Blackmail meets desire in this tale of secrets and revenge out West!

When Fiona Sanders is held at gunpoint at her convenience store job, Houston officer Nate Gallagher doesn’t hesitate to act the hero. But within days she’s targeted again and Nate knows the crimes aren’t random. His only option: keep the vulnerable beauty safe while they search for the culprits.

Having lost her own father in the line of duty, Fiona refuses to fall for a cop—no matter how much the drop-dead gorgeous, self-appointed bodyguard tugs at her heartstrings. But as the enemy closes in and the truth about the attacks is revealed, Fiona must learn to trust Nate…or face history repeating itself.

Fiona looked up at Nate, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“I will never forget you, or what you did for me tonight. But I suspect it’s just the latest in a long line of amazing things you’ve done. Not many people would have stepped forward like that, but you did. You’re a hero.”

Nate felt his face heat and knew he must be as red as the sirens flashing on the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. “I’m not a hero.”

The corner of Fiona’s mouth quirked up while she studied him. “The fact that you’re denying it just makes you even more heroic.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to look away. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he’d simply reacted—she was in danger, and he’d stepped forward, wanting only to protect her. That wasn’t heroic; it was instinctive, pure and simple. Heroes recognized danger and stepped forward in spite of it.

He hadn’t stopped to consider the danger, but had rushed right in, his only thought to keep Fiona safe.

Dear Reader,

Most people think of the holidays as a time to spend with friends and family, celebrating traditions and making happy memories. It can be a very joyous time, something to look forward to all year long. But for those people who don’t have families or friends, the holidays can be very isolating and lonely, something to dread rather than anticipate.

That’s the case for Nate and Fiona. They’re both lonely—Fiona by circumstance, and Nate by choice. Neither one of them sees the holidays as something to get excited about, especially when Fiona’s life is threatened. But as they deal with the mysterious dangers surrounding Fiona, they both come to realize that there’s more to life than work, and sometimes, you really can have it all—a family (complete with a pampered cat), friends and a fulfilling job. And don’t forget the Christmas tree!

I hope you enjoy Nate and Fiona’s story. As always, thanks for reading!

Lara

Killer

Season

Lara Lacombe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LARA LACOMBE earned a PhD in microbiology and immunology and worked in several labs across the country before moving into the classroom. Her day job as a college science professor gives her time to pursue her other love—writing fast-paced romantic suspense with smart, nerdy heroines and dangerously attractive heroes. She loves to hear from readers! Find her on the web or contact her at laralacombewriter@gmail.com.

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This one is for Meredith.

Welcome to the family!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Nate Gallagher leaned forward with a sigh, squinting to peer through the foggy glass of the refrigerated case in search of caffeine. It was late, and he still had a few hours to go before he could sleep.

He opened the door, reached in and pulled out a bottle, reading the label with some suspicion. All day energy! it proclaimed, the neon-green letters garishly bright against the black background. Might as well try it, he decided, tucking the bottle under his arm. He didn’t think he could gag down any more coffee—he’d drunk so much of the stuff over the past week, he was in real danger of turning into a coffee bean.

He glanced at the register as he made his way over to the hot-food station. Fiona, the night-shift clerk, had given him the usual smile and wave when he’d walked in, but now she had her nose stuck in a textbook. Every time he came in here, it seemed she was always studying.

“Sociology,” she’d replied with a smile, after he had asked her about it one night. “I’m in the master’s degree program at the University of Houston. I want to go into education after I graduate.”

Nate didn’t know much about sociology, but she looked like his fantasy version of a professor, with her sleek auburn hair, wide brown eyes and generous mouth. He could picture her in a tight-fitting business suit that hugged her curves, standing in front of a classroom wearing sky-high heels. Even her usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt made him take notice, and there had been many times he’d wanted to pull her against him, press those amazing curves against his chest and bury his nose in her hair. He wasn’t sure what she smelled like—he’d never gotten that close—but he’d passed many pleasant moments daydreaming about it. Warm vanilla. Roses. Clean citrus. He didn’t really have a preference, but he hoped to find out, one way or another.

Not for the first time, he wondered about her story. She had to be smart to be in graduate school. But why was she working here? It wasn’t the most intellectually demanding job, and it couldn’t pay very well. There had to be some other reason why she’d taken the job.

He hoped she was due to graduate soon—the graveyard shift at a convenience store was no place for a woman like her. Although he tried to come by a few times a week, he’d be relieved when she completed her degree and would have to quit. Part of him would miss seeing her, but it would be one less worry on his mind.

He stopped at the display of hot foods, surveying his choices with a growing sense of resignation. Nachos or a hot dog? Neither option was particularly appealing, but he had to eat something. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and his stomach was threatening to quit if he didn’t eat soon.

Nate fumbled with the tongs as he attempted to fish a hot dog out of the warmer, trying to pick one that didn’t look quite so desiccated. He’d suffer through this junk tonight, but tomorrow he was going to try to start eating better. He experienced a momentary pang of longing for his mother’s home cooking, but she was so angry with him for missing Thanksgiving that she was more likely to smack him with a pan than fix him something to eat.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be away from his family, but being a detective meant he had to make certain sacrifices, choices that weren’t always popular. His dad seemed to understand that, but his mother? She took it as a personal affront every time he missed a family gathering. Because a big city like Houston had its fair share of crime, he wound up missing more family events than he attended.

“Again?” she’d said, when he’d called last week to tell her he couldn’t make it for Thanksgiving. “What have we done, that you would choose your work over your family? That’s not how I raised you. Never mind. Stay there and work. That’s fine.”

Nate wasn’t stupid. He knew that when she said “fine” in a tone of voice that made it sound like she was talking around a mouthful of soap, things were anything but.

Still, he never argued with her. It wouldn’t do any good. She would never understand his job, and, truth be told, he didn’t want her to. Bad enough he had to live with the images of the dead, the murder victims who haunted his dreams and drove him to keep working, keep searching, trying to find their killers and bring them to justice. Humans were capable of so many atrocities, and he hoped his family never had to see that ugly side of life.

He squirted ketchup onto the stale, dry bun with a mental sigh, deliberately pushing thoughts of his mother and his job out of his mind. He was already exhausted, and thinking about her lectures did nothing for his mood. Hopefully, she would wait to scold him in private at Christmas, so his sister, Molly, wouldn’t have to hear it. She didn’t like it when they argued—she had Down syndrome and was very sensitive about picking up emotions.

The thought of Molly made him smile. Twenty-one yellow roses would arrive at the house tomorrow, part of his birthday gift to her. They were her favorite flower, and he was unabashedly proud of himself for having thought to send them. Normally, he made a quick phone call between bouts of paperwork, but her twenty-first birthday was a milestone, something to celebrate. The special gesture had cost him a pretty penny, but she was worth it. And hopefully the flowers would help ease the sting of his absence at the Thanksgiving table. He knew she missed him and didn’t always understand why he couldn’t be there. But, unlike their mother, at least she didn’t punish him for it.

Wiping stray ketchup from his fingers, Nate picked up his dinner and drink, then turned to head over to the register. As he rounded the corner, he clipped the edge of the counter, and the bottle, slick with condensation, slid from his fingers. It hit the tile with a dull thud and skittered across the floor, coming to rest under a display of potato chips.

“Damn,” he muttered. He debated leaving the bottle where it was and grabbing another, but a quick glance at the front counter changed his mind. If he left it, Fiona would have to pick it up before going home, and he didn’t want her to have to crawl around on the dirty floor to fish it out from under the metal rack. He carefully set the hot dog on the food counter, crossing his fingers that it wouldn’t tip over off the wrapper. He’d seen some pretty nasty things in his line of work, but he refused to eat food that had come into contact with the convenience store counter.

Resigned to his fate, he dropped to his knees and bent over, peering under the display in search of the wayward bottle.

* * *

Fiona heard the telltale thud of a plastic bottle hitting the floor and looked up with a wince. From the sound of things, Hot Guy was going to need a new drink, if he didn’t want to wind up wearing his soda. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, though, she thought. I could help him clean up. She indulged in a brief fantasy of wiping the sticky liquid off his stubbled cheeks, those impossibly broad shoulders and his flat stomach. Touching the customers wasn’t exactly in her job description but, for him, she’d make an exception.

He’d been coming in a few times a week for the past several months. Never at the same time of night, but regularly enough that she’d begun to expect him and even look forward to his visits. She had no idea what he did for a living, but he always looked tired, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But despite the dark circles under his eyes and what seemed to be a permanent five-o’clock shadow, he was a handsome man. His deep green eyes seemed to take in everything at once, and even though he rarely met her gaze directly, she had the feeling he always knew where she was and what she was doing.

