She could remember all but four minutes of her life. He promise to make up for lost time.

When DEA agent Nick Lang came to town, even the toughest cases got closed. But his latest had become way too personal. He’d thought CSI Jennifer Prynne was just another no-strings fling, until a serial killer’s attack left her battered, bruised and struggling to remember her past. Now, as the key to the entire case they’d been investigating for months, Jenn’s safety became Nick’s responsibility. He knew the murderer’s identity was buried deep in Jenn’s mind, but releasing it was dangerous—yet necessary. The old Nick was an expert at getting answers and moving on. But his heart told him this was one case he couldn’t walk away from....

Heat jolted through her at the sight of him—big, strong and intense.

His dark hair was slicked back in a stubby ponytail that made him look subtly dangerous, and he’d shed his heavy jacket to reveal the broad shoulders and muscled arms beneath his dark green sweater.

He slapped a file folder on the table and said, “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

His voice had a rough growl that fired Jenn’s blood even further, reminding her of how he’d sounded right after they made love. But even as her heart thudded at the memory, Nick glanced up at the one-way glass…and looked nothing like the man who’d made love to her.

No, the man on the other side of the glass was cold and hard, with a faintly derisive edge to his tight-lipped smile.

A sinking shiver took root in her belly.

That was definitely Nick in there—it was his body, his face, his presence—but it wasn’t the man she knew. This Nick had an aggressive jut to his jaw and moved with an unfamiliar swagger. His eyes held none of the alert intelligence she was used to. Instead, he was cold and chill, with a demeanor that practically screamed, “Go ahead and impress me. It won’t be easy.”

Bear Claw Lawman
Jessica Andersen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jessica Andersen has worked as a geneticist, scientific editor, animal trainer and landscaper…but she’s happiest when she’s combining all of her many interests into writing romantic adventures that always have a twist of the unusual to them. Born and raised in the Boston area (Go, Sox!), Jessica can usually be found somewhere in New England, hard at work on her next happily-ever-after. For more on Jessica and her books, please check out www.JessicaAndersen.com and www.JessicaAndersenIntrigues.com.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Jennifer Prynne—A newcomer to Bear Claw’s crime lab, Jenn is determined to prove herself in the face of a questionable past. She never intends to fall for a sexy undercover agent…or become the target of a criminal mastermind who has developed a taste for murder.

Nicholas Lang—The DEA hotshot should be focused on closing the case and getting back to his work, but he’s distracted by Jenn’s independence and curvy good looks. Their affair blazes hot and heavy before it crashes and burns. When she becomes a crucial witness in the case, though, who better to protect her?

The Investor—The criminal mastermind’s militia has been broken, his drug operation crushed. So why is he still in Bear Claw…and why is he hunting and killing his former underlings?

Slider—The Investor’s lackey has a lead foot and few scruples.

Tucker McDermott—The head of Bear Claw’s homicide division knows Nick too well to believe the dedicated DEA agent will turn his back on his Miami home to stay in the Wild West.

Gigi Lynd—The crime scene analyst is Jenn’s closest friend in Bear Claw, but she’s a huge romantic at heart and refuses to believe that Jenn and Nick aren’t meant for each other.

Matthew Blackthorn—The acting mayor is facing a crime wave and huge budget issues, but he has faith that the Bear Claw P.D. and its crime lab are going to be the key to saving the city. Hopefully.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Normally, Jennifer Prynne would’ve been glued to the task force’s bimonthly meeting, taking notes on the latest developments in the Death Stare case and trying to think of new avenues the crime lab could explore. Today, though, she couldn’t make herself focus, not just because there weren’t any major developments, but because she had something far more interesting to think about.

Or, rather, someone far more interesting.

While Chief Mendoza went over stats that said the police crackdown was working, with fewer and fewer Death Stare ODs trickling into the local hospitals, Jenn glanced a few rows over to where Nick Lang sat with a couple of homicide detectives, comparing notes in an undertone.

Nick’s home base might be in sunny Florida, but the on-loan DEA agent blended seamlessly with the cops of Bear Claw, Colorado. Even though he’d only been in the city for twelve days now, he was wearing layers against the early winter chill and had a heavily insulated bomber draped over the back of his chair. His quick, intense blue eyes were all cop, and as he leaned in to say something, the others got quiet and listened.

But at the same time that he blended, he stood out, too. The men around him didn’t have his jaw-length, raven-black hair or economical way of moving, and their bodies didn’t give off the same sense of leashed strength and deadly control.

Not to mention that the sight of them didn’t made Jenn’s pulse kick up a notch, in a way it hadn’t done in a long, long time.

A nudge in her ribs startled her, followed by a blush when Gigi—her friend and fellow crime scene analyst—whispered, “You’re staring.”

A few months ago when Jenn had first come to Bear Claw, recruited to her dream job by her old friend Matt Blackthorn—who was Gigi’s fiancé—Jenn might’ve stammered an apology or tried to pretend she was paying attention to the briefing. Now, though, riding high on hormones and happiness, she just raised an eyebrow. “D’ya blame me?”

Gigi’s glance went to the side of the podium where Matt was sitting. He was acting as the city’s interim mayor after the former mayor and his deputy had been indicted as conspirators in the Ghost Militia. But Jenn had a feeling that Gigi was seeing only the man when her eyes softened and her lips curved, and she said, “Nope. I don’t blame you one bit, because when it’s right, it’s damn near perfect.”

Jenn couldn’t help smiling in return, but she shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

She and Nick had been clear on that from the

beginning—he was only in town for a couple of weeks, so there was no point in starting something serious. And besides, neither of them was looking for anything long-term. They were just having fun.

Lots and lots of fun.

Gigi rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you two together. Trust me, it’s exactly ‘like that.’”

Not letting herself acknowledge the inner glow that brought, Jenn focused on the front of the room, where Mendoza had yielded the podium to Tucker McDermott.

