Doug’s sneer was firmly in place as he turned back. “No thanks, it’s a bit too frigid in here for my taste.”

She caught herself a split second before she stiffened. Didn’t matter—he’d already turned to the door. She waited until his hand was on the knob, the door halfway open.

“Doug?”

He glanced back as he stepped into the hall. “Yeah?”

“I should have gelded you when I had the chance.”

His sneer evaporated as the door slammed in his face. She didn’t even pause to savor the victory but spun the chair around to her desk to stare at the telltale strip of white poking out from the cover of the desk reference, instead. It didn’t matter that the words weren’t visible. They were burned into her brain.

Right along with the implication behind them.

Class twos are walking.

If that note was right, someone at the hospital was stealing prescription narcotics. She raked her fingers through her newly cropped curls, groaning as she slapped her forehead onto the tome’s cover. Yup, her career was definitely over. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Unless…

She stiffened. No way. She was not calling him.

Anyone but him.

As if TJ Vásquez would even care.

Okay, so he might. But it would be on a purely professional basis. She’d nipped anything personal in the bud too hard and too long ago. Hell, TJ hadn’t even dropped by to see her ship off. And he certainly hadn’t been around when it had come back.

That only left one option.

Her best friend’s husband, Reese.

Reese and Jade shouldn’t have left for the airport yet. She snapped her gaze to her watch, hoping the time hadn’t gotten away from her in her shock. It hadn’t. In fact, Reese might still be at work. Technically she didn’t begin her anesthesiology residency for another two weeks. Her friends would be back from their belated honeymoon by then. If Reese thought he could help, she could take two weeks leave and pretend she hadn’t read the note until he and Jade returned.

Call him.

And do it now, before you’re forced to crawl to TJ.

That image made up her mind.

A quick glance over her shoulder assured her the door to her office was still sealed shut, before she reached for her wallet to rummage through for the number Jade had given her the week before. A number she never thought she’d use, let alone need. She grabbed the phone and stabbed the buttons, only to wait through four excruciatingly long rings.

The line was finally picked up. “Drug Enforcement Administration. How may I direct your call?”

She took a deep breath and just did it. “This is Dr. Karin Scott. I need to speak to Special Agent Reese Garrick.”

“Yo, Vásquez!”

TJ did not bother glancing up from the stack of files splayed across his desk. He simply raised a hand and waved his fellow agent over as he continued to read. But moments later, as two more folders landed atop the report he was studying, he was forced to sever his concentration.

“Gracias.”

“De nada.” Joaquín’s wide grin greeted him as he cuffed the black motorcycle helmet from the spare chair, his gaze sweeping the DEA office discreetly as he sat.

TJ knew full well whom his friend was seeking.

She was not here.

Joaquín covered his disappointment well. “What are you still doing here? You know what they say—while the cat is away, the mice should—”

“Stay.” TJ chuckled as his friend’s grin wilted. “A joke, my friend. Go home. Your assignment tomorrow will make up for this.”

The grin was back. “A finer temporary boss I have never had. But what of you? You should be taking off as well, no? You are last to leave—again.” His smile faded once more as he leaned forward to tap the preliminary autopsy reports he had dumped onto the desk. “The girls are dead, Tomás. Much as I dislike admitting this, a few hours more will not make a difference.”

TJ’s swivel chair groaned as he leaned back to stretch his legs and rub his eyes. Joaquín was right. The girls were dead. A few hours more would not change this. But he had already dropped Reese and Jade at the airport. If he left now, there was naught left to do but go home and listen to his phone. A phone that had refused to ring.

For six days.

Once again he suppressed the sigh he had been holding throughout the week. “Soon.” He tapped the new folders. “I must review these first.”

A frown. “She has not called then.”

It was not a question. It also required no response.

“I am sorry.”

TJ shrugged.

“Have you eaten?”

He shook his head.

“There is this new seafood spot on the Embarcadero. Perhaps we should visit a club after?”

“Joaquín, I thank you, but no.” The San Diego waterfront would not be wise tonight, nor would it be for some time. Dios mío, had he not gazed his fill of the empty ocean these past months?

And a club?

He sighed. Joaquín knew full well he did not do this anymore. But then, for all his friend’s attempts at distraction, neither did he.

Another sigh. This one belonging to his fellow agent as he thumped the helmet onto the reports, then leaned back to withdraw a slip of yellow paper from the front pocket of his jeans. He flicked it beside the helmet. “Gina handed this to me on her way out, said to give it to you.”

TJ retrieved the message slip and unfolded it, sucking in his breath as the neat script ripped into him.

Madre de Dios! It was not possible.

Or was it?

He tore his gaze from the memo to stare at the now-taunting folders scattered across his desk as his mind raced his heart. It was a tie. He shot up from his chair. “When did Gina take this?”

“I do not know. Why?”

He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair and shoved his arms into the sleeves. By the time Joaquín had shot to his feet, as well, TJ had cuffed his motorcycle helmet.

“Tomás, what is wrong? Is it—”

He did not hear the rest, because he had already left.

Karin stared at the LED clock on the back of the stove and frowned. Seven-fifteen. If Reese didn’t return her call soon, he wouldn’t get the chance. Not for two weeks, anyway. In half an hour the flight he and Jade had booked to Hawaii would be leaving. Come to think of it, the plane was probably already boarding. She plunked the copper teapot onto the rear burner and sighed. Now what?

What about—

She might have a remaining option or two, but calling TJ Vásquez was not one of them. She’d just spent six months purging the man from her mind. There was no way she was letting him back in. Not until she was forced to, anyway.

Damn, it wasn’t even fair.

She’d never even dated the man.

All she’d done was spend two lousy months planning a wedding for their best friends with him. Unfortunately it had been enough. The man’s pull was that steady, that strong.

That inescapable.

Hell, who was she kidding? TJ had hooked her the moment they met. Charming, smooth and way too sure of himself, Special Agent Vásquez had arrived aboard the USS Baddager as Reese’s backup at the tail end of an undercover operation designed to flush out a heroin dealer on the ship—and he’d damn near left with her heart. Except, it wasn’t her heart he’d been interested in, was it?

At least not permanently.

The proof had slapped her in the face less than a week later. TJ had thrown a party at his weekend place just south of the Mexican border to celebrate Reese and Jade’s engagement. She’d been leery about attending, mainly because she hadn’t been able to get the party’s host out of her head in the preceding days, but Jade had begged her. Not one for parties to begin with, her friend had been nervous about being thrust into a house full of DEA agents with whom she had absolutely nothing in common except that she was marrying into their tight group.

She should never have succumbed to Jade’s pleas.

In the hours that followed, she’d gleaned more about the DEA in general than she’d ever wanted to know…and about one special agent in particular. While TJ was showing her the courtyard, she’d overheard two of his fellow agents laying odds that she was his next conquest. Even more appalling was that they couldn’t agree on what number to assign her. Both held an opinion and both exceeded civilized comprehension. Humiliated, she’d turned to TJ and asked if there was any truth to his reputation.

To her horror, he’d said yes.

Of course, he’d promptly sworn it was behind him.

Right. Under him was more like it.

Either way, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t into one-night stands. And even if she was, she was no match for that level of experience. No match at all.

And yet…those eyes.

Six months and the mere memory of that dark smoldering gaze could still send smoke whispering through her body. Worse, even now, knowing the man for the hound he was, deep down she still wanted to believe the shame and regret she’d seen on his face that day in his courtyard had been real.

But of course, they weren’t.

Nor was the promise that had come with them, that insidiously magnetic pledge that always came with those eyes. One sultry look and TJ could pull her right in, have her believing that no matter how many women he’d had in his past, she was the only woman he wanted in his future.

But that was a lie.

His behavior at the wedding had proven that, hadn’t it?

She dragged the copper teapot to the front burner of the stove and toggled the corresponding switch to high. Okay, so there was no way she was calling TJ. Next option?

For the life of her, she couldn’t think of one. Not one that would preserve her career, anyway.

Music. It always helped her think.

She spun back to the breakfast counter, dodging the pair of white heels that matched the uniform she’d yet to remove as she snagged the radio/CD remote from the counter. She aimed the remote past her mother’s latest gift to the wall unit beyond. A saucy voice she hadn’t heard in months filled the apartment.