Being around him made her nervous. Not in a weird or uncomfortable way—it’s just that he was almost too handsome to be real. She couldn’t help staring when he was in the store, watching the way he moved with a subconscious grace up and down the aisles. She’d perfected the art of spying on him while appearing to study her textbook. He’d asked her about it once, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through her and making her toes curl. She’d stammered out a reply. He’d given her a smile and a nod, and he hadn’t spoken to her since.

Maybe I can get him to talk again tonight. She stuck a stray bit of paper in the book to hold her place, then hopped off the stool. As the only employee on duty, she should offer to help him retrieve his bottle. Although she mopped the floor every night, it was still wrong to make a customer crawl around on it.

She rounded the corner and froze, sucking in a breath at the sight that greeted her. Hot Guy was on all fours, his perfect butt in the air while he dug underneath the chip display. She felt her cheeks heat and knew she should look away, but she couldn’t stop staring. Are those custom-made jeans? They had to be, the way they molded to him and fit like a second skin. His shirt rode up on his back, revealing a thin stripe of golden skin and a hint of fabric. Boxers or briefs? she mused.

She cocked her head to the side, enjoying the view with a silent sigh of appreciation. She really should help him, but seeing as he was already on the ground, there was no sense in both of them getting dirty. Better for her to stand here and...supervise. Yeah, that’s what she was doing. She wasn’t gawking like a sex-starved woman. She was supervising.

The door chimed, announcing the arrival of another customer, and she reluctantly turned away to head back to the register. At least she’d have the memory of this moment to keep her warm at night.

She rounded the corner, stopping short as a young man came barreling down the center aisle. He was tall and lean, his hands stuck deep into the front pockets of the jacket he wore with the hood pulled up. She frowned slightly, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. It was chilly in Houston, but this man looked wrong somehow, as if he wore the jacket to conceal himself rather than to stay warm.

Before she could make sense of his odd dress, he caught sight of her standing there. In one fluid motion, he drew his hand from his pocket, pulling out a gun and pointing it at her chest. “Money. Now.”

Fiona stared at the gun, unable to take her eyes from the black, snub-nosed piece. It’s so small, she thought stupidly. How can something so small be so dangerous?

“You deaf?” he asked, grabbing her arm and jerking her forward. “I said I want money.” He shoved her toward the register, and she hit the counter hard enough to make her wince, the pain from the blow piercing through the fog of shock. “Give it to me.”

Back when she had started this job, Ben, the owner, had given her some training on what to do if the store was ever held up. She was supposed to cooperate, offer no resistance, and do everything she could to get the robber out of the store without hurting anyone. If possible, she was to hit the silent-alarm button, which would alert the police that a robbery was in progress. Fiona had listened dutifully, filled with naive confidence that such a thing would never happen to her. But now that she was faced with the reality, her hands shook so badly she could barely open the register, much less find and press the alarm button.

“Faster,” he said, leaning over the counter to monitor her progress as she emptied out the register with numb fingers. He swayed back and forth on his feet, his bloodshot eyes frequently cutting over to the door. Fiona didn’t know whether to hope for an interruption, or pray no one else came in and spooked him enough to shoot her.

His breath wafted over her, the stench of stale beer so strong she almost gagged. She stuffed the rest of the bills into a plastic bag and thrust it across the counter, trying hard not to look at his face. If he thought she couldn’t identify him, maybe he wouldn’t hurt her...

When he didn’t take the bag right away, she glanced up to find him looking at the door again. Was there someone outside? She couldn’t see the sidewalk from this angle, but he was staring so fixedly that something must have caught his attention.

She kept her eyes on him, trying to control her breathing as she fumbled with one hand under the counter. Where was that damn button? Her fingers skimmed across the flat surface, searching vainly for the alarm. When she finally found it, she bit her lip to keep from crying out in relief. She pressed it with a quick stab of her finger, then brought her hand back up so he wouldn’t see what she’d done.

The man swiveled his head back around and eyed the bag greedily. His fingertips brushed across her skin as he grabbed it, making her shudder. She wiped her hand on her shirt to erase his touch as he placed the bag on the counter and opened it, keeping the gun trained on her while he checked the contents. After a few seconds, he raised angry eyes to her face, thrusting the gun forward with a jerk of his arm. “Where’s the rest?”

She shook her head. “There is no more,” she stammered, taking a step back when he leaned over the counter, peering into the empty register. A movement behind him caught her eye, and when she looked up her heart skipped a beat.

Hot Guy was slowly creeping toward the counter, a gun in his hand and his finger on his lips.

Chapter 2

She was calm, he’d give her that. Most people didn’t respond well to a gun shoved in their face, but Fiona was handling things like a pro.

He moved quietly across the floor, stepping lightly to keep the heels of his boots from clacking on the tile. The last thing he needed was to alert the perp to his presence.

The man was growing increasingly agitated, yelling and waving the gun in Fiona’s face. Probably high, if his twitchy, jerky movements were any indication. There was no telling how much money had been in the register, but if he thought Fiona was holding out on him, he was likely to get violent.

As if on cue, the man reached across the counter and grabbed Fiona’s arm, jerking her off her feet with a rough tug. He pressed the gun against her temple as he dragged her across the counter. She kicked wildly, sending the lottery ticket display crashing to the floor.

“Where’s the rest?” the man screamed, yanking her upright before slamming her back against the counter.

She whimpered, the sound soft and helpless. Nate felt his finger tighten on the trigger, but he couldn’t risk shooting the guy when he was on top of Fiona—the bullet might pass through him and hit her.

“Please,” she begged, trying in vain to twist away. “There’s no more. I swear.”

“You’re lying!” He slammed her against the counter while he screamed in her face. “Where’s the rest of the money?”

This guy was hanging on by a very thin thread, and if Nate didn’t act soon, the punk was going to kill Fiona. The thought made his gut tighten as he moved closer, searching for an opening. No way was he going to let her die in this crappy little store. He stepped to the side, trying to find a better angle for his shot.

Fiona caught the movement, and her eyes widened as he approached. “No,” she said, keeping her gaze locked with his while she spoke. “Please don’t.”

Warmth spread through his chest at her brave attempt to protect him. Despite being in very real danger, she didn’t want him to get involved, clearly thinking he would only get himself hurt. His estimation of her climbed even higher, and he nodded, trying to silently reassure her while he crept closer.

The perp stepped back, pulling Fiona as he moved. He came dangerously close to bumping into Nate, but he shifted just in time. He turned and pushed Fiona forward, but before she took a step, he saw Nate. With a cry of alarm, he yanked Fiona back against his chest, bringing the gun up to press against her head.

“Drop it,” the robber demanded, his voice high and strained. “Drop it or I’ll shoot her.”

Nate kept his gun up, knowing that if he lowered it, Fiona was as good as dead.

“I’m a police officer,” Nate said, striving to keep his voice calm. The last thing he wanted was to antagonize the guy further. “Put down your weapon and let the woman go.”

The man’s wide eyes scanned the empty convenience store as he took a step back, careful to keep Fiona in front of him while he moved. “You drop your gun first,” he hedged.

Nate shook his head. “You know I can’t do that,” he said. “No one has to get hurt here. Just put down your gun and we can talk.”

“I’ll shoot her,” the man warned, his finger sliding dangerously close to the trigger. “Don’t make me do this.”

Nate saw the desperation in the other man’s eyes, recognized that he was close to the breaking point. Even though all his training screamed against lowering his gun, he couldn’t count on the perp to remain in control. Better to break a few rules than to risk watching Fiona die in front of him...

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, slowly lowering his hand until the gun pointed at the floor. The man’s eyes followed the movement, his body relaxing some as the worst of the danger passed. “Let’s just talk,” Nate offered, hoping to distract the man enough that he would lower his own weapon.

“I don’t want to talk,” said the man, vigorously shaking his head like a dog sloughing off water.

“That’s okay,” Nate replied, careful to keep his voice friendly. “I’ll talk, and you just listen. Sound good?”

After a slight hesitation, the man nodded uneasily. It was a start.

“I’m Nate. What’s your name?”

The man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide whether he should part with this information. “Joey,” he finally muttered.

“Joey,” Nate repeated, nodding his head. “That’s a good name. A good name for a good guy, I’m sure.”

Joey huffed out a laugh. “You think I’m dumb? I’m not a good guy, man. Don’t you see what I’m doing here?”

Nate tilted his head, pretending to consider the other man’s words. “The thing is, Joey, I don’t think you really want to be doing this. I think you got yourself in some kind of trouble, and you need the money to buy your way out. I know you don’t want to hurt this lady here.” He cut his gaze to Fiona, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. She was holding herself so still she could be mistaken for a statue, and her impossibly pale face only heightened the resemblance. He wanted to give her a wink of reassurance, but to do so would only inflame Joey, a risk that wasn’t worth taking.

“If she gets hurt, it’s on you. It’s ’cuz you made me do it.” A note of desperation rang in Joey’s voice. He was clearly in over his head. He began to inch back toward the entrance, obviously wanting to leave.