Tucker was head of the Homicide Division and leader of the task force that had finally broken the Ghost Militia’s hold on the local drug trade. After a few brief words of introduction, he started listing the top dogs who were still at large—including the mastermind, a shadowy figure known only as the Investor—and bullet pointing the search for the fugitives and any remaining drug-distilling operations that might be out there.

Although the park service had shut down access to the diseased trees that formed the basis for the Death Stare compound, the word on the street was that there was still a mother lode of the highly addictive—and extremely deadly—drug out there somewhere.

“In other, better news,” Tucker said with a grin. “Last night we got the go-ahead from the DEA to keep Nick Lang with us here in Bear Claw for the duration of the case.”

What?

As Jenn sucked in a breath, Tucker kept talking, saying things about the valuable perspective Nick brought to the team and how he would be continuing his street-level efforts to ferret out the last of the militiamen and, ultimately, the Investor himself. But she barely heard any of it over the sudden buzz of blood in her ears.

“See?” Gigi elbowed her again. “When it’s right, it’s right. He must’ve leaned on his bosses to let him stay so the two of you can have more time together.”

“Or, hello, because he wants to help bring down the Investor.” But Jenn couldn’t squelch her silly-stupid grin, so she ducked her head to hide it. She and Nick weren’t keeping their fling a secret, but there was no reason to go around broadcasting that she was doing inner handsprings right now.

“Either way, looks like he’s going to be sticking around past this weekend.”

“That’s what the evidence suggests,” Jenn quipped. And whether or not she wanted to admit that she’d been counting the days he had left, she couldn’t be happier. She snuck a look over at Nick, and found him accepting a couple of back slaps, and nodding and grinning at something the officer behind him had said.

Her whole-body glow notched up at the confirmation. It was real. He was staying.

Gigi followed her eyes. “He didn’t mention it to you?”

“Nope.” Jenn made herself look away as Tucker started talking about the trail that Nick had been following through the shady contacts he’d already cultivated in the short time he’d been in the city.

That was what he did best. He made friends, gained confidences and got the gossip. That was part of what made him one of the DEA’s best undercover agents. That, and his ability to make the worst-of-the-worst criminals believe he was one of them.

Strangely, the rumors rife on the streets and in the back alleys of Bear Claw said the Investor was still in the area even though he’d lost his manpower, his political pull and most of his equipment. Nobody could figure out why he would’ve stuck around, but the police force was following up on the rumors, hoping to hell that something would pan out and they would finally be able to nail the smart, slick criminal who had nearly destroyed Bear Claw over the past year.

Most of the leads would turn out to be dead ends, of course—the local criminals who had made up the Investor’s mercenary army had become convenient boogeymen, and were being blamed for everything from petty theft to murder. But for every twenty dead ends there might be one nugget of truth. And sometimes that was all it took to crack a case.

Jenn loved that part. And over the past couple of years, when she’d been away from crime scene analysis, she had missed it more than she’d wanted to admit. She might not have the world’s strongest stomach when it came to the actual crime scenes, but she rocked in the lab. She loved the rush she got when the pieces came together and helped put criminals behind bars.

As Tucker finished up and swapped places with another senior detective, Gigi leaned in and whispered, “Nick probably wanted to surprise you.”

“He succeeded.” Jenn wouldn’t have pegged him as the kind of guy to go for such a public surprise…but then again, she didn’t really know him all that well.

Not yet, she thought with an inner smile, then glanced

over when Nick rose, grabbed his bomber and headed for the far door. He had his cell in his hand and was reading a text message as he walked—no doubt something from one of his contacts—but he paused at the door and looked back, meeting Jenn’s eyes.

Heat skimmed through her, but she played it cool and just cocked an eyebrow. Well?

He tapped his phone, then slung his coat over one shoulder and pushed through the door, easing it quietly closed behind him.

A moment later, her cell vibrated and a text appeared: Gotta make some calls. Meet me in Interrogation 3 when the meeting’s over.

Gigi read it over her shoulder and made quiet hubba-hubba noises.

Jenn shushed her. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

It was an empty threat, of course. With the kind of multitasking required in the crime lab, it was a no-brainer for the two of them to listen to the reports while teasing each other. Besides, every single member of the task force knew the value of a little friendship and stress relief at times like this, when they were working a high-profile case that was plagued with far more questions than answers.

Not to mention that Jenn had already earned a good, solid reputation around the lab, even though she was still in a six-month probationary period. Although Matt had personally vouched for her, the higher-ups in the Bear Claw P.D. hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic about hiring someone with her background. Still, she had the necessary experience, the city was broke and she was willing to work for a fraction of her worth in order to get out of the paternity-testing snooze zone and back into a crime lab, doing the work she loved.

Even better, she loved it in Bear Claw—loved the people, loved the city—and she was determined to earn a permanent place in the Bear Claw crime lab. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun on the side, as long as it didn’t interfere.

“Catch up with me later,” Gigi said as the meeting wound down and the task force members started to disperse. “I’d like to have you take a look at a couple of soil samples.”

Jenn nodded. “Will do.”

Although all of the analysts in the six-person crime lab could handle a scene, they each had their strong suits when it came to the nitty-gritty: Alyssa was a whiz at facial reconstruction; Maya was a profiler; Cassie knew all the latest and greatest advances in DNA; Ravi was the local bugs-and-beasts expert; and Gigi was their crossover to active duty, with SWAT training in addition to a pedigreed résumé in crime scene analysis. Jenn was hell on wheels, literally: tire tracks, footprints, soil samples and other assorted smudges were foreign languages for her to decode—sometimes it took a while, but she could usually figure out what was going on, making her invaluable in the lab.

“And besides,” Gigi shot over her shoulder, “I want to hear how the ‘interrogation’ goes!”

Jenn laughed and waved her off. “I’ll see you later.”

Stowing her cell in the pocket of the trim brown leather jacket she’d left on against the chilly air—which was only going to get worse as the winter wore on—Jenn grabbed the rest of her gear and headed for the far hallway, which led to the interrogation rooms.