“—hoping to get to the airport on time, it’s not looking good. I-5 north is still backed up from the Coronado bridge to Hawthorne due to a serious four-car collision earlier this evening. Ambulances have cleared the scene, but it could still take an hour or more to sit through the cleanup. Seek an alternate route. That’s it for now. In the traffic center, this is Country 99.5’s Candy O, saying—”

Karin punched the remote again, slapping the remote on the counter as a jazz CD kicked in. At least now she knew why Reese hadn’t returned her call. He and Jade had obviously heard about the accident and left early. Maybe it was for the best.

Chances were, the note was all some stupid joke.

Someone at the hospital was probably trying to get a rise out of her. Maybe Doug Callahan, maybe not. Heck, for all she knew, every other first-year resident would be getting the same note when they checked aboard. No doubt it was some sick rite of passage. Maybe even a drill of some sort. The Navy was big on them.

But what if the accusation was true?

She rounded the breakfast counter to scoop up the note.

Class twos are walking.

No. This had to be a prank.

If someone was stealing narcotics from the base hospital, wouldn’t she have been given a bit more to go on? Like a specific drug? Or a suspect? At the very least, a point of contact?

Well, she hadn’t.

And that was because this was a test. Someone obviously wanted to see if she was on her toes. Maybe even evaluate her integrity. Probably because of Doug.

Thump, thump, thump.

The knock on her door startled her so swiftly, she dropped the note. She grabbed the sheet of paper as it fluttered down, snagging it inches before it reached the cream carpet.

Reese?

Not unless their flight had been delayed along with the traffic. Hoping against hope, she refolded the note and slipped it into the breast pocket of her uniform as she headed for the door. Rising on her tiptoes, she peered through the peephole—and gasped.

Impossible!

But as she stumbled away from the door, she knew it wasn’t. Even from his backside, there was no mistaking that shock of straight black hair falling well below those broad shoulders. She had a special agent standing at her door, all right, but it wasn’t Reese Garrick.

It was his partner, TJ Vásquez.

She recovered quickly, creeping back to the door to tiptoe up and peer out. It was him all right. He still hadn’t turned around, but there was no doubt in her mind. That sleek six-foot-plus muscular frame could only belong to one man. As usual, he was wearing snug black jeans and his matching black leather jacket. The one that smelled just like him.

Half a year and a door between them, and she could still smell that jacket. The most incredible mix of leather and spice, with a tease of fresh air. Of course, the clincher was the equally black helmet cuffed under his arm. The one that matched the satin paint on his motorcycle. According to TJ, not just any motorcycle. A 1949 Indian Arrow. A classic.

All she knew was the bike was as dark and sleek and dangerous as he was.

Any hope she’d held out that it wasn’t him crumbled as he turned to glance down the hallway. At least he wasn’t facing the door. Six months was a long time. She blessed each and every one of those months as she reacclimated herself to the sight of that dusky skin, proud nose and prominent cheekbones. She also doubly blessed the three inches of solid wood between them. It gave her something to hold on to. And then he turned.

In profile, Tomás Juan Vásquez was handsome.

Head on, he was downright devastating.

Even through the glass, the force of those deep-brown eyes and thick brooding brows punched her stomach straight through to her toes. She tried sucking in her breath one shallow gulp at a time, only to discover he’d knocked the air from her lungs, as well.

He stepped forward to rap on the door again, this time hard.

Damn. What the devil was she supposed to do?

If Reese didn’t know about the note, there was no way TJ could, either. So what was he doing here? And how had he gotten by the doorman? Peter had been known to turn away veteran cops, unless they had an official warrant—

Official?

Panic streaked through her as she zeroed in on the chilling explanation. But as TJ shifted the helmet to his left hand and raked his right through his hair, she realized the fear wasn’t irrational after all. It mutated to full-blown terror as she finally noticed the lines that had set in about his mouth, the tension threading through his gaze, as well as gripping his shoulders. It would take a direct blow to TJ’s heart to put that look there.

Jade. Reese.

The accident.

She grabbed the security chain and yanked it across the metal track, wrenching the door open as it popped free. “Oh, my God, how badly are they hurt?”

Chapter 2

TJ blessed his reflexes, catching Karin instinctively as she hurled her petite curves at him, firing questions faster than he was able to empty the magazine in his Glock. What was she talking about? Who was she talking about? Then he knew.

Reese. Jade.

The flight.

Madre de Dios, what had happened?

His helmet landed at his feet as panic swamped him. Lifting Karin by her arms, he scooped her back into the apartment, releasing her as he scanned the entertainment unit that spanned the wall opposite him—but if there was a television behind one of the whitewashed doors, it was off now. He spun back around, straining for the sound of late-breaking news on the radio.

Nada.

All he heard were the muted notes of a jazz instrumental.

Frustrated, he turned back to Karin, wrapping his hands around her arms as he pulled her close again. This time, he was not sure if he was steadying her or himself. “¿Cariño? What has happened? Was there something on the news?”

Karin stared up at him, obviously stunned, her huge blue eyes growing even larger. “You mean you haven’t heard anything? But I thought…” She shook her head. “Why else would you be…” She shook it again, then pulled away from him to rub her temples as she sighed. “TJ, what are you doing here?”

The panic fled as quickly as it had come.

Reese and Jade were fine.

He stared at Karin as she folded her arms across the shirt of her Navy uniform. The panic in her eyes had ebbed as well—only to be replaced by determination. She was waiting for an answer.

Unfortunately he did not have one to give.

Not at this moment, anyway. And not when it was all he could do to simply stand here in the middle of this room, with his arms dropped to his sides—with them not locked about her, squeezing her for all she was worth. For all he was worth.

Six months.

It had been six months since her ship had pulled away from that concrete pier. Six months since he had last feasted his gaze on this tiny golden fireball of perfection standing before him. Six months, six days and ten and a half hours, if he had been counting. Not that he had.

Sí, so he had.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tipped the heart-shaped curve of her chin, clenching his fingers as she jerked away. He swallowed his hiss of disappointment before it could escape and firmly tucked his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from touching her again.

He had told himself he was not going to do it.

He was not supposed to touch her.

But then, he was not supposed to be standing this close to her, either. He was close enough to smell the whisper of vanilla that always clung to her. Close enough for those mesmerizing dimples to swallow him whole, the ones that were so deep, even her current frown failed to contain them. Close enough to trace the bottom curve of her full, pink lips.

No, he was definitely not supposed to be this close.

He had to move. Pronto.

Before he drowned in the blue ocean of her eyes—and told his good sense to go straight to hell. Or worse, ripped his fingers from his pockets and dug them into those golden curls.

Those short curls.

He stared hard. “You cut your hair.”

Her hands were halfway up her neck before she stiffened. She pulled them down and folded them across her chest as her chin kicked up. Not much. Perhaps a fraction of an inch.

It was enough.

It told him more than her silence. Even more than the ice now frosting her gaze. She had cut her curls to spite him.

Dios help him, he was pleased.

Her chin hitched another notch. “Like it?”

“I do not.”

But he did. It accentuated her eyes, made them appear larger, bluer.

Her maddening dimples deepened. “Too bad. I do.” With that, she twirled smoothly about, her white skirt revealing a most enticing length of calf as she slipped away. When she rounded the breakfast counter, he assumed she was simply putting her usual distance between them—until she reached the stove. The shrill whistle and steam shooting from the copper teapot finally pierced his stupor. As she flicked off the burner, he turned back to the apartment, this time really looking.

He had known this woman had money. After all, she drove a Jaguar. And there was the Cartier on her wrist. But not even that—nor even the chunk of gray marble some might call a sculpture in the lobby—could have prepared him for this.

And the fact that it was so very…white.

Everywhere.

From the gauze draped across the tops of the towering windows down to the carpet, the entire room was white. The leather couch was white, the pair of overstuffed chairs flanking it were white, the lamps were white. Even the wall unit, the dining-room table and the chairs beyond were some sort of colorless wood washed with…well, white.

Suddenly he was twenty-four again, reaching for the brass knocker on those enormous double doors. They yawned open. And then she was standing there, looking down her perfect nose at him. He could not help it—he glanced down at his jacket, then his T-shirt, jeans and boots, half-afraid his mere presence had rubbed off, leaving a great dark stain in the middle of this virgin room. Thankfully, he had not.

Yet.

He turned back to the kitchen, to Karin, and was once again confronted with white. This time, though, it was her.

She arched her brows. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”

He blinked.

She sighed. “What you’re doing here? I’ve figured out by now they weren’t involved in the accident.”

The accident? What— Ah, the freeway.