A movement in the parking lot caught Nate’s eye, and he looked beyond Joey and Fiona to see a squad car braking just outside the store. Thank God, they hadn’t come in with sirens blazing...

“Okay,” Nate said, taking a half step forward. He held up his free hand, trying to appear nonthreatening. “Let’s not talk about people getting hurt. As far as I’m concerned, no one has to get hurt tonight,” he continued, deliberately trying to draw Joey’s attention so the other man wouldn’t realize that backup had arrived. Keep him distracted, keep him facing forward.

“You need to put your gun down,” Joey insisted, his eyes glued to the weapon at Nate’s side. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck.

Nate nodded. “Okay. I can do that. But you have to promise not to hurt this nice lady here.” When Joey didn’t respond, Nate offered a weak smile that the other man didn’t return. “You know I’m a cop. I can’t part with my gun unless I know you’re no longer a threat.”

The two officers who had crept into the store paused at this statement, glanced at each other, then nodded. He was out of the line of fire, at least for the moment.

“Put it down,” Joey ordered. He tightened his grip on Fiona, causing her to let out a distressed squeak.

Nate nodded again, remembering from his days in the academy that positive feedback was important in a hostage situation. Keep the hostage taker balanced, always say yes, don’t talk about death. The main idea was to avoid antagonizing the hostage taker, in the hope that lives would be saved.

“Okay. I’m going to set it down on the counter. How does that sound?” Nate slowly moved forward while he spoke, causing Joey to move incrementally backward. With every step, Nate was herding them right into the arms of the waiting officers, and the poor guy didn’t even know it.

Fortunately, the cops seemed to have caught on. They maintained their position, weapons pointed at Joey, while they silently waited. He prayed they had turned off their radios before entering the store—the last thing he needed was for a call to come through and alert Joey to the fact that they were no longer alone.

Nate placed the gun on the counter and reached out to Fiona. “Okay, Joey. I put down my gun like you asked. Now you give me the girl.”

The other man hesitated, so Nate applied a little more pressure. “It’s only fair,” he said, maintaining his forward motion. “I gave up my weapon. You have the money. Let her go and you can leave.”

His fingertips grazed Fiona’s arm. It was nothing more than a brush of skin against skin, but he wanted to roar with satisfaction. Close, so close.

Joey loosened his grip on Fiona. Hardly daring to breathe, Nate eased his hand around her arm and gently tugged.

“Just let her go,” he whispered. “You don’t want to take her with you.”

Joey gave a jerky nod, then released Fiona with a little shove. In one swift motion, Nate pulled her against him and pivoted to the side, throwing them to the floor between the shelves of the main aisle. He covered her with his body, his whole focus on protecting her while all hell broke loose above them.

* * *

She couldn’t breathe.

Hot Guy was a solid weight on top of her, pinning her to the floor and blocking her view. Not that she wanted to see, anyway. What she could hear was bad enough.

Male voices shouting, the “pop” of what could only be a gunshot, then a high, pain-filled scream that made the fillings in her teeth ache. Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona pressed her head against Hot Guy’s shoulder, trying in vain to block out the horrible wails now coming from somewhere nearby.

It was all too much to process, especially when she had no idea what was going on. She was still adjusting to the fact that she no longer had a gun pressed to her temple. She wanted to reach up to touch the still-tingling spot, to rub away the chill of the metal that lingered on her skin, but her hands were trapped against her stomach.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was deep and soft, for her ears only. It rumbled from his chest and into hers, a strangely intimate sensation that only added to her discomfiture.

She nodded automatically, not trusting her voice, not knowing what to say. She’d just had a gun held to her head—she couldn’t think right now, much less determine if she was fine.

He pulled back to study her face, his green eyes taking in every detail. She fought the urge to squirm, unused to such scrutiny, especially at such close range.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He reached up to trace a finger over her temple, right where the gun had pressed into her skin. Fiona caught her breath at the gentle stroke, goose bumps popping out along her arms in the wake of his contact.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She winced and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too emotional. She wasn’t going to fall apart just because some thug had held her hostage for a few minutes. She didn’t have time—she had to proctor final exams for her adviser’s classes soon, and a nervous breakdown was not in her schedule.

But, oh, it felt so good to be pressed up against her rescuer. Hot Guy was everything she’d thought he would be and more—a potent combination of muscle and bone, wrapped up in a very nice package. And his smell—God, his smell! Warm skin, some kind of woodsy smell from his soap and a faint note of musk all mingled to create a heady combination, making her want to press her nose to his neck and inhale deeply.

But that would be too creepy.

He carefully extracted himself and pushed to his feet, then reached down to offer his hand. She took it and had a sudden thrill as he quickly pulled her up. She swayed a bit on her feet, and he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her. Fiona closed her eyes, enjoying his warm touch.

“I know you.”

Fiona opened her eyes at the intrusion to see a uniformed police officer staring at Hot Guy, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Hot Guy stared back, his brows drawn together while he considered the other man. “Steve, right?” he said slowly.

The officer nodded. “And you’re—?” He let the question trail off, inviting Hot Guy to supply his name.

“Nate Gallagher. Homicide.”

The officer nodded, recognition dawning. “Gallagher. You were the MVP of the last police-fire softball game. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before!”

Nate smiled faintly. “I’m glad you recognized me. I knew I was taking a chance having my gun pointed in your direction.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t appreciate that. You’re lucky we saw what was happening when we pulled in.”

Nate shrugged, then pulled Fiona closer to his side. “I couldn’t let him hurt her,” he said simply.

The officer transferred his gaze to Fiona, as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

She nodded. Why did they keep asking her that? It’s not like they could do anything to help her if she told the truth.

“We need to take your statement,” he said, holding up an arm to gesture her forward. She moved reluctantly, not wanting to leave the security of Nate’s side. Even though their contact was limited to his hand on her shoulder, she still felt comforted by his presence.

Now that Nate and the other officer were no longer talking, Fiona realized that the robber’s moans of pain had stopped, leaving the store silent except for the intermittent crackle of the police radio. As she cleared the aisle and glanced down, Fiona saw the man was unconscious, lying in a small pool of blood.

She swallowed hard at the sight, her instincts urging her to put as much distance between them as possible. He’d been so rough and strong, jerking her around the store, but now, lying on the dirty floor with his face slack, he seemed very small and powerless.

Rationally, she knew the man couldn’t hurt her, unconscious and handcuffed as he was. Still, her body refused to move any closer, and she stood frozen in place, panic climbing up her spine to wrap choking fingers around her throat.

Another officer was kneeling by the man, halfheartedly pressing a wad of gauze to his shoulder. The officer glanced up at her and offered an absent nod. She nodded back mechanically, and he frowned.

“Are you all right, miss? You look a little pale.”

“I, uh—”

She couldn’t get the words out, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I think I need to use the bathroom.”

Fiona turned to the right and practically ran for the bathroom, yanking open the door with such force that it bounced off the wall to slam shut. She flipped the lock and collapsed onto the toilet, leaning forward with her arms wrapped tight around her stomach.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Her thoughts were a twisted jumble as she rocked back and forth, the events of the past half hour crashing over her anew. She hadn’t had time to think or even panic in the moment, but now that the danger had passed, she couldn’t seem to escape the flood of emotions that adrenaline had kept at bay.

Fiona pressed her fist to her mouth in an effort to muffle the quiet sobs. She had learned to stifle the sounds of her grief as she cared for her mother during her battle with cancer, but right now Fiona couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She ripped a ribbon of toilet paper off the roll and pressed it to her eyes, mopping up the tears before they could drip onto her shirt in a telltale sign of distress. She had to regain her composure so she could talk to the police, and then she could go home and cry in the privacy of her empty house.

She dropped the soggy toilet paper into the trash, then moved to the sink and splashed water on her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she toweled off and froze, her eyes fixed on the red mark that marred her temple. With shaking fingers, she reached up to touch the bumpy spot, feeling the definite imprint of the gun barrel.

So close. Her stomach twisted at the thought of her brains on the floor, and she quickly dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, making it just in time.

“Fiona?” Nate’s voice was quiet on the other side of the door, and Fiona wanted to sink into the floor tiles and disappear. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard her crying? Worse still, had he heard her throwing up?

“I’ll be right out,” she said, trying desperately to sound normal.

“Can I come in?”

God, no! The cloying sweetness of industrial air freshener had combined with the acrid stench of bile, making a new and entirely unappealing aroma that now permeated the small room. The last thing she needed was for Nate to come in and get blasted with the scent of her breakdown.

“Um, not right now,” she hedged, wiping her mouth with a wet paper towel and smoothing back her hair. “Just give me a second.”