As she slipped through the same door Nick had used, giddy flutters took root in her stomach and she was suddenly very aware of the weight of her jacket and the way the sleek lining of her wool trousers slid across her skin. And when she reached Room Three, she paused for a second with her hand on the knob. Take it easy, she told herself. Play it cool.

Not that this was a game, of course—they had both been up-front and honest with each other from the very beginning about what they wanted and what they could give. But that was before a first date that had them up and talking until sunrise, a third date that had culminated with the best sex of her life and a fourth date that had seen them moving his things out of the hotel and into her apartment because there didn’t appear to be any point in wasting the department’s money for the remainder of Nick’s two-week stint in Bear Claw. Which, it seemed, had just been given a stay of execution.

Letting out a long, slow breath and trying not to be too obvious with the happy-happy-joy butterflies, she pushed through the door into Interrogation Three.

The fifteen-by-twenty, gray-painted space, with its table and chairs, mirrored window and surveillance camera, should have been stark and unrelenting. But with Nick standing with his back to her, watching their reflections in the one-way glass, it became intimate instead. She saw his eyes in the mirror, saw him track her as she crossed the room and tossed her things on the table next to his bomber.

She moved to stand beside him, liking the pair they made in the mirrored glass. She was a good eight inches shorter than his solid six feet, and had wavy brunette hair and curves that contrasted with his big, lethal body. Even their eyes were different—hers alight with interest and anticipation, his level, almost reserved. Cop’s eyes.

Nerves stirred, but it was just his work face, she knew. Trying to meet him halfway on that one, she bumped him with her shoulder, coworker to coworker. “Hey. Way to give a girl the heads-up that you’re going to be sticking around. Guess I should lay in some more buffalo burgers.”

Two weeks ago, she’d had nearly ten pounds of the stuff in her freezer, leftovers from a late-fall barbecue. Now she was down to three lonely patties, thanks to her and Nick’s habit of planning to go out for food, but then getting otherwise occupied in the bedroom. Or the couch. Or wherever. She’d been watching the supply dwindle as the days counted down, figuring they’d both hit zero at the same time. Now, though, she thought it would be nicely symbolic—whether he knew it or not—to replenish the stash.

Except he wasn’t grinning at the inside joke. He was staring at her in the mirror with something more than reserve in his expression now. Something that looked an awful lot like guilt.

The butterflies took a dive. “Nick?”

He cleared his throat and turned to face her, so those killer eyes were looking down at her, guarded and, yes, guilty as he said, “Listen, Jenn…we need to talk.”

And all she could think was, Oh, hell.

* * *

W E NEED TO TALK . For years now Nick had thought those were the worst words a man could hear, not because of what they meant, but because of what they symbolized—problems, issues, changes… .

This was the first time, though, that he realized as much as it had sucked him to hear the words, it ripped him up even worse to say them to someone else. Especially someone like Jenn.

She’d come into the room ready to celebrate, but now the light dimmed in her chocolate-brown eyes and the color drained from her face, making the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks and nose stand out. “You didn’t ask your bosses to let you stay longer, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. The DEA wants the Investor in custody before he hits any other cities with the Death Stare.”

“What about you?” she asked. “What do you want?” And damned if her voice didn’t crack a little on the last word.

“I…” He trailed off, guilt stinging at the sudden sign of vulnerability.

She wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable, darn it. She was supposed to be gritty, tough and self-reliant—

he wouldn’t have gone after her in the first place if she hadn’t been. More, she had been totally on board with the no-strings short-term fling that was all he ever offered. Heck, she was the one who’d brought up the ground rules in the first place.

They’d wound up getting in way deeper than that, though, and from the look in her eyes, the lines had started to blur for her, far more than he’d suspected.

Nick cursed himself inwardly. He should’ve stuck to his no-overnights policy, should’ve put the brakes on when things first started to slide. He didn’t like that he’d let things go as far as they had, didn’t like how his normal control had slipped. And he hated doing this to her now…but there was no way he could let things keep going the way they had been, or worse, let them go further.

“I want…” Damn, this was harder than he’d thought it would be, and he’d known it would be hard—that was why he’d kept putting it off, not telling her there was a chance he’d be staying until it was an absolute done deal. He was paying for that now, though. “Tucker found me a two-room apartment around the corner that I can rent by the week. I’m moving in there today.”

“You’re breaking up with me.” Her voice was a monotone, her face a pale mask.

When he’d gone over it a hundred times in his head, he’d planned on saying something about how they’d agreed it was just for a couple of weeks, reminding her that they had promised when it was over, that they would walk away with no hard feelings. But they had already gone too far beyond where that would’ve made sense, so he just nodded. “I’m sorry, Jenn. I wish—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand, snapping that hard-eyed, determined mask of a poker face back in place. “Just don’t, okay? It’s… It’s like we said—a couple of weeks of fun. It’s been a couple of weeks, and tomorrow would’ve been goodbye, right?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure it had really been a question. “Right.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say.” She turned away to snag her stuff off the table, then stood there for a moment, shoulders stiff. He couldn’t see her face, didn’t know if she was fighting tears or anger, or both. Her voice was steady, though, when she said, “Don’t worry about any rumors, or seeing me around the station. I can handle it.”

He winced, but couldn’t think of anything he could say that would make things better, and figured he shouldn’t try. The situation was the situation, and they were both going to have to get through it as best they could until the sting wore off or he went home, whichever came first. “I’ll come by after work and get my things.”

She nodded, still with her back to him. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then.” She hesitated, but when he didn’t say anything else, she headed for the door without another word.

He told himself to stay put. Instead, he caught the door on its backswing and stood at the threshold of the interrogation room, watching her walk away.

Her strides were loose and limber and her shoulders were square beneath her butter-soft leather jacket, and she walked—as she always did—like she was ready to take on the world. That was one of the things he’d first noticed about her, the way she was always up for any challenge, any experience. He’d liked that about her. Hell, he’d liked damn near everything about her.