No wonder she had been frightened. He shook his head. “No, they were not. It came through on the scanner when it happened. I dropped Reese and Jade off an hour and a half ago by way of another route. From the way you threw yourself into my arms, I thought you had heard something about the plane.”

She flushed.

Not much.

Just the tips of her ears.

Most odd. He had always thought her so cool, so collected, so in control. But with her curls off her ears, he now knew she was not. Fascinating. He wondered if she knew. He caught the panic flitting through those deep-blue eyes as he stared, and knew.

She did.

She turned away quickly and headed back to the kitchen. This time he labeled her action for what it was.

Retreat.

He masked his smile as she turned back, the high counter once again firmly between them.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He shook his head. “I did not.”

“Well? Are you going to? Or did you just drop by for dinner, unannounced?”

“Would you dine with me if I had?”

“No.”

He glanced down at the counter, at the empty yogurt container with the spoon still inside, at the orange rind piled beside the remote control, and tsked. “You could use a good meal, no?”

She did not answer. Nor did she need to, for her narrow gaze spoke for her. She finally severed that frosty glare and scooped up the rind and carton before she turned her back on him to head for the trash compactor. He waited until she had opened the steel drawer and dumped them inside.

“You called Reese today.”

The drawer slammed shut.

She continued to stand with her back to him for a moment, then slowly turned around. “Yes, I did. I called Reese.”

He shrugged. “You got me.”

“I don’t want you.”

If she thought it took one of her neurosurgical colleagues to figure this out, she was mistaken. “This I know. But me you have. Why did you call?”

“You know, I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”

If it involved what he thought it did, it was very much his business. It was also his case. But there was no way he could tell her this. At least, not until he was certain.

He sighed. “Cariño—”

She held up a hand. “You can stop right there, Agent Vásquez. First of all, I told you months ago, my name is Karin, just Karin. Not carino—or however you keep pronouncing it. Second of all, my phone call had nothing to do with you or your agency. I just told you—I called to talk to Reese, not you. As you damn well know, Reese is married to my best friend. I needed to discuss something with him. Something personal. If your boss is so straitlaced you guys can’t even receive a brief personal call on the job, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Reese when they return.”

“Are you finished?”

Pink washed the tops of her ears. “Yes.”

“Good. Now, I am aware of the fact that you called to speak to Reese and not to me.” Painfully aware. “But you also left a message. A message that said…” He made a show of searching the pockets of his leather jacket for the yellow slip Joaquín had handed him before he had torn out of the office. “Here it is.” He did not need to read the words, but did so, anyway. “Dr. Karin Scott called. It’s business.”

“I know—personal business.” She raked her fingers through her curls. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Until you tell the truth.”

She stiffened. “Just where the hell do you get off showing up at my apartment, giving me the third degree about a personal call and accusing me—”

The rest of her words were severed as he rounded the counter and reached out to touch the tip of her ear. It was tinged with pink for the third time that night.

She swallowed.

Evidently he had made his point.

Several moments passed before she honored it. “Okay, I’ve been busted. What are you going to do about it? Cuff me and drag me down to the nearest station?”

Oh, he would like to.

But if he ever got a set of cuffs on this woman, jail was the last place he would be taking her. He slipped his finger down, tracing the outer curve of her ear until he reached the tiny lobe. He dipped his finger beneath her jaw, reining in his thudding heart as her eyes widened. What he would have given for the flaring in these dark pupils to have been caused by passion. For him.

But it was not passion, nor even desire.

It was fear.

He forced his attention back to the reason he was here. Why had she called Reese? He tipped up her chin. “Are you in trouble?”

She tried to look away, but he refused to let her. He moved his head until he had again captured her stormy gaze.

“Cariño, you must tell me. I can help.”

She closed her eyes.

The action pained him more than he cared to admit.

Reese, she trusted. Him, she did not.

“Please.” His voice was low, hoarse, but he did not care.

“Don’t. You can’t help. No one can, not even Reese.” She sighed and finally opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called him. Dr. Manning was right.”

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “This thing which troubles you, this Dr. Manning knows it?”

“God, no. At least, not yet.” Again the pink found her ears. Though for some reason, he felt the cause was not the same. But before he could question her, she stepped back. “Oh, hell, you’re already here. And I don’t think you’re going to give up.” There was a wealth of hope in those rising brows. “Are you?”

He shook his head firmly. Not when she was this upset.

She sighed again. “I thought not. Well, you’d better have a seat, then. It’s a long story.” She tilted her head toward the teapot sitting on the stove. “I’d offer you some, but…” Her gaze swept his clothes. “You don’t look the tea type. Coffee?”

He nodded. “Gracias.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips, dipping her dimples as her gaze traveled his dark length again, this time leisurely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

She was teasing him. Karin Scott was teasing him. The realization ricocheted off his brain and headed straight for his heart, snapping a grin back up his throat before he could prevent it. Jade, she teased. Reese, as well. She had even teased Reese’s mother within minutes of meeting her—this he knew, for he had been there. But Karin had never, ever, teased him.

Until now.

He sobered.

She was upset indeed if she could not remember she disliked him. But at least she would trust him. For now, he would settle for this.

Relief washed through him as he stepped around the counter to give her room to work. On the ride to her apartment, he had not been certain he could convince her to confide in him. If she had refused, there was naught he could do to force her.

Even with his suspicions.

He would have been left with little option but to call Reese once his plane had landed and ask him to phone Karin back—from his belated honeymoon. Not his first choice.

TJ crossed the carpet and stared at the couch and matching chairs. Though they appeared comfortable enough, he was reluctant to sit. They were so white. Admittedly he was not one for decorating. But even he could see the room needed color—any color. Desperately.

And what was that odor?

It was faint, so faint he could not quite place it. In fact, he had not even noticed it until Karin had taken her whisper of vanilla back into the kitchen with her. He glanced across the room as a grating whir cut through the air.

Beans?

She did not cook, but she ground her own coffee beans?

TJ bit back a low whistle. He turned to face the wall unit and stared at the whitewashed doors as the minutes dragged by. What secrets did those doors conceal? Her music collection? The final notes of the jazz instrumental that had been playing when he arrived had long since died out. What else would he find in there? Beethoven, Mozart, Bach? Or would she surprise him with salsa?

Doubtful.

Whatever lay behind those doors, he would wager it was white. The Beetles’ White album most likely.

“TJ?”

He spun about, wincing as he nearly upset the twin mugs of coffee in her hands. At least the mugs were yellow.

Pale yellow, but it was a start.

She held one out and nodded to the chairs. “Have a seat.”

He accepted the mug and took the couch, instead, in the hope that she would join him.

She did not.

He squelched his disappointment as she lowered herself into the chair next to him, then settled himself as far back as he dared and took a sip from his mug. He glanced up as the distinct flavor of vanilla swirled over his tongue, taking the edge off the familiar bite of coffee.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She slid a coaster across the table.

He stared at the white disk a moment, then rested the mug on his thigh. At least if he spilled it there, the stain would not show. He waited until she had taken a few sips of her own before prompting her. “Reese? You were to tell me why you wished to speak to him?”

Setting her cup down, she sighed as she retrieved a square of paper from the pocket below the row of ribbons on her uniform shirt. She unfolded the sheet and passed it to him.

He took it and read the short, typed sentence.

Class twos are walking.

Dios mío, he was right.

Somehow he managed to do naught but lift a brow as he glanced up. “Nothing to do with me—or my agency?”

She stiffened. “Not necessarily.”

He shook his head. “Cariño, since when does the theft of class-two prescription narcotics not involve the Drug Enforcement Administration?”

“When it’s a joke.”

He flipped the note over, taking care not to contaminate it with further prints. It was blank. Someone had gone to the trouble of concealing his or her identity. If this was a joke, he was not laughing. He stared at the slender fingers knotted in her lap. Nor was she.

He placed the sheet on the table. “This note, who sent it?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It’s a joke.”

No, it was not.

Unfortunately he would also wager this sparse message was connected to the thickening files on his desk—and the autopsy reports Joaquín had dumped there. But why had this woman been singled out for involvement, and why anonymously? He glanced at the sheet. “You received this how?”

“It was in my in-box.” She retrieved her mug. “You don’t know this, but I’m not attached to the ship anymore. Not as of this morning, anyway. I was accepted into the Navy’s anesthesiology program. Only, when I checked into the main hospital this morning, I learned my residency starts two weeks from today, not today.” She paused to draw another sip from her coffee.

He waited patiently.