He was silent, but something told her he hadn’t gone far. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, silently cursing herself for crying. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who was attractive when crying? Instead, she looked like some kind of allergic mess, with swollen eyes, puffy lips and blotchy red skin. That was bad enough, but the fact that she had to step out and face Detective Hottie, who hadn’t batted an eye at tonight’s events, made her feel even worse.

I can do this. Taking a deep breath, Fiona dabbed at the last lingering wetness on her cheeks and ran her palm down the front of her shirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

Her fragile defenses in place once more, she turned and opened the bathroom door.

Here I go.

Chapter 3

Dammit, she’d been crying.

Nate could tell the minute she opened the door. She walked out with her shoulders back and head held high, her chin thrust upward in defiance and determination. But her eyes gave her away. Red rimmed and slightly swollen, they bore silent witness to her earlier tears.

He turned to follow her, but not before catching a whiff of the bathroom. Oh, honey.

She certainly wasn’t the first person to lose her lunch after such a stressful situation, but he hated that she’d had to experience it.

Joey was still out cold on the floor near the register, so he quickly steered her in the opposite direction, guiding her to walk the outer perimeter of the store on her way to the door. Not only did he want to spare her from seeing her attacker again, it gave him a chance to swipe a bottle of ginger ale as they walked past the refrigerated cases.

“Here you go,” he said, pressing the bottle into her hand with a smile. “Thought you might want this.”

She blushed but met his eyes. “Thanks,” she said softly, her mouth turning up at the corner. “Guess I wasn’t as quiet in there as I’d hoped.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he assured her, reaching up to lay a hand on her shoulder. For some reason, he couldn’t stop touching her, a fact that should have bothered him but didn’t. “I’ve seen 350-pound men cry like a baby after having a gun shoved in their face, so a little vomit is no big deal.”

She stared at the bottle for a few seconds, then shrugged and twisted off the cap.

“Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I was just thinking that we’re not allowed to eat or drink anything from the store.”

“I’m happy to pay for it,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, giving him a small smile. “After the night I’ve had, I think the store can donate a soda to make me feel better.”

“Sounds fair to me,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back to urge her forward again. He wanted to get her out of the store and away from her attacker as soon as possible. He could just make out the faint wail of a siren, which meant the ambulance was on its way. Fiona didn’t need to be here when the paramedics loaded Joey onto the stretcher and carted him off to the hospital.

Besides, they needed to take her statement and the sooner the better. He glanced up while they walked, heartened to see surveillance cameras mounted in the ceiling and pointed at the register. Maybe they’d get lucky and there would be footage of the attack—he knew from experience not every security camera was functional.

“Do those work?” He nodded at one of the cameras as they neared the door.

Fiona glanced up, following his gaze. “I think so,” she said, frowning slightly. “I’ve never seen the tapes, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

They made it to the door before Fiona stopped, a stricken look on her face.

“I need to call Ben,” she said, sounding miserable.

Nate felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of another man’s name. Was Ben her husband? Her boyfriend? Why did she sound unhappy at the thought of talking to him? More important, why did it matter so much to him?

“Who’s Ben?” His voice was deceptively neutral, but he held his breath while he waited for her to respond.

“The store owner,” she replied, triggering a wave of relief that had his breath gusting out on a sigh. Fiona shot him a questioning look, which he ignored. He couldn’t explain his reaction to himself, much less to her.

“I can call him,” he offered. “Do you have his number?”

Fiona looked up at him, relief and gratitude shining in her big brown eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

If she kept looking at him like that, he’d do just about anything for her. “It’s probably better if I call him. Part of the job and all.”

She glanced down, and he sensed a shift in her mood. “Everything okay?”

Fiona nodded, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s just...” She trailed off, swallowed hard, then spoke again. “You saved my life tonight,” she said, her voice wobbly. “You kept that man from hurting me.”

Nate shifted, her praise making him uncomfortable. “I was happy to do it. That’s my job. Besides, the fact that you stayed calm kept the situation from escalating out of control.”

She shook her head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

He frowned, not following her thoughts. “Get what?”

She looked up at him then, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I will never forget you or what you did for me tonight. But I suspect it’s just the latest in a long line of amazing things you’ve done, and you’re so quick to dismiss it as your job. Not many people would have stepped forward like that, but you did. You’re a hero.”

Nate felt his face heat and knew he must be as red as the sirens flashing on the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. “I’m not a hero,” he said, reaching up to tug on his collar. When did it get so warm in here?

The corner of Fiona’s mouth quirked up while she studied him. “The fact that you’re denying it just makes you even more heroic.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to look away. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he’d simply reacted. She was in danger, and he’d stepped forward, wanting only to protect her. That wasn’t heroic—it was instinctive, pure and simple. Heroes recognized danger and stepped forward in spite of it. He hadn’t stopped to consider the danger, but had rushed right in, his only thought keeping Fiona safe. If anything, his lack of discipline could have easily resulted in a tragedy tonight, something he was sure his captain would point out after learning of the situation.

The EMTs entered the store, and he heard the officers tell them where Joey had been shot and how long he’d been out. Fiona heard them, too, her expression turning distant as she listened to the conversation.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Considering the man had held a gun to Fiona’s head, Nate really couldn’t care less if he recovered. Knowing Fiona wouldn’t appreciate that response, he merely nodded. “Most likely,” he said. “He got hit in the shoulder, and there wasn’t enough blood for the bullet to have clipped an artery. He’ll be just fine once they get him patched up, and then he’ll get to enjoy all the comforts of the city’s fine facilities.”

She frowned, clearly not buying his casual reply. “He passed out,” she said, raising a brow as if daring him to deny that fact.

Nate shrugged. “It hurts like hell to get shot. Maybe the pain got to him.”

Her face softened when she looked up at him. “You’ve been shot before?”

He inwardly winced, cursing himself for letting that slip. She was looking at him with stars in her eyes again, and he couldn’t bear to mislead her.

“It was my fault,” he told her, needing her to understand. “I was a rookie, and I got caught up in the excitement of making a bust. I didn’t wait for backup, and I walked right into it.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O while she raised her eyebrows. “Where were you shot?”

“In a run-down crack house off Westheimer, over in the projects.”

She gave him a mock glare, her lips twitching as she fought off a smile. “I meant where were you physically injured.” She ran her gaze over his body, searching for a clue. His skin tingled in response, and he found he liked having her eyes on him.

“Grazed my leg,” he said, patting his left thigh. He’d been exceedingly lucky—the perp had been high, which had affected his aim.

“Wow,” she murmured. “Does it still bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It aches a bit, now and then, but only when there’s bad weather coming.”

Fiona gave him a mischievous smile. “You sound like a grandpa.”

Nate narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in an exaggerated sneer. “Just stay off my lawn,” he said, raising his fist in a weak shake.

Fiona laughed at that, her features relaxing for a moment. Warmth spread through his chest at the sight, and he grinned back at her. She deserved a laugh after her night, and he was absurdly proud to have been the one to lighten her mood.

The clicking sound of gurney wheels locking into place told him the EMTs had loaded Joey and were getting ready to leave. Fiona heard it, too, the smile fading from her face while she listened to the men roll out the door.

“So what happens now?”

Steve chose that moment to join them, and he spoke before Nate could reply. “We need to take you down to the station and get your statement.” He held up his arm, indicating Fiona should precede him out the door. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

She frowned slightly. “What about the store owner? I need to call him and let him know what happened here.”

Steve pulled out his notepad and passed it to Fiona. “My partner is staying here to keep the scene secure. You can give him the owner’s number and he’ll call.”

She nodded while she scribbled down a number, but Nate could see the wrinkle between her brows and knew she still wasn’t fully comfortable.

“Why don’t I come along?” he offered. Fiona’s expression lightened, and her apparent relief at his continued company made him want to puff out his chest.

Trying to hide his satisfaction, Nate turned to Steve. “If your partner has things under control here, I could give my statement, as well.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds good. Want to follow us back to the station?”

“Sure.” Nate addressed his next remark to Fiona. “I can drop you back here when we’re done, so you can get your car.”

A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’d appreciate that.”

As Nate watched her walk away with Steve, he was forced to admit his motives weren’t entirely altruistic. She needed a ride back to her car, to be sure, but it was the perfect excuse to spend time with her.

And he intended to make the most of it.

* * *

Fiona wrapped her hands around the plastic coffee cup, trying to soak up the weak heat leaching through the sides. She couldn’t stop shivering, despite the warm mugginess of the room. Houston winters weren’t terribly cold, but the heater in this aging municipal building seemed to have only one setting—thermonuclear. It was enough to make the place feel like a muggy swamp. Under normal circumstances, she’d feel bad for the officers forced to work in this humidor. Now, though, she was grateful for the warmth and the coffee, even if it did taste like stale pencil shavings.