“You did it, huh?” Tucker said from farther down the hall.

Nick exhaled as Jenn took the stairs heading down to the basement, where the crime lab was located, and disappeared from view. Then he glanced over at the big, rangy detective. “Yeah. I did it.”

He hadn’t meant to bring Tucker into things, but they had been friends a long time. Tucker had been the one who’d recruited him into the case, and he’d been the one who dropped the “congrats, you’re staying in Bear Claw until we catch the Investor” bombshell the other day…so he was the one who’d gotten the whole story—or most of it, anyway.

Tucker glanced back in the direction Jenn had gone. “You want me to give Alyssa the heads-up, ask her to make sure she’s okay?”

Nick told himself to leave it alone. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. But don’t tell her why I did it.”

Tucker sent him a sidelong look. “You sure?”

“Leave it alone.” Nick inhaled, trying to fill the empty spaces. “She’s better off without me.”

“What about you? Are you going to be better off?”

“That’s not a priority. I’m just here to help close the case.”

Tucker didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged and held out a sticky note. “Then you’re going to want this.”

Nick took the paper and skimmed the address written on it. “What’s the deal?”

“That’s what I need you to figure out. Looks like we found one of the lieutenants…or what’s left of him.”

Chapter Two

One month later…

“This one looks even worse than the first two,” Jenn commented from the doorway, breathing through her mouth and doing her best to see the scene in terms of the evidence it might provide, rather than what it said about the victim’s last hours of life.

The ME’s office had collected Chuckie Dennison’s corpse, but what was left behind was plenty gruesome in its own right. Everything from the dining room chair—which had ropes sagging off it and a series of fingernail scrapes where the victim had struggled to free himself—to the array of kitchen utensils and small hand tools meticulously spread out on the stained burgundy tablecloth, said that the victim had been brutally tortured.

Gigi, who had gotten there first and started methodically photographing the scene, let the camera hang at her side as she took a look around and grimaced. “We’ll need the autopsy to be sure. But, yeah, it’s bad. And, yeah, I think you’re right that it fits the pattern. Odds are that it’s the Investor again.”

That was the word on the street, anyway. The rumors said it was the mastermind himself who had hunted down two—now three—of his former lieutenants in the Ghost Militia. The men had been found tortured to death, with the scenes showing every sign of an ordered, organized and ruthlessly self-controlled killer. Nobody knew whether the Investor was disposing of potential witnesses, getting revenge, or what… . Or if they knew, they weren’t telling.

Which meant that the task force was dealing with three bodies, three crime scenes and lots of evidence, but they still didn’t have a name or description of the Investor, and no idea when or where he would strike next. The former members of the Ghost Militia weren’t the type to ask for police protection; in fact, the last few remaining higher-ups had gone even deeper underground after the killings started.

“You don’t think it’s a vigilante?” Jenn asked as she set down her field kit, gloved up and got to work on the chair, which Gigi had already photographed.

That was the other theory the cops were working on, that it wasn’t the Investor at all, but instead, a local who was hunting and killing the remaining members of the Ghost Militia. Unfortunately, the list of people with possible motives was all too long—eighty-three people had died from Death Stare overdoses, and another dozen innocent bystanders had been killed during the Militia’s last desperate struggle to escape from the crackdown. Although many of the dead drug users had been among the city’s homeless, meaning that some had been tagged with just a first name, or sometimes not even that much, others had been ID’d. Which meant there were hundreds of bereaved family members out there, even more grieving friends…some of whom might be inclined to take matters into their own hands.

But Gigi shook her head. “It’s a plausible theory, sure, but I’m going with the word on the street. Nick…um, the task force’s connections have a pretty good track record so far.”

Jenn’s cheeks heated, but she made herself concentrate on the ropes that had been used to bind the victim, photographing them from even more angles before cutting them free and bagging them. After a moment, she said, “You can say his name, you know. It’s not like I don’t see him around.”

The dubious look Gigi shot her spoke volumes about just how bad Jenn had been at camouflaging her disbelief and unhappiness for those first couple of weeks after Nick dumped her. Or, at least, how bad she’d been at hiding it from Gigi and her other friends down in the crime lab. As far as anyone else knew—she hoped—it hadn’t been at all obvious that she had been hurting.

She was damn good at making it look as if everything was okay, after all. And in the fine tradition of “fake it until you make it,” eventually the sting really had worn off.

“I’m fine, really. I’m over it.” Jenn sealed a bag and signed her name on the first line of the label, starting the evidence chain. “It wasn’t even about him, really…it was everything.” She filed the bag in her kit, then rocked back on her bootie-covered heels to look over at her friend.

She hadn’t really talked about the breakup, even with Gigi, partly because she’d needed to work it out for herself, and partly because she’d hoped it would quickly become old news.

It didn’t seem to be, though—Gigi and the other analysts still looked at her with pity in their eyes every time Nick’s name came up or, worse, when they crossed paths. Which wasn’t that often, granted, but when they did, she knew that the others were watching her, waiting to see how she would react, as if she hadn’t been a hundred percent professional the last dozen times it had happened.

Not that she was counting.

“Everything?” Gigi nudged. Finished with the photographs, she was using a laser device to measure the room and the big pieces of furniture.

Those details, along with the photos and other notes, would go into one of the computers back in the lab to make a rendering. It wasn’t quite the kind of high tech used by the crime scene shows on TV—those were largely a combination of science fiction and reality, anyway—but it was more than most local police departments could boast.

Unfortunately, even the money Matt was funneling into the crime lab couldn’t force the case to break.

Jenn hesitated, then shook her head and got back to work, donning fresh gloves and getting ready to start swabbing the gruesome stains on the chair. Odds were that it all belonged to the victim, but it was still worth doing the work. That was the name of the game with crime scene analysis: ninety-nine percent drudgery and one percent eureka.