This much he knew from their mutual friends. But he was not about to confess he had been attuned to Jade’s every word at dinner this past evening, waiting for the woman to mention what her friend was up to. Thankfully Jade had done so without his asking. But she had failed to reveal enough to satisfy his constant thirst for information about this lady.

Of course no one could satisfy this need but Karin herself.

Until now, however, she had volunteered naught.

It did not help to know precisely why she had refused to date him in the months before her ship departed. Nor did the knowledge that he had only himself and his shameful reputation to blame. A reputation he freely admitted to cultivating in the past. But it was in the past. Surely six years of abstinence was enough to have earned even the most devout of monks his absolution?

At first, he had thought it possible.

Until the engagement party.

Though he himself had never truly expected to find forgiveness for his sins, he had been astonished at the depth of his own reaction—to hers. The shock, the horror. These he had anticipated, had even prepared himself for. But not the other.

The disappointment. In him.

Logically he should have realized this would happen. And perhaps, in some way, he had. But until that moment she had turned to him and asked him of his past, he had not truly understood how deeply another’s pain could cut. More deeply than he had ever thought possible.

When he had recovered, she was gone.

She had caught a ride north, back across the border with another agent. And the pain had begun anew. But this ache was different. For it was a product of the waiting. His heart already snared, there was naught left for him to do but bide his time. Patience was his only recourse. Two months he had waited, the ache growing stronger with each passing day, with each meeting he and Karin shared as they helped to plan their mutual friends’ wedding. But through none of them had he noticed a difference. Not so much as a fissure in her resolve.

Until two weeks before her ship deployed.

On the eve of his marriage, Reese had spoken to her. He would have been furious with his friend except the next day Karin had finally accepted his invitation for dinner, right there at the wedding. Right there in the church. But then, hours later, following their sole dance at the reception, she had rescinded. No argument, no explanation—nada. She simply said she had changed her mind and would not be changing it back. Ever.

Why?

“TJ?”

Startled, he glanced up, then drew another sip from his own to cover as he forced his attention back to the hospital, back to the note—where it should have remained all along. “Anyway, when I checked into the hospital, I was given the option of taking two weeks’ leave. I was considering it when I picked up the stack of paperwork already waiting for me in my in-box.” She nodded toward the note. “That was inside the stack. I made up my mind to take the leave when I read it.”

“Why?”

She glanced up, startled. “Why what?”

“Why would you need the time? I know you, Cariño. You are not one to conceal something such as this. There is more.”

“Excuse me? You don’t know the first thing about me.”

She was wrong. But now was not the time to upset her further by arguing. He simply inclined his head—and let her read the motion how she would.

She slumped back in her chair. “This is all so frustrating. I never should have chickened out. I should have marched into Dr. Manning’s office and shown him the note as soon as I read it.”

Dr. Manning again.

Though he knew full well who this man was, he was not supposed to. “Dr. Manning?”

“The head of anesthesiology.”

“And why did you not show him the note?”

“Because I wasn’t looking forward to kissing my career goodbye so soon into starting it.”

Now he was confused. Unwilling to juggle the mug a moment longer, he set it on the table next to the note and leaned toward her. “I do not understand. Why would your career be over? You know as well as I this cannot affect you, because you are not involved.” He was certain of this. Stealing surgical opiates was not in her nature.

Her lips curved—briefly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Agent Vásquez, but I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that. Actually—” a slight, but unmistakable wince “—it’s a lot more complicated.”

He waited as she reached for her mug, suppressing a wince of his own as she took a sip. At best, it was lukewarm by now. His was. She drained the rest, anyway.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of three strikes you’re out?”

“Sí.”

“Well, I don’t know about the DEA, but in the Navy you only get two—and I’ve already got one.”

Again, he waited.

Finally he was rewarded with a shrug.

“About a year ago I was asked out by one of the lieutenants at the hospital. I admit, I was leery. He wasn’t a doctor, so I wasn’t sure he’d understand that my schedule as the USS Baddager’s doctor came first. But he assured me he did, so I accepted.”

TJ retrieved his mug, if only to give himself something to hold as he prompted her about dating another man. “What happened?”

“You know, I’m still not really sure. We went out a few times, and while he seemed nice enough, it just didn’t click. At least, not for me. Anyway, I decided to break it off. I invited him over for dinner, thinking it would be better to tell him in private.” She frowned. “In retrospect, it wasn’t a bright idea.”

“Why is this?”

“Let’s just say, he didn’t take it well.” Something new and dark entered her eyes and caused his blood to run cold. She masked it quickly, but he had already seen it.

“Cariño, tell me this man did not—”

She shook her head sharply. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what? What did this man do?”

“He didn’t do anything. It was more of a suggestion. Hell, at first I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t.” She paused for a moment, then took a deep breath before focusing her stare somewhere past his left shoulder. “He suggested a trade of sorts. My…favors…in exchange for his help in securing a slot for myself in the next class of anesthesiology residents.”

“And when you told him no?”

Her gaze snapped to his.

TJ refused to dignify her surprise over his certainty with a comment.

“He left,” she replied.

Gracias a Dios. He eased out the breath he had not known he had been holding. “I still do not understand. His offer, how could this mark your record? Especially since he left once you refused.”

“Because that wasn’t the end of it.”

He set his mug down. Carefully.

She shrugged. “Maybe he was afraid I’d squeal, or maybe he just wanted to get even, I don’t know. All I do know is he stopped by Dr. Manning’s office the next morning and confessed that one of the residency applicants had invited him over for dinner, and that she’d tried to use sex to ensure her slot in the class.”

TJ sucked in his breath as he shot to his feet and strode to the windows. He stared at the string of palm trees lining the kidney-shaped pool ten stories below as he worked to control his growing fury. It was useless. His blood was no longer running cold. It was hot. Searing. And there was but one way to cool it. He would find this man who had slandered his woman and wrap his hands about the bastard’s neck until he no longer breathed. TJ locked his stare on the pool, certain that if he turned, all the undercover skills in the world would not keep her from reading the intent in his heart.

“Who?”

“I don’t understand—”

“Who did this to you?”

“Why? I doubt you know him, even if you are DEA.”

“Who?”

He heard her sigh. “His name is Doug Callahan. He’s the hospital’s—” She broke off again as he whirled about.

It mattered not. She was wrong.

He did know this man. He knew the name, anyway. As he should. In fact, he would say he knew Doug Callahan exceedingly well—considering he had spent the better part of the afternoon studying the man’s official military record. But apparently there were a few assessments missing from his officer fitness evaluations. For not only was Lt. Callahan a first-rate pharmacist, he was a first-rate bastard, as well.

But this was not all.

Doug Callahan had just become his number-one suspect.

Chapter 3

Karin stepped out of her car, smoothed the skirt to her Navy whites and snagged her briefcase off the leather seat before slamming the door. TJ would be furious if he knew where she was and what she was about to do.

Too bad. It was her career, not his.

So what if she’d agreed to let him nose around?

Yes, as a DEA agent, he could backdoor the hospital’s records. Yes, he could check with the distributors and see if the pharmacy had been ordering an unusually high number of narcotics. He could even discover which types. If the right numbers had gone up, they’d know there was truth to the note she’d received. That it wasn’t a joke or another nasty link in Doug’s chain of petty revenge.

But it was a joke.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized it had to be. In fact, she’d lay odds Doug was rubbing his grimy paws together in anticipation right now. He’d probably slipped the note into her paperwork, hoping she’d run to Dr. Manning the moment she read it, screaming the sky was falling. Doug knew better than anyone that when they combed his pharmacy records and found nothing amiss, she’d come off worse than Chicken Little—more like a big fat sitting duck. And that’s when he’d take aim and blow her career right out of the water.

Well, she sure wasn’t handing him the gun.

Not when she could do something about it.

And she could do something.

She shifted her briefcase into her left hand and shoved the hospital door marked Staff Entrance open before marching down the corridor. Besides, TJ wasn’t being totally honest with her either. She was sure of it. She might not have concrete proof he’d held something back on her last night, but she didn’t have to. Her instincts were pretty darn good.

They were right about him.

Tijuana Jones.

God, she hated that nickname, almost as much as she hated the man’s reputation. She wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t missed the not-so-subtle allusion to Indiana Jones.

What a crock.

It wasn’t the man’s sultry looks, either. It was his personality. TJ Vásquez was no self-effacing Harrison Ford. But then, it wasn’t his personality his fellow agents had been attempting to immortalize when they’d baptized him with the moniker, now was it? And while she didn’t doubt that a number of his DEA exploits had taken on the legendary feel of an action hero’s, she had a feeling the topic those two agents she’d overheard betting on her was closer to the real reason behind the name.