On a certain level, she’d always known that working the night shift at a convenience store was a dangerous job. Despite the fact that she spent most of her shift alone, studying at the counter, the clientele who did frequent the store weren’t exactly the most upstanding citizens. To be fair, she saw quite a few shift workers, honest people who stopped in on their way to or from work. Generally speaking, though, those who came around were dancing on the thin edge of trouble.

To her mother’s way of thinking, it had never been a question of if she’d ever get robbed, but when. Christine Sanders had been furious and terrified when Fiona had told her about the job. “I won’t let you work there,” she’d said, drawing herself up in the hospital bed with shaking, painfully thin arms. “I forbid it.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Fiona replied, returning to the bedside with a damp washcloth. She gently laid the cloth across her mother’s forehead, and the lines of pain etched into Christine’s face softened a bit. “It won’t be that busy—hardly anyone needs gas at two in the morning. Besides, I need this job for my research. You don’t need to worry.”

“I do worry.” Her mother’s eyes were bright blue, burning with fever and fear. “Those places get robbed all the time, and they’re going to see you, a pretty young woman working alone. You make an easy target, Fi.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, smoothing back the thin, wispy strands of hair that hadn’t succumbed to the chemo treatments. “Are you saying you don’t think I can be intimidating?” She narrowed her eyes in a fierce scowl, but her mother only smiled sadly.

“You should pick a different research topic. One that doesn’t have you working in the middle of the night.”

It was a familiar refrain, one her mother had said countless times before. As always, Fiona was at a loss for how to respond. She’d tried several times to explain her research project—studying the effects of shift work on employee mental health—but her mom wasn’t able to look past her job.

“Can’t you just interview people during the day? Or find what you need online?”

Fiona swallowed a sigh. “I am doing that, but this job gives me an opportunity to observe people without them knowing about it. They’re less likely to be on guard, or to tell me what they think I want to hear.”

Christine only frowned. “I’m not going to stop worrying about you. But I am glad you’ve found something that will keep you occupied after I’m gone.”

Fiona rubbed her chest, the memory of her mom’s words aggravating the now-permanent ache behind her breastbone.

A late-in-life “miracle baby,” Fiona was an only child. Her father, a police officer, had been killed when she was ten. He was shot while responding to a domestic disturbance call, and while the Houston police department had rallied to support Fiona and her mother, they couldn’t fill the void left by her dad.

The loss of her father made Fiona feel even closer to her mother. “It’s you and me, kid,” Christine liked to say. “Together, we can get through anything.”

And for thirteen years, they had. Until that unusually cold March afternoon, when Christine’s doctor had called to tell her there was an abnormality with her latest mammogram.

Fiona had been twenty-three when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. What she hadn’t known—what the doctors hadn’t been able to predict—was that it would take her mother five long, agonizing years to die. Fiona had worked a string of part-time jobs while acting as a caregiver, an exhausting schedule that brought home just enough money to pay her tuition and stay afloat. Being a clerk at the convenience store was the best-paying job she’d had yet, which was why she’d decided to stay on after her mother died. She could go to school in the afternoons and work at night, and with the notes she’d compiled so far, she was getting ever closer to finishing her master’s degree.

While she wouldn’t trade the time she’d spent with her mother for anything, she did feel a sense of longing when she saw couples out together, laughing and having fun, or pushing a baby stroller. She hadn’t dated since college and, given her schedule now, there wasn’t a lot of room for a man. That was okay, though. She needed to focus on finishing school, and starting a relationship would only delay that.

Despite her self-imposed single status, Fiona could still appreciate a handsome man. Like Nate. She let her thoughts drift, pulling up the image of his face. She liked knowing his name now, though she’d have to get used to calling him Nate instead of Hot Guy. She’d been attracted to him before tonight, of course. Her fingers tightened on the coffee cup as she imagined him in his dress uniform. His golden skin would look amazing against a black starched shirt, and she was willing to bet he had a lot of shiny medals to pin against his broad chest.

Medals probably earned for stupidly brave actions that could have gotten him killed, her practical side pointed out. She remembered her dad and his friends—adrenaline junkies, all of them. And their exploits weren’t limited to the job. Her father had had a string of affairs, no-strings-attached flings with the women who liked to hang around the precinct, looking to date a cop. “Badge bunnies,” her mother had called them.

The thought darkened her mood a bit, pulling her back into reality. There was a reason she didn’t try to date cops, no matter how sexy they were.

But, her libido responded, he’d been deliciously solid on top of her, and she wished the circumstances had been different so she could have actually enjoyed lying underneath him. It had been a long time—too long—since she’d felt the weight of a man, and unless she decided to throw her plans out the window, she wasn’t likely to feel it again anytime soon. And even though she was hesitant to date a cop, maybe they could have a little fun before they went their separate ways? Nate was going to drive her back to the store, so maybe she could trip and pull him down with her...

She shook her head at the wild fantasy as Officer Rodriguez—she just couldn’t call him Steve after such short acquaintance—walked back into the room. He caught her gesture and gave her a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

Fiona felt her face heat. “Um, yeah,” she stammered, grasping for something to tell him. She settled for holding up the coffee cup. “I was debating taking another sip, but decided I was better off just holding it for the warmth.”

He gave her a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about that. We drink so much of the stuff around here, you’d think we could make it better, but no one ever seems to have the time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a smile. “Bad coffee and police stations are supposed to go together. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about it somewhere, kind of like peanut butter and jelly.”

Officer Rodriguez laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” He sat across from her and tapped the pages he’d been carrying into order. “I just have a few things for you to sign, and then you’re free to go.” He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and slid it across the table.

“First up is your statement,” he said, passing a stapled collection of pages to her. “Just review it for accuracy, and if you’re satisfied, initial at the bottom of each page and sign on the last page.”

Fiona started to glance over the text but was interrupted by the appearance of another form. “Next, we need your updated contact information. And finally,” he said, handing her yet another piece of paper, “you need to sign this form indicating your desire to press charges against the assailant.”

“Do you think he’ll be convicted?”

Officer Rodriguez shrugged. “I doubt he’ll make it to trial—his public defender will probably try to plead him out.”

Fiona nodded. “Good.” She grabbed the pen and prepared to sign, but a disturbing thought made her pause. “Will he know my name?”

The officer frowned. “The perp? If it goes to trial, then, yeah. That will be a matter of public record.” He watched her set the pen down and rushed to add, “But you don’t need to worry. I’ve never seen a case where the witness was harmed for testifying.”

That was reassuring news, but Fiona still felt uncertain. What if he got out on parole? Wouldn’t he be angry with her for sending him to jail in the first place?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Officer Rodriguez offered her a reassuring smile. “In my experience, once the trial is over, the victims are able to move on with their lives.”

“So you don’t think he’d come after me if I decided to press charges?”

The officer shook his head. “It’s not worth it. If he contacted you, he’d be in even worse trouble. Criminals are dumb, but they’re not stupid, know what I mean?”

Not really, but his confidence went some way toward calming her nerves. This was the right thing to do—if she didn’t press charges, the man who’d attacked her might get away with it, leaving him free to rob again. And the next time, there wouldn’t be a police officer there to save the day.

On a sudden burst of conviction, she signed the bottom of the form and pushed it across the table. There. It was done. No going back now.

Officer Rodriguez collected the papers and gave her a smile. “You’re doing the right thing, ma’am.”

She nodded as he left the room. Now what? She’d given her statement, answered all their questions and signed the necessary paperwork. Was there anything left for her to do here?

“I want to go home,” she muttered, swirling the dark brew around the cup.

“That can be arranged.”

She jumped at the voice, spilling the now-lukewarm coffee down the sides of the cup and over her fingers. Shaking her hands to dry them off, she turned around to find Hot Guy—Nate, she reminded herself firmly—leaning against the doorjamb. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his long legs were crossed at the ankle as he regarded her with those mossy-green eyes.

“Sorry.” He smiled at her, the expression transforming his face from watchful to beautiful in a heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped into the room, and Fiona fought the urge to lean back in her chair. He was just so big, his presence impossible to ignore in the interview room. It hadn’t seemed like a small space before when Officer Rodriguez had questioned her, but now she felt the walls were closing in on her, the room shrinking down to her and Nate.

“It’s okay,” she replied, wiping her still-damp hands on her pants. “I’m just a little jumpy tonight.” She offered him a weak smile as he took the chair across from her.

“Understandable,” he said, leaning forward to place his forearms on the table. With his hands linked together loosely, he could be mistaken for a man at rest. But as Fiona took in his pose, she could tell by the set of his shoulders and his alert gaze that he was anything but relaxed.

Why was he here? She was happy to see him, but she really did want to go home. Officer Rodriguez had made it sound as if she could leave soon, but with Nate settling in across from her, she now wondered if there had been a delay—maybe there were more forms to fill out, more questions to answer.

“When can I leave?”

“Should just be a few more minutes. I came to keep you company while they’re wrapping things up, and then I’ll take you back to the store so you can get your car.”