She worked methodically, swabbing each spot, retracting the swab into its sterile sheath and stoppering and labeling the tube, so if—or rather, when—the Investor made it into court, there wouldn’t be any chance of the evidence getting thrown out.

Not this time, she thought grimly, all too aware that over the past month, the case had gotten very personal for her, both as a way to prove herself, and a way to make amends for some of her past mistakes. Including the one she’d made with Nick, letting herself get distracted from what was really important by something that they had both agreed from the very beginning would only be a passing thing.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault but her own that she’d let herself forget that part.

Aware that Gigi was waiting for an answer, Jenn finally said, “Nick wasn’t the first guy I’ve dated since Terry died…but he was the first one who made an impact. He was the first one I was excited to see, the first one I missed when we were apart, the first one—” She broke off. “Anyway, even though it’s been almost three years since Terry was killed, Nick was my rebound. I jumped in too far too fast, and clung too hard to something that wasn’t real, mostly because I was so damn excited to finally feel something.”

“The thing between you and Nick was just a rebound, huh?” Gigi’s tone didn’t quite call her a liar. But it was close. “And now you’re over him. You sure about that?”

“One hundred percent.” Not just because she needed to be, but because she was seeing him for who he really was these days. Over the past month, without the blinders of lust and admiration dimming her view, she had realized that the man she had known—the one she had thought she knew so intimately—was just one part of the real Nick Lang…and she wasn’t sure she liked the other parts of him.

With her, he had been charming and courteous, but with an edge of wicked and earthy humor that had jibed with her own, along with a down-to-earth streak she’d loved. He’d made goofy faces at Amber, the K9 who’d taken up desk duty at the P.D., along with her injured human partner, Kelsey Meyers. He’d gone running in the rain with Jenn and he’d used her shampoo without caring that it made him smell like flowers. And when she’d gotten up in the middle of the night to pace or stare out into the darkness, when she came back to bed, he’d always stirred and reached for her in his sleep.

She might not have known where he grew up or what kind of music he liked, but she had thought she knew what kind of man he was. That is, until she started watching him more objectively and realized that while he was sometimes the guy she’d gotten to know, he could also be any number of other guys, depending on the situation.

With the other cops, he was a cop, which made sense. But she had also watched a couple of tapes of him interrogating some of the jailed militiamen. And what she’d seen had startled the heck out of her, because he hadn’t just been talking with them, he’d become one of them—not just with a few quick changes of clothing, but with his body language, his speech… . Even his face had been different, though she couldn’t have said how. More, she’d seen him do the same thing on other tapes, with witnesses. He’d been the perfect gentleman with a nervous grandmother and a midrange escort, but toughened up fast when facing a trio of teens who’d thought they were more badass than him and very quickly learned they were wrong.

She’d watched the tapes in order to get a different context for her evidence, in the hopes of adding to the case. Instead, she had learned more than she’d really wanted to about Nick.

He was a chameleon, the kind of guy who could slip into any situation and make himself indispensable. He’d even said as much, though not in so many words, when he’d told her that his greatest skill as an undercover agent was his ability to slip into any group, any situation. But what worked for busting drug rings

really didn’t work for her.

That wasn’t resentment talking, either, or an effort to make herself feel better about the breakup. If anything, it had made her feel worse to realize that she’d come very close to once again falling for a manipulator.

Her instincts, it seemed, still sucked.

“Anyway,” she said, realizing the conversation had lagged, though she’d kept swabbing at the bloodstains, capping and labeling the tubes with automatic precision, “I’m grateful for what happened, in a way. At least I know that part of me isn’t gone for good. Getting involved with Nick showed me that I can feel those feelings again. I’ll just have to make sure I use better judgment and next time around find myself someone who’s really available and not just passing through.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me set you up?”

Jenn winced. “Look, I’m sure the bird man is a great guy—”

“He’s an ornithologist, not to mention Matt’s best friend. He’s really cute in an intense yet geeky sort of way, and I think you guys could have some fun together… .” Gigi trailed off hopefully.

“I…well, not right now, okay?”

“When?”

Seeing that Gigi wasn’t going to give it up—she was still in that slightly sickening, more than slightly annoying “everyone should be as happy as me” phase of her relationship—Jenn blew out a breath. “After the Death Stare case is closed. Until then, I want to stay focused on this.” Her gesture took in the scene and the spatter, and for a moment the smell intruded, bringing a stab of pity for a man who probably didn’t deserve it, followed by a sting of guilt that she was letting Nick distract her again, and he wasn’t even in the room. Or her life.

Gigi sent her a long look. “You know what I think? I think that—” Her phone chimed, interrupting with the two-note tone that said it was incoming info from Dispatch. Jenn let out a sigh of relief as Gigi answered with, “Go for Gigi.” She listened for a moment, then nodded. “I’m on my way.”

“Please tell me it’s not another torture victim.” The Investor—or whoever was doing this—had never hit twice in one night before…but he’d also never shed this much blood before, or used his makeshift weapons with such vicious abandon.

“No, but it’s related.” At Jenn’s look, Gigi grimaced. “It’s a murder-suicide, guy and his girlfriend. Looks like he was flying high on Death Stare, and snapped before he OD’d.”

“Oh.” Jenn swallowed an uncharacteristic surge of nausea. “Damn it. I thought it was off the streets.”

“Apparently not all the way.” Gigi took a look around, lips flattening. “I hate to leave you here alone.” The analysts tried to work in pairs, but it wasn’t always possible.

Jenn waved her off. “I won’t be alone. There are plenty of cops in the building doing door-to-doors.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Gigi was the only one who knew how much the actual on-scene work bothered Jenn. But it was a part of the job, and one she’d learned to tolerate. “Go on. I’ve got this. We’ve nearly finished the first sweep, anyway. Another hour, maybe less, and I can take this stuff back to the lab and get started on the preliminary runs.” That was the part she was good at, and where she could make a difference for the case…and the victims.