Yes, the man was irresistible.

Unfortunately he also knew it—and he abused it.

She reached the end of the corridor and took the left that led to her office. Tijuana Jones her tush. His buddies should have nicknamed him Don Juan. He probably had women lined up outside his apartment, waiting their turn.

Well, she wasn’t standing in it.

Karin stopped in front of the door to her new office and grabbed the knob, but as she twisted, something made her jerk her hand back and blink. She grabbed the knob again and turned it again, opening the door a crack so she could peer inside.

She couldn’t see anything, but there it was again.

That noise.

Someone was scraping open the drawers of the desk across the room. Her desk. But all she could make out as she craned her neck around the door were broad shoulders encased in Navy whites and the back of a blond, barely regulation haircut. It was enough.

Doug.

She slammed the door open and stormed in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

An equally loud string of curses blasted back at her when, closing the top drawer of her desk, he smashed his fingers. Then he turned. She stared up into a pair of deep-green eyes. Not blue.

And not Doug’s.

The lieutenant quirked a sheepish brow. “Looking for a pen?”

She closed her eyes, certain her humiliation had seared off the tips of her ears. But mercifully, the man was smiling sheepishly as she reopened them.

He stuck out a hand. “Dr. Hunter—Eric. And you must be Dr. Scott, my new office mate.”

She returned his easy grip. “Karin. Look, I’m sorry. I had no right to startle you like that.”

Eric shook his head as she withdrew her hand. “No apology necessary. And I swear, I don’t make a habit of going through people’s desks. I just needed a—”

“Pen—I know. And really, I am sorry. Look, I had a rough night. It’s not an excuse, I know. But I’m sorry.”

He grinned as she dumped her briefcase on the desk. A friendly open grin that didn’t churn her stomach into a mass of quivering nerves.

Thank God.

She opened the briefcase and pulled out her basic office supplies, including the ghastly silver nameplate her mother had just engraved for her.

Eric nodded. “That’s right, you just got back from the Persian Gulf, didn’t you? Having trouble sleeping without a ship rocking beneath you, eh?”

She smiled. “Among other things.”

“So what are you doing here, anyway? I thought the new class didn’t start for another two weeks.”

“We don’t. You know how it is—just wanted to get in, catch up on a few medical journals, maybe nail down a detailed layout of the hospital while I’m at it.” She pulled a pen from the inner pocket of her briefcase and held it out.

Eric took it, slipping it into the breast pocket of his whites. “Thanks—I owe you. Hey, how ’bout joining me in the cafeteria for lunch? I’d take you someplace nicer, but I’m on call today—obstetrics. I’ll give you the grand tour afterward.” He was smiling again, a charming smile, in a safe friendly kind of way.

Not like TJ’s.

God, why did she have to compare every man to him?

She was about to accept, out of spite if nothing else, when the door opened.

“Perdóneme. I will come back.”

She stiffened. “TJ?”

It couldn’t be.

She spun around.

Stunned, she stared at the uniformed janitor standing in the doorway. It was TJ, all right. She wasn’t fooled by the way he’d pulled his hair into a low ponytail and capped it with that worn blue baseball hat. Nor was she fooled by the matching blue coveralls or the cart of cleaning supplies in the hall beyond.

Then it hit her. TJ was undercover.

And she’d blown it.

Or would have if he hadn’t covered quickly. He shook his head smoothly as he strolled forward. Her mouth was still gaping open as he reached for her hand. He tugged it toward him, his dark hooded gaze smoldering into hers as he bowed over her hand and grazed her flesh with his lips. “Believe me when I say, señorita, this TJ is a lucky man to know such beauty as you. But alas, I am not he, for I would remember meeting you. José Rodríguez at your service.” His breath feathered over her hand as he kissed it again.

A shiver of warmth stole up her arm and into her stomach, sparking a fire that threatened to consume her on the spot. She couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. Hell, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare into those dark bottomless eyes. Into that dark seductive soul.

TJ hadn’t dared to loose the full brunt of his charm on her since the afternoon of Jade’s wedding. It was a damn good thing, too. Because just like that, he snared her heart. Snared it, softened it and shaped it—sculpting it into something she didn’t want. Let alone want to have for him.

A cough, and suddenly the spell broke. The remaining pieces shattered as someone cleared his throat again.

Eric.

Oh, Lord, how could she have forgotten he was here?

Easy. TJ.

Dammit, he’d done it to her again, and she hated him for it. She clawed through her mind until she found the face from long ago. Her father’s face. She slapped it over TJ’s confident one. Amazing how the two could look so much alike. One might be dark and the other light. But they both used the same smooth overpowering charm to get what they wanted.

And they’d both used her.

She ripped her hand back, stabbing TJ with a glare as she shrugged. “Sorry. My mistake.” Still humiliated, she faced Eric.

Thankfully, he laughed. “Guess you weren’t kidding about not being able to sleep. You’re seeing things—or, rather, people.”

She was saved from a response when his beeper went off.

Eric tugged it off his belt and stared at the readout. “Damn. Sorry, Karin, it looks like we’ll have to take a rain check on that lunch date. My patient just shifted into hard labor, apparently without any relief from her epidural.”

“Yikes, you’d better go rethread her anesthesia line before the woman unthreads your esophagus.”

Eric chuckled. “You know it.” He nodded to TJ as he reached the door. “Hey, José, if you find any pens, leave ’em on my desk—and don’t touch the paperweight. The last guy broke my old one.”

TJ hunched his shoulders slightly as he tipped the bill of his cap. “Sí, señor.”

The second the door closed, he straightened.

“What the hell do you think—”

An iron hand clapped over her mouth, cutting off the rest of her tirade. She waited none too patiently as TJ quickly reopened the door and hauled the cleaning cart inside. He snapped the door shut and shoved the cart up against it, then flipped on the radio at the edge of Eric’s desk.

Soft rock filled the office.

She glared at his coveralls. “Nice cover, José.”

He folded his arms and shrugged.

She did her damnedest not to let her gaze linger at the rolled sleeves hugging his dusky biceps as she continued to scowl. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re doing in that outfit—and what you’re doing here?”

“Why am I here? Perhaps we should start at the beginning, no? Why are you here?”

“I work here, remember?”

“A good try, Cariño. But you yourself told me you did not start for two weeks. You came to confront him, no?”

“Doug? Of course not.”

A single dark brow rose.

She ignored it. “Look, all I did was stop by to drop off some stuff and check out a few medical journals. I’m way behind in my reading. I was out of the country for six months, you know.”

“This, I know. I also remember seeing a stack of journals on your kitchen counter last night.”

Damn. Busted again.

She shrugged. “So I’m missing a few. I like to read them in order.”

He shook his head, actually chuckling as he stared at her ears. “Cariño, if you intend on persisting with these lies, you may want to consider growing your curls again.”

Oooh, she really did not like this man.

So why did her heart have to start thumping erratically as he leaned back against Eric’s desk? And why did she have to notice the way the muscles of his chest strained against those blasted coveralls as he leaned over to pick up the crystal paperweight?

Undercover—ha! Suiting TJ Vásquez up like a janitor was tantamount to slapping a collar on a panther and passing it off as a newborn kitten. His arms flexed as he tossed the crystal globe in the air. He caught it neatly, then stared into it.

“This man, you know him?”

“Who? Eric?”

“Sí. Eric.”

“I met him two minutes before you walked in.”

He glanced up. She could have sworn he was startled. “And yet you date him?”

What the…? “No, I’m not dating him. I told you, I just met the man.”

“But you agreed to have lunch with him, no?”

“He asked, I accepted. Then he canceled. Are you finished with the third degree?”

“Why?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you accept?”

What the devil was he getting at? And why was he staring into that stupid crystal again as if it could divine the future of the world? “Because he offered.”

“I have…offered.”

That was what this was about?

Perversely, she smiled. “His was interesting.”

Liar.

TJ flipped the crystal into the air again, waiting until the last possible moment before catching it. His gaze narrowed as he studied the clear depths. “This lieutenant, have you considered he may be involved?”