She shivered, dread washing over her at the thought of going back to the store. She didn’t want to be there, at least not tonight. She wanted to go home and soak in a hot bath, to wash the events of the night off her and rebuild her defenses before facing the store again.

Nate noticed her reaction, his eyes narrowing slightly while he watched her. “Is there someplace else you’d rather go?”

“I’d rather you take me home.” She felt her face heat as the boldness of her words registered. “Um, I mean... I don’t feel up to going to the store now, if that’s okay.”

His lips twitched, his eyes warming as he took in her blush. Rubbing a finger along his lower lip, he nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” His voice, deep to begin with, seemed to drop another register. Fiona lifted her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, seeing a flash of heat there. Was he flirting with her? No way. She mentally shook her head. Handsome men like Nate didn’t bother to give her a second look. The stress of the evening was making her hallucinate, had her hearing and seeing things that weren’t there. All the more reason to retreat to her house and regroup.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door as Officer Rodriguez returned. He caught sight of Nate and drew up short, surprise registering on his face. “Oh. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Nate leaned back and propped his hands behind his head. “They finished up with me, so I thought I’d keep Ms....” He trailed off, cut his glance to her and raised a brow inquisitively.

“Sanders,” she supplied helpfully.

He winked at her, making her heart thump double time. Then he looked back to Officer Rodriguez. “Like I was saying, I decided to keep Ms. Sanders company. She was looking lonely.”

The other man looked at Nate, then swiveled his head to look at her before turning back to Nate. Fiona blushed again, feeling suddenly shy in the face of his perusal. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t buy Nate’s story for a minute.

Fiona cleared her throat, interrupting the men’s impromptu staring contest. “Can I go?”

Officer Rodriguez gave her a small smile. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your help tonight.”

She stood, collecting her purse and the half-empty cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate what you guys did for me.”

Nate got to his feet, as well, and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the room. The barrier of her shirt was no match for the heat of his skin, and she felt his touch like a brand. He steered her past Officer Rodriguez and into the main room, which was surprisingly busy given the lateness of the hour.

Fiona paused at the doorway, taken aback by all the activity. Nate leaned forward to whisper in her ear, the gesture intimate despite the crowd. “It’s okay—just keep moving.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so busy in the middle of the night.”

He shot her a grin while he walked her to the door. “Lots of trouble happens after dark, trust me.” A rude shout accompanied his words, and Fiona’s eye was drawn to the man in a cage on the far side of the room. He staggered to his feet and lumbered over to the bars, screaming obscenities at the officers seated nearby. The police officers didn’t even blink, but kept their heads down while they focused on their work.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Nate followed her gaze. “Probably just drunk,” he replied, shrugging as if the matter was of little consequence. “It’s a full moon, which usually makes for a crazy night.”

She glanced up at him to gauge if he was pulling her leg. He wasn’t. His expression showed no trace of humor or sarcasm. “You’re serious about the full moon, aren’t you?”

He held the door for her as they stepped into the chilly night air. “Oh, yeah. It’s a well-known fact that the crazies come out in force on a full moon. A few years ago, it was a full moon on Halloween.” He shuddered as he unlocked the car door for her. “Took me weeks to get over that.”

Fiona smiled while she climbed in. “I can imagine,” she said, picturing him on patrol, a shiny badge affixed to his chest.

Just like Dad’s.

The unsettling thought left her as soon as she caught a whiff of his enticing smell when he settled behind the wheel of the car. Her muscles relaxed, her body instinctively recognizing she was safe in his presence even if her mind was reluctant to surrender. Her hands began to lose the cold numbness that had settled over her after the attack, and she let her head rest on the seat back, taking a deep breath for the first time that night.

The car started with a low rumble. “All right,” Nate said, flashing her a quick smile as he worked the gearshift. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter 4

Nate frowned as he pulled into the driveway of the small, old house. Fiona lived here? He glanced up and down the street, noting the lack of lights and the general air of abandonment. The homes in this part of town appeared to be decently maintained, but there was an overall feeling of neglect, as if this once prosperous neighborhood had been left behind.

“This is it?”

She nodded. “It was my parents’ house. I inherited it after my mom died.”

He noticed the omission of her father. Either he’d died long ago, or he hadn’t been in the picture. “How long have you lived here?”

“I grew up here, but I’ve only had it to myself for two years.”

Not that long, then. “You took care of your mom, didn’t you?”

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she nodded. “How did you know?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “You seem like the type of person who takes on a lot of responsibilities.”

Fiona nodded, bowing her head to stare at her lap. Great. He’d upset her. Real smooth, Gallagher.

Searching for something, anything, to say to change the subject, he fired off another question. “Any problems in the neighborhood?”

Fiona frowned, and he realized he had entered into cop mode and was interrogating her. He smiled to soften the question. “I don’t see any streetlights, so I’m wondering if there have been any issues with burglary or vandalism.”

She shook her head, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Lemons, underlain by a soft sweetness that was appealing. He’d been too focused on keeping her safe before to really register her smell, but now it wrapped around him like a silk rope. He found himself leaning forward, wanting to get closer to the source.

“I haven’t heard of any problems, but I’m not around much. Between classes and work, I’m usually only here to sleep.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like my life.”

“Being a police officer must be pretty demanding.”

“It can be.”

An odd expression crossed her face, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. He decided not to press her—she’d already had a rough night.

They were silent for a moment while Nate continued to study the house. It looked decent enough, he decided, even though the grass was a little long and the shutters could do with a fresh coat of paint. The garage door appeared to fit securely, and the front door looked solid. There were a few windows facing the front yard, and he wondered how many were in the back, and what the backyard looked like. Was there another house behind hers, or was it an easement? What kind of fence enclosed the property? Wood, or something easy to climb in a hurry, like chain link? Did she have a lock on the gate?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of Fiona clearing her throat. “I should probably head inside. I’m sure you’re tired and want to get home.”

“Let me walk you in.”

“Oh, no, that’s really okay,” she stammered, apparently taken aback by his offer.

“I insist,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You’ve had quite the adventure tonight, and I just want to check the house to make sure everything is okay.” When she paused, he smiled. “You’d be doing me a favor—I’ll sleep so much better knowing that you’re safe.”

She laughed, and the rich sound made his heart thump against his breastbone. “Fair enough,” she told him, opening the car door. “Truth be told, I’ll sleep better too, knowing you’ve gone through the house.”

He was pleased to see her pull a small flashlight from her bag as they walked up the front steps, and some of his worries eased when he saw she had two dead bolt locks securing her door. Of course, the bad guys could always come in through a window...

She flicked on a light as she walked in, illuminating the small living room. A floral-print couch sat along one wall, the middle sagging a bit from years of use. Crocheted doilies decorated the end tables and coffee table, and a faded recliner completed the tableau. The room had a preserved feel to it, as if Fiona hadn’t bothered to redecorate after inheriting the house. Or maybe she couldn’t bring herself to change it.

She gave him a shy smile as he completed his perusal. “It’s not much, but like I said, I grew up here.”

“No siblings?” It was something he’d meant to ask earlier after hearing about her mother, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her further.

“No. I was an only child. Mom was forty-five when she had me—I was a bit of a surprise.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a thud from the next room interrupted him. Moving quickly, he drew his gun and pulled Fiona over to the front door. “Go wait in the car,” he whispered. “Lock the doors and get low.” He spied a portable phone on one of the end tables and grabbed it, pressing it into her hand. “Dial 911. Tell them there is an intruder in your house, and an officer is on the scene and requests backup.”

“Nate—”

“Go.” He ignored her as he pushed her through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, clearing the small space before heading down the hall that presumably led to a bathroom and bedroom. It had been months since he’d had to draw his gun in the line of duty, and tonight he was holding it for the second time. What where the odds? He shook his head as he stepped softly down the hall. When it rains, it pours.

More important, though, why was Fiona in danger yet again? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and tonight’s activities made him think she was being targeted. But who would want to hurt her? She didn’t seem the type to have enemies, but then again, he didn’t know her all that well.

Yet.

He approached the doorway to the bedroom cautiously, focusing hard to pick up any stray sounds from the room. There was a soft rustle from somewhere within the room, faint at first, but then louder. It took him a few heartbeats to realize the noise was coming toward him.

“Don’t move,” he commanded. “Houston police. Come out with your hands up.”

The noise stopped, as if the source was considering his words. Then the sound started up again.

Nate moved back, retreating down the hall a few steps before assuming a shooting stance, his gun up and pointed at the doorway. He took a deep breath. “Last chance,” he warned. “Put your hands up or I will shoot.”

A high-pitched meow answered him, followed shortly by the appearance of a massive gray cat. The portly feline saw him and drew up short, clearly surprised to find an intruder in his home. Nate could only stare back, baffled. This was the source of the noise? Not a burglar but an overweight cat?