Gigi was already packing her gear, of course. They didn’t really get a say in where they went, or when. “You don’t mind taking all of it back with you, mine as well as yours?”

“Not a problem. If I need to, I’ll get one of the cops to help me carry it downstairs.”

“Promise me you won’t try to do it all yourself?” Gigi’s tone was suddenly intense.

Jenn looked up at her friend. “What?”

Wearing her heavy parka now, cheeks flushing from the heat in the apartment, Gigi shrugged and looked a little sorry that she’d said anything. “I just…I don’t know. It worries me that you keep so much to yourself. I want you to know you can talk to me…or if not me, then Matt. Or someone.”

Not sure how they had gotten here, Jenn rocked back on her bootied heels. “I’m fine, really.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” Or close enough. And the parts of her that weren’t fine weren’t the sort of thing her new friends in her new home could help with. History was history, baggage was baggage, and she needed to deal with it herself. “Thanks, though. I mean it.”

Gigi wavered for a moment, then exhaled. “I need to get going. Damn that drug.”

Relieved by the change in subject—though equally frustrated by the situation in Bear Claw—Jenn said, “We’re going to get the bastard, Gigi. One of these days he’s going to make a mistake and we’re going to get him.”

Granted, that wouldn’t fix things for the victims who’d already died, or their families. But still.

Gigi headed for the door that opened from the small apartment into the fifth-floor hallway. She stripped off her booties and gloves in the doorway and took a long look back at the scene. “I hope to hell we get him soon.”

“Me, too.” Jenn lifted a hand. “Keep your eyes sharp.” It was a saying from her old crime lab, one of the few things she’d brought with her to Bear Claw.

“You, too. And don’t forget to have someone help you carry that stuff down.” With that, Gigi let the door swing shut behind her and her booted footsteps moved off down the hall.

Jenn blew out a long, slow breath that didn’t do much to ease the tightness in her chest as she found herself alone in a dead man’s apartment.

On one level it was a relief to have Gigi—and her probing questions—headed somewhere else. On another, though, her departure sucked the life out of the room, letting the smell crowd closer, until the atmosphere felt thick and cloying, like it was sticking to Jenn’s skin.

“Get a grip,” she muttered. “You wanted to be back working in a crime lab, and you got what you wanted. Now deal with it and do your job.”

It took her nearly an hour to process the main sitting area, where Dennison’s murder had taken place. With the knives, tools and tablecloth all documented, labeled and packed away, she moved into the victim’s bedroom.

This particular crime scene was unusual in that the victim was also on the P.D.’s most wanted list, which meant she wasn’t just looking for evidence that would help them identify his killer, but also anything that might lead them to the other fugitive militiamen…or their leader.

It was a complicated case, both challenging and frustrating.

The cops had already searched the other rooms, but she was seeking less obvious clues. And although the aha moment of an analyst finding exactly the right strand of hair sitting alone on an otherwise pristine carpet was pure Hollywood fiction—the reality was more along the lines of dust bunnies and dead ends—there were occasional aha moments in real life, too.

Her instincts quivered over some papers wadded in a wastebasket next to the bed, and again over a pair of boots lying near the closet as if they’d just been kicked off. They had dirt embedded in the treads…and that was her kind of evidence. Figuring out where the victim had been prior to his death could be very, very useful, and that was just the sort of thing she could do using the soil.

Maybe. Hopefully.

Whistling softly under her breath, she headed out into the main room and crouched down to rummage at the bottom of her kit for a larger evidence bag. The creak of the hallway door behind her shot adrenaline into her system and had her heart bumping, but logically she knew who it had to be.

“Gigi told you to come up here, didn’t she?” Straightening, she turned toward the door. “Well, I’m not ready—”

A man rushed her and slammed a fist into her face.

Pain exploded alongside shock and Jenn reeled back with a scream. Her foot snagged on her evidence kit and she fell. Her heart hammered as she grabbed the kit, tried to roll away, tried to get away, crying, “No! Help! Somebody help me!”

He followed her, wrenched the evidence case from her fingers and then grabbed her by the hair with brutal force. She caught a glimpse of lethal gray eyes and a thin-lipped mouth before he slammed her head into the floor. And the lights went out.

Chapter Three

Nick paused on the landing and stuck his head through the stairwell door for a quick survey of the fourth floor, one level below the victim’s apartment. A couple of doors down, a uniformed officer paused midknock, then relaxed. “Oh. Hey, Nick.”

“Hey, Doanes. Give me some good news.”

But, like his buddies door-to-dooring it on the second and third floors, the cop shook his head. “Sorry, man. I got nothing. Lots of empty apartments, and the few people who’ve answered didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, and mostly don’t even know the people on their own floor, never mind one up. Merry said she was going to track down the super, though. Maybe she’s got something better.”

“I already talked to her. The super didn’t recognize the vic’s picture, said the apartment belongs to a woman, gave up her name and contact info. Merry got the renter on her cell phone—she was evasive, but eventually fessed up that she’s out of the city on a training assignment, and advertised online for a sublet to offset the bills. Dennison said he’d only be here for a couple of weeks, but he paid her for a whole month. In cash.”

“He was moving around, keeping a low profile like the others,” Doanes observed.

“Seems like it.” Question was, why? And why had he stayed in Bear Claw? What were the Investor and the other remaining members of the militia looking for? And why was the head honcho suddenly taking out his own people? What was going on here?

It felt as if they were chasing their own tails like a bunch of bomb dogs with C-4 strapped to their butts. Shaking his head, Nick continued, “Anyway, looks like the lady who rents the place is a dead end. She dealt with Dennison on the phone, never met him in person, didn’t care what he was doing in town as long as he paid in full.” He paused. “Are the CSIs still up there?”

Doanes shook his head. “I think they’re done. I saw Gigi leaving a little while ago.”

“Thanks.” Nick waved him off. “Catch you later.”