“Because he asked me out? Thanks. That says a lot about your own invitation if you’re so sure he had to have an ulterior motive.” But she remembered Eric’s hands—in her desk. “Besides, I want to help. I need to. Not only that, someone obviously thought I could. If the note’s even real. Maybe if I get to know Eric and some of the other residents, something will click.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

TJ tossed the paperweight a final time before setting it back down on the desk. He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze dark and brooding as it met hers. “Cariño, I must ask you to stay away from the hospital for a few days. Take your vacation, visit your mother.”

She frowned. “My mother lives an hour away in La Jolla.”

“Visit her, anyway. You have been gone awhile. Or go to the beach, read your journals. Just stay away from here.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. Please.”

“No.”

He sighed.

“I mean it, TJ. If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to do better than that. Tell me what you’re holding back—and don’t tell me you’re not keeping something from me. What is it you said about the note last night? Oh, yes, ‘Most likely this means naught, but I will look into it.”’

At least he didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It was necessary.”

She stared at his coveralls. “Necessary to poke your nose in this deep or necessary to lie to me about it?”

“I did not lie.”

“Oh, no?” She jerked her chin toward the cleaning cart. “I suppose that’s your idea of looking into something discreetly?”

“The situation has changed.”

“That much is obvious or you wouldn’t be so damned anxious to get rid of me. What I want to know is how? Exactly how has the situation changed and what was it like to begin with?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then turned back. “Not here. Meet me later. We will speak then.”

Dammit, she knew he’d been holding out on her. And from the look in those deep-brown eyes, whatever he was holding on to was something big. It figured. Another he-man who just had to take care of the little lady—for her. Well she wasn’t bowing to it.

Not with him.

She shook her head firmly. “You’ll tell me now, or I’ll do what I should have done yesterday. I’ll— Oh, God. You told Dr. Manning, didn’t you?” She slumped onto the edge of her desk and closed her eyes, as she watched her short career flash before them. The coveralls, the cleaning cart. Suddenly it all made sense. “That’s why you’re here. Manning knows I found the note.”

“No.”

She opened her eyes.

TJ shook his head.

“But he does know you’re here, right?”

Again he shook his head.

“You mean to tell me, you came in here undercover and you didn’t even clear it with the head of anesthesiology? What did you find out about Doug?”

TJ tugged off his ball cap, staring at the bill as he curled it.

“Just tell me.”

Dread slid down her spine as he continued to study the cap. He finally sighed and looked up. “I do not know if this Señor Callahan is involved or not. Three days ago—well before you got your note—my office received a call from San Diego General. Two teenagers were brought into the emergency room just after midnight. They were dead when they arrived. Drug overdose.”

Oh, God.

Class twos are walking.

The dread reversed its track, snapping back up her spine and slamming into the base of her skull. She rubbed the resulting knot. “It was morphine, wasn’t it?”

“Fentanyl.”

“Fentanyl? But that’s…” She couldn’t even finish.

He nodded. “Much deadlier.”

“But…teenagers?”

Another nod.

She wrapped her arms about her chest, desperately trying to ward off the sudden chill swamping her. “You think it’s related to the note, don’t you? You think the fentanyl came from this hospital.”

“Perhaps. I do know it was surgical quality, definitely not street, because they still had the glass ampules on them, but the stock numbers were etched off. When you showed me the note, I had hoped to check around a bit more before I came in undercover. To be sure the ampules were from this hospital.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

But she knew.

His frown deepened, confirming her suspicions. “There was another overdose last night. 2:00 a.m. She was sixteen, perhaps seventeen. I cannot be certain because I have not yet been able to identify her.”

Karin bypassed her desk and slumped straight into her chair with a thud. “So young.”

“Sí.”

Sixteen years old.

A sophomore in high school.

She should be going on her first date, learning to drive a car, looking forward to college. She certainly shouldn’t be out at 2:00 a.m. on a school night, shooting up a drug that was seventy-five times more potent than morphine. The girl had to have suffocated within minutes. Where the hell had she gotten it?

“Doug.”

TJ hunkered down in front of her, reaching for her hands as she locked her fingers together and stared at them.

In a way, this was her fault. She should have nailed Doug Callahan’s ass to the wall last summer when she’d had the chance. But no, she’d kept her mouth shut. She’d been so damn worried about making waves for fear she’d lose her slot that she hadn’t even tried to turn him in—not to mention the fact that her stepfather would find out—that all she’d done was deny the charges. Without proof, it was Doug’s word against hers. When hers finally won out, no doubt aided by her stepfather’s reputation, Doug had even had the gall to call her up and warn her that someday he’d get even.

Well, it looked like someday was here.

She really should have gelded him when she’d had the chance. She glanced up as TJ squeezed her fingers. “If Doug is behind this, I want his head on a pike. You just tell me what I have to do to get it there.”

“Dine with me.”

“Excuse me?” Of all the requests she’d expected, that was not one of them. At the very least, she was sure he’d be telling her to leave town again.

“Sí, dinner. I want you to sit down with me tonight, go over the list of names I have. Doctors, residents, interns, nurses. As the USS Baddager’s doctor these past two years, you had to have consulted with some of them, no? I must learn as much as I can about each one. Information that will not be in their files, information you may have.”

She nodded. “Anything you want.”

“Good. Then after dinner, I would like you to pack your suitcase. I want you to visit your mother, Cariño, and leave the remainder of this case to me.”

She’d do anything, all right.

Anything but that.

He was late.

Karin kicked off her heels and stalked across the kitchen tiles in her stockings, stopping just short of the cordless phone on the wall. She glared at the chunk of silent plastic before wrenching her gaze back to the clock on the stove. No, TJ was worse than late.

He was dead—or he’d better be.

He’d stood her up.

Why she was even surprised, she didn’t know. But she was. Correction, at six-thirty, when he was still just half an hour overdue, she was surprised. Perhaps even a little worried. But now? At ten o’clock? She was beyond worried.

She was livid.

Karin ripped the refrigerator door open and stared inside. The bottle of wine she’d left to chill in the middle of the empty shelves taunted her. She slammed the door and turned back to the stove. Back to the clock. Back to that damned silent phone. Not only had the rat stood her up, he hadn’t even had the decency to call and let her know. As if he would.

They never did.

Not the smooth ones.

Oh, no. They just cruised in, hours late, flowers in hand with a new lie dripping from their lips. No doubt his would be a doozy. Probably twenty-five with long brown hair and legs even longer. Not that he’d phrase it quite like that. Lord knew TJ was experienced enough to couch it better. He’d have been running late, there’d been an accident, he’d stopped to help. Or maybe he’d been called out on a case. Hell, given his past, he probably had a hundred prime excuses stocked inside some corner of that philandering brain, each just waiting its turn.

Well, it didn’t matter.

By the time she was five years old, she’d heard them all.

She spun around and jerked the refrigerator door open again, this time reaching for the bottle of wine. But as she thunked it onto the counter and opened the drawer to grab the corkscrew, she froze as the enormity of her actions slammed into her.

What the hell was she doing?

She swung her gaze back to the bottle. To the goblet she hadn’t even realized she’d placed beside it. How many times had she seen her mother with a goblet and a bottle just like this one, on a kitchen counter just like this one? And how many times had she sworn that no man would make her do the same?

Disgusted, she slapped the corkscrew back into the nest of utensils and slammed the drawer home. She turned back to the oven and yanked the door open. Removing the still-warm containers of Luigi’s legendary take-out linguini, she dumped them into the trash compactor. Finally she added the unopened bottle of wine to the top. She was not recycling that bottle—because it was exactly where it belonged, along with any chance of ever dining with TJ Vásquez again.

In the garbage.

Then she turned on her heel and went to bed.

She was going to be angry.

TJ stood at Karin’s door, his motorcycle helmet resting gingerly in the crook of his left arm, the knuckles of his right hand poised, inches from knocking, as he acknowledged the truth. No matter how much he had tried to deny it on the ride over, he knew Karin was going to be angry.

And that was if she let him past the door.

He pulled his hand back. Perhaps this was not a good idea. Dios mío. He knew it was not. Unfortunately he needed to see her. Tonight. For several reasons. The least of which was the message she had failed to get.

Then there was the other.

He knocked.

As ten raps became twenty, he increased his force—and his worry. Where was she? Had she not left the hospital as he had asked this morning? Had she confronted Doug Callahan, instead, even though she had promised she would not?

He refused to believe she would be so foolish.

He chose to believe she was safe.

Sí. Most likely, she had grown tired of waiting for him to arrive and had packed as he had requested. At this very moment she was no doubt tucked between satin sheets at her mother’s home in La Jolla. He was about to pick her lock and make certain when he heard a noise from within. The scraping of a chain sliding across its track.