Feeling sheepish, Nate lowered his gun. The cat, deciding he was of no consequence, plopped down in the middle of the hall and began to lick his nether regions with a vigor that belied his size.

Holstering his weapon, Nate decided to check the bedroom, for form’s sake. He sidestepped the bathing feline and poked his head into Fiona’s bedroom, grateful, if mildly embarrassed, to find it empty.

Marshaling his pride, he returned to the front door and pulled it open to find Fiona, leaning against the doorjamb with a smile playing on her lips. “All good?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

He swallowed, determined to remain serious. “Everything seems to be in order.”

She stepped past him into the house, treating him to another whiff of her lemony-sugar scent. “I take it you met Slinky?”

“Ah,” he hedged. That massive fur ball was named Slinky? “I met your cat, but I don’t know that I’d associate him with the word slinky. He seemed rather stocky to me.”

Fiona shot him a mock glare. “He’s just big boned. Besides, I named him when he was a kitten. He’d contort himself into such impossible positions—Mom and I got a real kick out of watching him play.”

The cat in question chose this moment to enter the living room, his belly swaying ponderously with each step. He rubbed against Nate’s legs on his way to Fiona, apparently forgiving him for the earlier intrusion. She knelt to scratch behind his ears, and the cat plopped down and rolled to his back, exposing his stomach for her touch. Fiona obliged, and he closed his eyes into slits of blissful appreciation, emitting a loud purr. Nate could sympathize—he wouldn’t mind having her hands on him, either.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself before he let that particular line of thought go too far. “Well. Everything seems to be in order here, so I’ll just head out.”

Fiona rose, offering him a shy smile. “You don’t have to go,” she said. His heart leaped into his throat—was she really offering what he thought she was offering?

A blush spread across her cheeks, and her eyes went wide. “Um, I mean,” she stammered, apparently recognizing her double entendre. “It’s late. You’re welcome to stay on the couch if you don’t want to drive home. That’s what I meant to say.”

He was tempted to take her up on the offer, but there was no way he would get any sleep on that lumpy couch knowing she was only a few feet away, warm and soft in her bed. Better for him to drive home, take a cold shower and come back tomorrow morning so he could take her back to her car.

“That’s a kind offer, but I think I’d better leave. Wouldn’t want to put you out.” Nate winked at her, which only deepened her blush from a soft pink to red. Something in his chest relaxed at the sight of her, and he felt a strong urge to pull her close and wrap his arms around her. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, and he certainly didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him.

“What time should I pick you up in the morning?” he asked, hoping a change in subject would put her at ease.

“How about nine thirty? Or is that too early for a Saturday?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.” He smiled at her, studying her carefully for any sign of distress. She seemed to be okay, but he knew from experience that the shock of a traumatic experience sometimes took a few hours to set in. He didn’t want to leave her alone to process everything that had happened tonight, but at the same time, he didn’t want to crowd her.

Fiona walked him to the door. The dark circles under her eyes revealed her fatigue, but her expression was otherwise untroubled. Maybe her breakdown in the bathroom had been enough to release the stress from her attack. He hoped she was that lucky.

“Thank you again for everything you did tonight.” She laid her hand on his arm, and he felt the heat of her touch through his shirt. “You saved my life tonight. There’s no way I can repay you for that.” A sheen of tears formed across her eyes and she blinked hard, clearly determined not to cry.

His heart turned over in sympathy at the sight of her tears. “Shh,” Nate whispered, and pulled her close. He knew he shouldn’t hold her, but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing while she was upset.

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing deep. “You don’t ever have to thank me for tonight,” he said, keeping his voice low as he spoke in her ear. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She nodded. “Me, too,” she whispered shakily.

He released her, holding her at arm’s length so he could meet her gaze. “You’re safe now. And I’ll make sure you stay that way. Trust me?”

“Okay.” She offered him a shy smile.

She leaned forward the barest inch, and he felt himself move in response. Her warm breath wafted across his chin, and the mood shifted, the air between them becoming heated and electric. She licked her lips, a subconscious invitation that hit him low in the belly.

His pulse thrummed in his fingertips as he reached up to cup her cheek, tilting her head so he could have better access to her mouth. Fiona closed her eyes at his touch, emitting a soft sigh that made him want to roar with satisfaction. He settled for bowing his head and running his lips across hers in a teasing caress that did nothing to bank his desire.

Fiona made an inarticulate sound of frustration, and Nate chuckled, happy to know she wanted this as much as he did. He ducked his head again, intending to kiss her properly, but Slinky apparently had other ideas. The cat butted him hard in the legs, making him sway on his feet and altering the angle of his approach. Before he could tilt his head, his nose smashed into Fiona’s, sending a spike of electric, white-hot pain into his brain.

“Ouch!” She pulled away from him, cupping her nose while she blinked back tears.

Nate massaged his own nose. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Your cat caught me off guard.” He glared at the offending creature, who had wandered a few feet away and was batting at a stuffed mouse under the coffee table. “Guess he doesn’t like me very much.”

Fiona shook her head. “He just wants attention. He’s here alone most of the time, so when I get home, he knows it’s time to cuddle.”

Lucky bastard. Nate offered her a smile and nodded, refusing to acknowledge that he was jealous of a cat. “Well, I’d hate to make him wait any longer.”

“I suppose you’re right. It is pretty late.” Were his ears deceiving him, or did she sound disappointed?

He’d love to stay and find out, but he didn’t want to take things too fast. The woman had been attacked tonight—the last thing she needed was a horny cop sticking his tongue down her throat. Better for him to go while she still wanted him to stay. They could pick things up again later.

“Try to get some sleep tonight—or what’s left of it. I’m sure Slinky will be good company for you.”

That earned him a laugh. “He definitely will. Be careful getting home.”

“Yes, ma’am. Lock the door behind me.”

He waited until he heard the locks click before walking back to the car. He sat behind the wheel for a few moments while Fiona shut off the lights in the living room. A few seconds later, the light in her bedroom went on. He was half tempted to sit in her driveway all night and keep watch over her, but the logical side of his brain told him that was crossing the line. He barely knew her, for crying out loud! Sure, he felt curiously drawn to her; he had from the first time he’d seen her. And, yes, the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know. But sleeping in his car was just a bit too stalkerish for his taste. Besides, if Fiona were to look outside her bedroom window and see a strange car in her driveway it would likely terrify her—definitely not something he wanted to do.

“Get a grip, Gallagher,” he muttered as he put the car in gear and backed out of her driveway. “You’re going to see her in a few hours.”

And he was going to count every minute until then.

* * *

Joey leaned against the cinder-block wall of the holding cell, trying to arrange his body into the least painful position possible. His shoulder hurt like hell—the drugs they’d given him at the hospital were starting to wear off, and the growing pain was making it hard to think.

“Can I get some meds to take with me? You know, for later?” he’d asked.

The nurse had merely rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Her reaction had pricked his temper, making him sit up a little straighter. “Hey, I’m a person, too! I deserve to be treated with a little respect!”

“How about you give him something to shut him up?” The big cop standing behind the nurse shot him a dirty look. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

The nurse gave him a smile as she turned to leave. “Wish I could help, but you know it doesn’t work that way.”

“Yeah, just my luck.” The cop watched her walk out of the room, his eyes glued to her backside until she was out of view.

Joey shook his head. “You’re pathetic,” he muttered.

“What was that?” The big man’s head swiveled around, and he fixed his gaze on Joey. “You got something to say to me, punk?” His eyes gleamed with anticipation in the fluorescent light, as if he was just looking for an excuse to get physical. Joey recognized the look. It was one he often saw before a fight broke out.

Part of him wanted to goad the other man. After all, a police officer would get into big trouble for beating up an unarmed, handcuffed, already injured man in his custody. But Joey was smart enough to know that the real world didn’t work that way. Cops protected their own, and if it came down to his word against the boys in blue, there would be no contest. And while he desperately wanted the satisfaction of mouthing off, it wasn’t worth the bruises. So, for the first time in his life, Joey listened to the voice in his head that told him to shut up. “Nah,” he replied, shaking his head. “Not to you.”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all night,” the cop said, his tone smug.

He’d brought Joey back to the station then, and it had taken some time to get his mug shot and for them to finish all the paperwork. Then they’d led him to this cell and taken the cuffs off, leaving him alone for the first time in what felt like days.

The cinder-block wall was cool against his skin, and he pressed his forehead to it, appreciating the distraction from his aching shoulder. He was in a ton of trouble, but the impending charges of armed robbery and assault didn’t bother him. No, what scared him the most was his uncle’s reaction.