It shouldn’t have mattered to him whether or not the analysts had finished up their preliminary run, just like it shouldn’t have mattered that Jenn had been assigned to the scene. They had crossed paths plenty since the breakup, and had kept it friendly and polite. There shouldn’t be any problem there. Hell, there wasn’t any problem there.

Still, he breathed a little easier as he headed up the next flight of stairs, knowing he’d have the quiet solitude he needed to put himself into the head of Chuckie Dennison—a victim who had also been a killer in his own right. Nick wouldn’t ever know the dead man personally, but for a few minutes—or longer, if necessary—he would do his damnedest to become him, standing in his space, seeing the things he’d thought were important, the things he hadn’t.

Dennison had been a fugitive from both the law and his former boss…but he’d stayed in the city. What was keeping him here? And then the torture. What had the Investor wanted from his former lieutenant? Information, obviously, but what kind? What was the endgame here?

Nick probably wouldn’t get the answers today, of course, but he would absorb everything he could of Dennison’s space, his life, his death. And maybe—if he was damn lucky—get a flash of the kind that sometimes hit him, the sort of lightbulb gotcha that sent him in a new direction, or back down an old one, until he hit pay dirt. All because he’d stood there for ten minutes or an hour, absorbing every detail of a stranger’s life and trying to figure out what made him tick.

The members of his sprawling, affectionate and high-drama family called it method acting and were as proud of his skills as they were baffled by his choices. His bosses were just glad he could do it, and used him as often as they could. And he was okay with that. More than okay with it. He came, he saw, he blended, he helped catch the bad guy and then he moved on again. That was his life, his skill set, and if it meant he’d put some other things on hold, better that than repeating past mistakes.

Now, as he pushed through the door to the fifth floor, he did his damnedest to put himself into the mind of a former member of the Ghost Militia, an ex-con who’d done a stint for aggravated assault and attempted murder, and who had been on the run, aware that the Investor was tracking down his former lieutenants and tearing them open to see what secrets he could find.

The hallway was identical to those on the other floors, with white walls, a red carpet that was starting to go threadbare pink along the traffic pattern and numbered doors leading off on either side. The one difference was that the door on the far end was marked as a crime scene.

Already deep in Dennison’s head—I’m here, nobody followed me, gotta check the apartment first before I can relax, make sure I haven’t been made yet—Nick headed up the hall, senses attuned for the slightest warning of danger to his fugitive self.

Thud. The noise from behind the far door brought him up short and set off all sorts of warning bells—someone was in the apartment!

Where Dennison would’ve done a one-eighty and taken off, though, Nick powered straight ahead with his weapon appearing in his hand without him consciously reaching for it. It was probably one of the cops, he knew, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Especially not when the others were supposed to be canvassing.

He went quiet as he got close to the door, moving almost silently on his lug-soled boots and letting out a breath as there was another thudda-thudda-thud, then a scuffle.

Instincts on overdrive, he twisted the knob, booted open the door and flattened himself against the outside wall for a second. When there was no response, he went in low, leading with his gun. “Freeze! Police!”

In the next moment, two impressions seared his retinas and competed for priority in his head: Jenn lay on the floor, motionless beside a battered chair, near a dark pool of blood he hoped to hell wasn’t hers. And heavy footsteps coming from the back room said she wasn’t alone.

Jenn! The word shouted in his head but didn’t leave his lips. He reached her in two strides, went down on his knees before he knew it, and then had his hands on her for the first time in a month. Her pulse was fast, her breathing shallow, her eyes were closed, the side of her face already reddened and starting to swell. He didn’t see any fresh blood, and the spatter nearby was old and set, but that didn’t change the basic fact: someone had gone after her. And that someone was getting away.

He lunged to his feet, bellowing, “Stop! Police!”

Not that the guy stopped—they never did, and this one was already out the window. Nick knew it even as he cleared the door into the bedroom and heard the traffic, then the feet pounding down the fire escape. “Damn it!”

He stuck his head out, and just barely saw the guy from the back as he bolted around the corner onto the main road. But that was enough to relay the bad news—the guy had a pair of plastic boxes under one arm. He’d taken the evidence kits.

Cursing viciously, Nick holstered his weapon, went for his phone and called it in. But even with “white guy, six-something, dark pants and a suit jacket, carrying a couple of evidence kits” as a description, he didn’t hold out much hope.

Given the head start, though, there was no point in Nick giving chase. Especially not when there was a vic who need medical attention.

Not a vic. Jenn. He had to think of her that way, though. It was the only way he could keep himself steady as he returned to Dennison’s living room, went down beside her once more. He didn’t move her, didn’t dare do anything more than take her hand in his.

She was still unconscious, which wasn’t good. And her left eye was nearly swollen shut, red and puffy. She’d taken a hell of a hit. Maybe more than one.

Anger was a sharp, ugly beast inside him, hammering against his ribs and snarling to be let free. He kept his control, though—that was what made him one of the best at what he did. But he sure as hell didn’t feel like one of the best as he leaned over her. He felt damned helpless, and that was a new feeling.

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” he said, forcing his voice level. “They’ll take care of you, get you back on your feet.”

She would hate this, he knew. She would hate knowing that she’d been out of it, that she’d been the focus of an “officer down” call, taking attention away from the manhunt that even now was forming up down below. And most of all, she would hate knowing he’d been the one to wait with her.

Despite her professionalism, he knew the sharp edges were there, knew she couldn’t possibly be as cool toward him as she came across. There had to be some heat beneath that mask, some anger over the way he’d ended things so abruptly when there’d been the potential for them to keep seeing each other, keep going with the crazy heat they’d made together.

Or maybe that was just him. Maybe she really was that cool, and he was the only one who still took a second some mornings to realize that she wasn’t beside him, wouldn’t ever be there again. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, reaching for his phone. “Where the hell—”

Boot steps thudded in the hallway and Tucker straight-armed the door, face thunderous. “What the hell happened?” He missed a step at the sight of Jenn, down and out of it. He grabbed his radio and snapped, “Where the hell is that ambulance?”