The door opened.

Karin’s beautiful face, heavy with sleep and heavier with anger, greeted him. “Good, you’re alive.”

The door slammed back in his face.

He waited a moment, then knocked again.

And again.

“Cariño, open the door.”

“I did. Now go away.” The words were muffled, but soft they were not.

He sighed and cursed as he shifted the helmet, growing heavier by the moment, to his right hand. “Five minutes, this is all I ask, sí?”

“No.”

“Cariño—”

“I said no. Now go away before I call the police.”

“I am the police.”

“Wrong. You’re DEA, and I’m smart enough to know the difference. Now leave.”

He stared at the door, then up and down the dimly lit hallway. “I will go—after we talk. Unless you would like me to knock loudly enough to wake your neighbors?”

“You wouldn’t.”

But he would.

And evidently she knew this. Because the door reopened. A crack. Her huge blue eyes filled the space.

“May I come in?”

“Don’t press your luck.”

“Five minutes, no more. I give you my word.”

Her gaze narrowed. “No, and you have five seconds.”

“Cariño—”

“It’s two in the morning, Agent Vásquez. You want five minutes, come back at nine.”

He sighed. If he had but five seconds, he had best get started. “I am sorry I missed dinner.”

“Apology accepted. Good night.”

Dios mio. She was furiosa. Definitely angry enough to slam the door in his face again. He wedged a boot into the narrow opening just in case.

“Get your foot out of my door.”

“Un momento, por favor.”

“Now.”

It was late and he was tired, or he would have caught the warning fire in her eyes—and heeded it. Certainly before she whipped the door open and slammed the heel of her palm into the pocket of his shoulder.

He stumbled back to absorb the blow, grunting at the shaft of pain that stabbed through his shoulder before slicing across his chest and down his arm. He was dimly aware of her answering gasp, and then she was standing before him, shoving his leather jacket aside and gasping again.

“Oh, my God, Tomás, what happened?”

He stared down at the spare T-shirt the paramedic had given him, at the scarlet stain seeping through the gauze beneath and rapidly spreading into the white—and groaned.

Madre de Dios.

He was going to do the one thing he had sworn he would not do. He was going to bleed on that damned white carpet.

Chapter 4

Karin snatched back every vile curse she’d leveled at TJ during the past eight hours as she waited on him yet again—this time for an answer. When he didn’t speak, she ripped the hem of his T-shirt from his black jeans, determined to get the answer herself. Unfortunately his hands closed over hers, stopping the shirt halfway up his chest.

“Cariño, I am fine. A minor knife wound, nothing more. I was on my way to the hospital, but first stopped to—”

“Knife?” She swallowed the surge of fear that followed, or thought she had, until his free hand came up to cup her cheek.

“A graze, I swear.”

She jerked her chin from his palm and tugged his shirt the rest of the way up. Graze, her ass. That gauze swathed around his chest was damn near soaked with blood—inches from his heart. “Inside.”

“But—”

“Now.” This time she didn’t leave room for argument as she wrapped her fingers around his good arm and hauled him into the apartment. She slammed the door behind them and threw the chain home. “Don’t bother stopping at the couch, either. Head back to my bedroom—past the kitchen on your right. Take off your shirt and lie down while I grab my bag.”

She didn’t wait for another argument, but sprinted across the apartment, instead. Along with her bedroom, her study was the only other room that had escaped her mother’s redecorating wrath. That meant she might actually be able to find her doctor’s bag without tearing the room upside down. A rifled desk, rummaged closet and storage chest later, she wasn’t so certain.

Calm down, dammit.

She was a doctor, for goodness’ sake.

Surely she could find one simple suture kit and use it to stitch up one Latin lothario, without that same lothario realizing she’d spent half the night sitting up in bed worrying about him. She hit the closet again and made another pass through the clutter. Where was it?

There.

Five seconds later, her black bag firmly in hand, she was back in the living room. Unfortunately so was TJ. The man hadn’t moved a blasted inch toward her bedroom, and he was still holding that damned helmet.

Oh, Lord, he wasn’t going to faint, was he?

She wasn’t taking any chances.

Karin grabbed the helmet and dumped it on the breakfast bar, easing out a sigh as she studied his face. His pupils looked good—not fixed and dilated. Other than exhaustion, he seemed okay. “Aren’t you supposed to be lying in my bed?”

Nope, those pupils were definitely not fixed. If anything, they were flaring. “Cariño, I—”

“—said move. And I meant it.” She planted her hands in the muscles of his back and nudged him through the open bedroom door. This time he complied without argument. What the hell—she pressed her luck and tacked on another order. “Strip.”

Leaving him to the task, she quickly skirted the rumpled bed and dumped her bag on the nightstand before clicking the reading lamp to high. That done, she started in on the covers, glancing up as she peeled the floral sheets down to the brass spindles that made up the footboard—and groaned.

TJ was still standing just inside the doorway, still staring into the room, or rather at the room. He was also showing signs of shock now, or rather surprise.

Okay, so she was a slob.

Sheesh. It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting company. At least not in here. Besides, if the man was looking for a sterile environment, he should have headed for the emergency room. Come to think of it, why hadn’t he?

Unless the cut was so severe, he hadn’t had the time.

She rounded the bed. “Tomás, will you please hurry? You’ll need a transfusion at this rate.”

He came out of his stupor, suppressing a grimace as she helped him shrug off his leather jacket. She tossed the jacket over the stack of clothes on the chair that had made it off the ship but not quite into her closet, then helped him ease off the still-mostly-white T-shirt. And promptly wished she could say the same for the gauze.

She nudged TJ down into a sitting position on the bed and sucked in her breath as she bent to unwind the saturated strips. Whoever had wrapped him had done a damned good job, leading her to believe the person knew something about medicine. But as soon as she was down to bare seeping flesh, she cursed the person a thousand times, because he never should have let TJ leave without stitches.

“What happened?”

“I told you, I was cut.”

That much she could tell by the four-inch slice riding his left pectoral. This was no graze. It was, however, superficial. The muscle beneath his skin was firmly intact. All he would need were stitches and those she could do here. She sent up another round of thanks and pressed a wad of the clean gauze over the laceration. “Who cut you?”

“You want his real name or his street name?”

“Are you telling me you got this during a drug bust?”

Several strands of dark hair slipped past his shoulders as he nodded, shadowing the side of his face. She ignored the urge to brush them back, squelching the spurt of disappointment when he did it himself. “I tried to tell you at the door. The agent I filled in for had a major heroin buy lined up for tonight. Joaquín was our point of contact. Unfortunately he fell ill. My friend tried a new seafood restaurant on the Embarcadero last night and received food poisoning for his patronage. We were fortunate, though, for while Joaquín came by referral through one of his informers, he had not yet met the dealer face-to-face. And since we resemble each other well enough…” He shrugged.

The silence that followed told her that was all the explanation she was going to get. She wasn’t even annoyed. Because he hadn’t stood her up. But he could have called.

His thumb scorched the curve of her jaw as he tipped her face down slightly and captured her gaze. “My message telling you this, you did not receive it?”

“No.”

“From your reception, I thought not.” His frown deepened. “But surely you did not believe I forgot?”

She glanced past that probing gaze—and the hurt lurking within. Unfortunately she had a feeling the heat searing the tips of her ears had given her away, anyway.

“You did.” A sigh. One honed so deeply by disappointment it cut straight through her. “Cariño.”

She ignored the gentle rebuke, focusing on the wad of gauze until she was mesmerized by the heady contrast of her own light skin pressing into his dark.

Don’t let him get to you. Stay cool.

But her body betrayed her. First her fingers trembled, then her entire hand. She stared at it in shock. That hadn’t happened since med school, and then only out of nerves. To make matters worse, she was suddenly, acutely, aware of his musk. Subtle and seductive. Her panic must have masked it when he’d arrived, but it was definitely there now. His scent drifted dangerously close and then it was swirling into her lungs, up to her head, edging out every other thought in her brain.

Good Lord, why TJ?

Eight hundred men on her last ship, and not one of them had ever affected her like this man could.

Focus. Check the bleeding. See if it’s slowed.

Then stitch this damned dusky chest back together and kick its owner out of your apartment. Out of your life.

She started to.

She did manage to lift the gauze, was relieved to see the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, was even about to round the bed again and grab her bag, when he stopped her. Before she realized what had happened, TJ had trapped both her hands in his, her bare thighs between his denim-clad ones, and he held her. Just held her. Well, he couldn’t make her look.