Uncle Sal was not a forgiving man. He ran Houston’s largest illegal gambling operation, and he’d acquired his power by combining sheer brutality with an astonishing lack of mercy. He didn’t offer credit, nor did he offer second chances. What he did offer was better payouts than the competition. It was enough of a temptation to keep people coming back for more, even though they lost more often than they won. And when they didn’t pay up? Usually a visit from one of Uncle Sal’s enforcers was motivation enough. Especially because the people who required a second visit never required anything again.

Joey shivered at the thought of his uncle’s face when he heard about this. It was enough to make him want to crawl under a rock and disappear, but that wasn’t an option.

He’d set out to rob the convenience store because the owner, Ben Carter, owed Uncle Sal. So far, the enforcers had been busy going after other clients, and Ben had escaped their attention. It was only a matter of time until they met with Ben, but in the meantime, Joey had seized the opportunity to prove himself to his uncle. He’d been dying to show that he could be an important part of the family business, and collecting on this debt would be a great way to start.

It was supposed to be a simple job. He’d go in, get the money and leave a message so Ben would realize what had happened. But everything had gone to hell, and now he was stuck here, trying to figure out how he was going to explain the situation to his uncle.

Maybe he could play dumb, he mused. Act like he didn’t know Ben was the owner of the store and that he’d done it for money. But no, Uncle Sal would be angry that Joey hadn’t come to him for help first. And he couldn’t pretend he was high. Sal would kill him if he thought there were drugs involved.

His best bet was to hope they threw him in jail long enough for his uncle to forget about him. Sal had a memory like an elephant, but out of sight, out of mind, right?

The jingle of keys interrupted his thoughts. “You got a visitor.”

Joey stood, certain he had misunderstood. “What?” No one knew he was in here, so who on earth would be trying to visit him?

“You heard me.” The cop sounded bored. “Approach the door, then turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Joey did as he was told, wincing as the movement pulled the stitches in his shoulder. Cold metal circled his wrists, and he heard the click of the handcuffs locking into place. Then the guard opened the door and gestured him out.

His thoughts whirled as the man led him down a long hallway. Who was waiting for him? Not his mother—she’d been gone for years, off to who knew where. And his brother was in the army, trying to make a life for himself. His friends didn’t know he was here, and he definitely hadn’t called Uncle Sal. Maybe this was some kind of mistake?

They stopped in front of a white door, and the guard opened it and led him inside. He pushed Joey into a chair, then locked his cuffs to a ring on the table, effectively trapping him in place.

“Thank you, Officer. That will be all.”

Joey turned to find an older man standing in the far corner. He wore a dark suit with a crisp, white shirt and held a leather briefcase in his soft hand. He smelled like money, and Joey distrusted him on sight.

The guard frowned but stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Moneybags moved to take the chair across from Joey, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat.

“Do you know who I am?”

Joey eyed him up and down, giving him the evil eye. Normally, that look was enough to make people uncomfortable, but this guy appeared immune to the implied threat. “No,” he said finally, injecting the word with as much contempt as he could muster.

“My name is Richard Beck. I am an attorney, and I am here to represent you.”

“Why?” Joey’s suspicion deepened. A sharp-dressed lawyer just happened to show up looking for him? No way. This was not a coincidence, and he wanted to know who was setting him up and why.

“It’s what my client asked me to do.” If he was bothered by Joey’s attitude, he didn’t show it.

“Who’s your client?”

“Your uncle.”

Joey felt the blood drain from his head, and his limbs went numb. Oh, God. He knew. I’m a dead man.

He willed himself to sit up straight, knowing that this lawyer would probably report his reactions to his uncle. And while Joey knew he was in deep, he still had his pride. He refused to give in to the urge to whimper like a child.

“How does Uncle Sal know I’m here?”

“He has his sources.”

Of course. Naturally, Uncle Sal had eyes and ears everywhere. Hell, he probably had some cops on the payroll, which would explain how he’d gotten the news so quickly.

“And he’s sent you to help me?” The thought gave Joey some measure of comfort. If Uncle Sal was truly angry, surely he would have left Joey in jail to rot rather than send some high-priced professional to bail him out. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all?

Richard eyed him thoughtfully. “In a manner of speaking.”

What was that supposed to mean? Evidently sensing his confusion, the lawyer went on. “Your uncle is unhappy with your actions tonight. He’s asked me to post bail for you, under the condition that you do exactly as he requests.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “What’s he want from me?”

“The owner of the store you tried to rob tonight has some documents in his possession. These are sensitive photos that your uncle would like to possess. Unfortunately, Ben Carter thought to use blackmail in exchange for debt forgiveness. Your uncle did not agree to those terms.”

The lightbulb clicked on in Joey’s head. So that’s why Sal’s goons hadn’t gone after Ben yet! They were trying to get the pictures back so his uncle wasn’t embarrassed. “What does he want me to do?”

“If you can retrieve the photos, your uncle is willing to overlook tonight’s transgressions.” The lawyer’s tone made it clear he didn’t think Joey’s chances of success were high. “If not, he will make sure you are dealt with appropriately.”

Joey ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at the implied threat. He had no illusions that Sal would go easy on him simply because they shared bonds of blood. “Does he care how I do it?”

Richard shrugged. “He would prefer you keep things quiet, if possible. But make no mistake—he wants those photos, at any cost.”

Joey nodded. He could do this. How hard could it be? “Okay. When’s he want them?”

“As soon as possible. Do you think you can handle this request?”

“Oh, yeah.” He felt his confidence return with every passing moment. This was his second chance, and he was going to make the most of it. Show Uncle Sal he wasn’t a screwup, that he could be trusted. He was tired of being treated like a child. He was going to fix this, and his uncle would be so grateful he’d have to acknowledge that Joey was an important part of the family.

“You really think you can get me out of here?” He eyed the lawyer up and down. “They caught me red-handed. Gonna be pretty hard to argue I’m innocent.”

Richard Beck gave him a small smirk. “Don’t trouble yourself with the details. I assure you, I will do my job.” He stood and walked over to the door, but turned back before opening it. “Let us hope you can say the same.”

* * *

Big Sal reached for his phone with a halfhearted curse, shaking his head to clear the fog of sleep. Sylvia, his wife, stirred in the bed next to him.

“Who is calling you this late?” she asked, her annoyance clear despite the sleepy tone of her voice.

He glanced at the lighted display. “Richard,” he said.

Sylvia turned over with a huff. “Doesn’t he ever sleep?”

Sal chuckled softly. “I pay him too much for that.”

He climbed out of bed and grabbed his robe on the way out the door. Although Sylvia knew Richard was his attorney, she didn’t know the finer details of the services Richard provided for him. And he planned to keep it that way.

“Yes?” he answered, sliding into his robe as he walked to his study.

“It’s done.”

“He knows what to do?” Joey had already screwed things up tonight. He wouldn’t put it past the kid to do it again.

“I was very clear,” Richard assured him.

“Humph.” Under normal circumstances, Sal would have been confident in Richard’s communication skills. But Joey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, as he’d proven time and time again. He didn’t really think the kid would be able to get this job done, but he had to give him one last shot. He owed it to his sister—God rest her soul—and maybe Joey would actually surprise him.

Stranger things had happened before.

“I will post his bail tomorrow morning, after the initial hearing,” Richard was saying. “Will there be anything else?”

Sal shook his head, then remembered the other man couldn’t see him. “Not right now. I appreciate you taking care of this.”

“My pleasure,” Richard replied smoothly. “May I ask a question?”

Sal’s curiosity perked up. Usually, Richard didn’t want to know any more details than necessary. What had changed? “Of course.”

The attorney hesitated, as if choosing his words with care. “If I may, sir. This young man doesn’t seem to be the most capable choice for the job at hand. Are you sure you can trust him?”

“He’s family,” Sal said flatly. “I don’t have another choice right now.”

“Very good, sir,” Richard said. “Good night, then.”

Sal hung up the phone and stared out the back window, overlooking the perfectly manicured garden and the Olympic-size pool. It was a full moon tonight, the light so bright he could see every ripple of the water, every silvery shimmer as a light wind stirred the surface, creating tiny little waves. It was a beautiful pool, but he’d never been in it. He’d never had the time.

His doctor was always after him to lose weight and move more, and swimming would be a great way to exercise. Wasn’t it supposed to be a stress reliever, as well? He could definitely use some of that. If those pictures were leaked to the wider world, he was in for a hell of a lot of pain. His thoughts drifted to Sylvia, fast asleep in their bed. She was not a forgiving woman. But worse than that was the thought of what Isabella would do to him. If she knew they had been seen together, that there was photographic evidence of their association...

He shuddered involuntarily, the jolt of fear leaving a bad taste in his mouth. It wouldn’t come to that. He would give Joey a few days to get the pictures back. And if the kid failed, well, he’d be able to deal with his nephew with a clear conscience. Plus, there would still be time to get the photos back before they leaked.

It was a good plan, overall. It should work.

It has to work, he amended silently.

He simply couldn’t face the consequences of failure.

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