She wouldn’t let him. If she did, she’d be lost.

Since the day Reese and Jade had married, she’d known that standing this close to this man’s dark eyes and sensual lips would be her downfall—and that was before she’d had his naked chest to contend with. She was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, the desire.

She was not going to look.

“Karin?”

Dammit, she looked—and she was lost.

Somehow she’d known Tomás would kiss like this. He wasn’t even touching her. Not with his mouth, anyway. But he was kissing her. With his eyes. He stared at her lips, searing them with that smoldering gaze, sliding the fire slowly across, then over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. She could feel his eyes igniting the pulse at the base of her neck until it throbbed. Until she throbbed.

But still, he didn’t move.

He refused to douse the inferno he’d just lit. Six bloody inches of air between them, and he just stared.

Burning. Searing.

“Tomás?” Her voice was hoarse, clipped, and to her utter humiliation, there was no mistaking her own desire.

“Shhh.”

He released her hands and brought his fingers to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. He drew her face down slowly, so smoothly she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. Until his mouth grazed hers—and she exhaled softly. He caught the puff between his lips and she swore she felt him smile as he gave it right back, wrapped in his slow deep sigh.

The tip of his tongue followed closely behind.

Just barely enough to drive her insane as he traced first her bottom lip, then the top. Then again…and again. Slowly, lightly, steadily, until her lips were damp and hungry. Until she was hungry. And not just for this light caress of flesh, this whisper of heat. She wanted more.

She wanted him.

The realization slammed into her like an ambulance screaming down the freeway at full code. She jerked her head back and stared into his smoldering gaze.

What the hell was she doing?

How could she stand here and kiss this man? This was the same man who’d admitted to his own blasted reputation. Hell, even his best friend had confirmed it before he’d clammed up and told her to discuss it with TJ himself.

Why should she?

In addition to his reputation, TJ had proven himself a liar as well—and that, she’d seen on her own.

The reception.

She tore her mind from the memory and fused it to the gaping laceration on his chest. At least the bleeding hadn’t worsened.

“Cariño?”

She took a deep breath and dragged her gaze up, only to stare into the one emotion she never thought she’d see in this man’s eyes. Uncertainty.

Stick with what works.

She took another breath. “Karin. Sorry, Agent Vásquez, this time, you’ve been busted. I just heard you say it right.” She pinned a brisk professional smile to her lips and nudged him down until he was lying on the bed. “Now, unless you plan on waking up the thoracic surgeon in apartment 506, you’d better get comfortable—and find something to hold on to, because this is going to hurt.”

Hurt?

TJ stared at the cool smile that did not quite reach Karin’s eyes. He clenched his fists and locked them to his sides to keep from reaching out and dragging her back as she rounded the bed to retrieve her supplies. Hurt? This lady did not know the meaning of the word. If she thought a couple of needle pricks could hurt him, she was wrong. This puny scratch did not hurt.

Not like that distant smile.

But that smile would be cutting much deeper if he had not just discovered what was behind it. He had thought his past had finally rendered her immune to him. But he now knew differently. Her facade was just that—una ilusión. Smoke. Somewhere over the past two days he had begun to suspect it. But that kiss had just convinced him.

That kiss.

No. Now was not the time to dwell on that.

Nor was now the time to touch those glorious sleep-tousled curls. It had taken nearly every restraint he possessed to resist digging his fingers into that mass of spun gold. And then it had taken every one of the rest not to tug the straps of that slip of blue silk right off her soft shoulders and down her hips.

He ripped his gaze from that same silk as the fabric skirted the upper reaches of her thighs and fused his stare to her busy hands. If she caught him looking, she would no doubt realize precisely what she was wearing—or rather, what she was not—and then, stitches or no, he could guarantee she would stop her ministrations long enough to find a robe to cover those enchanting curves.

Though how she would find a robe, he knew not.

He swept his gaze about the room as she squirted something cold and clear into his wound, only to soak it up again. He was not sure which surprised him more—the absolute mess surrounding them or the color.

The room was exploding with it.

Pink, green, yellow. From the flowers on her bedcovers to the brass bed and the light-blue walls, somehow she had managed to incorporate every shade of the rainbow. It did not make sense. Indeed, compared to the winter wonderland of the rest of the apartment, this was most baffling. When had this woman decided to suck the color from her life?

And why?

Because it had happened in that order. He had finally placed the faint odor still lingering in her living room.

Paint.

“Tomás?”

He returned his attention to her. He was fairly certain she had not realized she had used his given name again. Though oddly enough, on her lips the cursed name did not carry its customary sting. Progress on all fronts.

He smiled. “¿Sí?”

“This may hurt.”

He flicked his gaze to the needle and syringe she was holding and nodded. “Begin.”

She bit down on her bottom lip and bent her head. Several pricks later her gaze returned to his and she eased out her breath. “Okay?”

He nodded again.

“Good.” She smiled softly and this time it reached her eyes, beautiful blue eyes that were still tinged with concern.

Most definite progress.

“I just need to give the lidocaine a chance to numb the skin, and then I can start.” She placed the empty syringe on the nightstand and reached into her bag again, this time removing a suture kit not unlike the one the paramedic had waved beneath his nose as the man yelled at him. The paramedic had ceased arguing once TJ had sworn he would stop by the hospital and see a doctor.

True, he had not made it to the hospital. But he was seeing a doctor, was he not? A competent and stunningly beautiful doctor at that. As Karin readied the supplies, he caught her glance stealing across his chest—and the softening in her gaze.

His breath stopped. She wanted him still.

Why, then, had they returned to this distant dance?

And why had she started it?

Not that first time at his home, but the second. Why had she accepted his invitation to dinner at the wedding only to reject it—and him—once and for all at the reception? The question had driven him nearly insane these past six months. And now he would finally get his answer. All he needed to do was bide his time until she was well and truly distracted. He settled back to do just that.

He waited as she took the first stitch in silence, and then the second. The third and the fourth followed. Still he waited. Again and again, stitch after stitch. Until finally she was three-quarters of the way through sealing his cut, and then—

“Why did you change your mind?”

She froze, for perhaps no more than a second. And then she resumed her stitching. She did not glance up as she tied that stitch and started in on the next, but neither did she ignore him. Nor did she pretend ignorance.

“The wedding.”

Somehow he managed not to flinch at the sudden, but not thoroughly unexpected, fist of chill that gripped his heart.

Surely she did not mean—

No.

Had he not already considered this? And many times. He had even thought to ask. But why? It was never wise to borrow more trouble than one already owned. And given his past, he owned more than enough with this woman. Besides, Consuela had cornered him in the unlikeliest of places. Nor had Karin behaved differently following his escape and return to the wedding dinner. True, he and Karin had been seated on opposite sides of the bride and groom, but he had most definitely been watching. Waiting. Praying.

Nothing.

She had even agreed to dance with him after the meal.

But she had been reluctant, had she not?

Again, the fist of dread.

Best he tread carefully. He cleared his throat. “The wedding?”

A sigh rife with exasperation filled the room as she tied off her stitch and moved on to yet another. “Yes, the wedding. Surely you haven’t forgotten your date so quickly?”

“My date?” Carajó, this did concern Consuela.

Another cold fist.

And another stitch. But no words.

Yet another prayer as he prompted her again. “Did my cousin say something to offend?” Please to God, let this be all it was.

A long pause as Karin took the next two stitches and tied them off. Through both, she still refused to raise her head and meet his gaze. And then a sigh. Heavy. Rife with pain, with certainty. “Your cousin didn’t have to say anything.”

Madre de Dios, she had seen them.

Worse, she had taken the sight, unexplained, aboard her ship and on to her deployment. For six months.

He reached for her cheek. “Cariño, I am sorry you saw. But you must know I did not kiss Consuela. It was she who—” He closed his hand as she jerked from his touch.

At least her gaze had found his.

Unfortunately fire had consumed the blue. “Hogwash. I was there. So was the champagne, but you weren’t. Silly me, I assumed you’d gone to squirt shaving cream on the car, or whatever it is best men do, so I slipped out of the reception hall to warn you that it was time for the toasts. But you weren’t in the parking lot, either. Or back at the church. And when I saw the door to the minister’s office ajar…”

Her brows lifted sharply.

The fire had cooled. But the hurt that replaced it burned him regardless. More painfully than the knife he had taken to his chest an hour before. “Querida, I swear to you—”

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