“Three minutes out,” came the muffled response from Dispatch.

“Get it here in one.” Keeping the radio clutched, Tucker rounded on Nick. “Tell me.” He sounded almost as mad as Nick felt. Almost.

“I came in as the dipwad was going out the window,” Nick growled, and gave him a quick summary, along with his too-vague description of Jenn’s attacker.

Tucker shook his head grimly. “This is bad.”

“It gets worse. He got the evidence cases.”

“He…” The detective broke into a string of curses, then headed for the hallway, already barking into his radio. “Anything on the guy Lang saw? Business suit, two plastic cases. Anything?”

His voice faded as he stalked down the hallway, giving orders and making threats that anyone who’d known him for more than five seconds knew was more a sign of how worried he was than anything. Tucker was no pushover, but he was a fair leader, and he cared deeply about all of his people. More, the crime scene analysts had a special place in his heart, given that his wife, the mother of his daughter, was one of them.

Nick didn’t know what it meant to feel like that, to love like that. But he knew he was on the verge of losing it over Jenn.

In the distance, a siren throbbed faintly. Finally!

Tightening his fingers on hers, he leaned in. “They’re almost here. Any minute now.”

Her lashes fluttered.

“Jenn!” His muted shout sounded very loud in the room—in the freaking murder scene, the one he’d been coming to re-create in his mind, only to wind up coming way too close to reenacting it in an entirely more gruesome fashion. There was nothing of Dennison in him now as he brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead. “That’s it,” he said, though she hadn’t moved again. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

The “baby” just slipped out. But even as it resonated too deeply inside him, her fingers moved against his, her eyelids fluttered again and she inhaled a deep breath—a real one this time, not one of the shallow, shocky sips she’d been taking ever since his arrival.

And then, finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

* * *

W ARMTH RUSHED THROUGH Jenn at the sight of Nick’s face so close to hers, and the knowledge that he’d been watching her sleep, and that whatever he’d been thinking, it had put deep, intense emotions in his eyes, making him look so fierce he was almost frightening.

Almost.

“Nick,” she said softly, reaching for him. “What—”

She gasped when the move sent a slash of pain through her head, followed by a roll of nausea.

“Stay still.” He gripped her hand. “You were attacked, knocked out. The paramedics are on their way up.”

“Para…oh.” She closed her eyes as her brain caught back up with her, and the scenery she had glimpsed behind Nick’s head connected to her recent reality—or at least as much as it could when that reality was a jumble.

She was at a crime scene; there had been another torture-murder. She knew that much, though only as words, like Dispatch was reporting directly inside her head. In terms of really seeing things, really having the memories, the last thing she remembered was—ow! She moved to grab her head, then groaned when the motion made things worse. Grayness washed her vision and things went swimmy around her.

“Jenn!” Nick said urgently. “Come on, stay with me.”

“You didn’t want me to—” She had enough presence of mind to shut that off, clamping her lips together while she rode out a surge of nausea. Her mind raced, bringing more stabs of pain in her head and behind her eyeballs, but memories started coming back, too.

She remembered walking up the stairs to the fifth floor, coming in to find Gigi already working.

“Gigi!” Her eyes flew open and she tried to shove up off the floor, fighting through the pain and the too-bright glare of the winter sunlight and apartment fluorescents. “Where’s Gigi? She was here!”

“Chill!” Nick gripped her shoulders, holding her down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. She’s okay. She left on another call. You were here alone.” He paused. “You don’t remember her leaving?”

“I…” The fear had leveled off when she learned that Gigi was okay, but now it came back full force, roaring through her, sweeping through a jumble of memories. She remembered Gigi photographing the scene, the two of them talking about Nick. And after that…

What happened after that?

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t stress about it. Just relax.” But there was something in his eyes that she didn’t like—it was too much like the looks she had gotten back in her old life, after Terry died and things started coming to light. It said, There’s more, and it’s bad.

“What is it?” she demanded, grabbing on to his wrists and digging in, her heart suddenly pounding even harder. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated, then said, “The bastard got your evidence kits.”

“No!” Horror lashed through her. Shame. Guilt. The cases held everything from the scene. If it was all gone… She surged against him. “Let me up! I need to—”

“You need to stay the hell down!” he said fiercely, leaning in so their faces were very close and she could feel the heat of his body, his grip. But then a sudden clamor erupted at the door and two paramedics came in, puffing from the climb. At the interruption, Nick’s expression flattened and he straightened away from her. “You need to let these guys have a look at you.”

She tried to wave them off. “I’m fine.” Which would’ve sounded more convincing if her voice hadn’t broken. But she wasn’t fine. She was down and hurting. And, worse, she had lost crucial evidence in the Death Stare case…otherwise, why else would the killer come back for it?

The killer, she thought, and closed her eyes as it started to penetrate. She’d been attacked, knocked out. Logic said that was what’d happened, but when she tried to remember, all she could picture was her and Gigi gossiping about Nick. Who was here, hovering over her with a gruff protectiveness he’d never shown while they were together, probably because she had been careful to never let him see her be anything but breezy and self-reliant. Now, she was anything but. She wanted to cling, wanted to cry. She had been attacked, knocked out, robbed.

Why couldn’t she remember any of it?

The paramedics dumped their gear and moved in, asking questions and starting to tug at her clothes.

She tried to fend them off. “I don’t—”

“Just let them have a look at you,” Nick said. “You were unconscious for a good five minutes, and there’s blood.” She would’ve kept arguing, would’ve kept trying to brush them off when they tried to look in her eyes and feel the growing lump on her skull. But then he leaned in closer and said, “Please.”

She stilled, caught in his eyes and the low-voiced request. Had he ever asked her for anything before? She didn’t think so, and the impact was palpable. He was still holding her hand, she realized. He followed her eyes to where their fingers were twined together, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip.

Warmth kindled, making her want to lean into him, lean on him. Her head hurt; her eye and the whole side of her face hurt. More, her heart ached at knowing she had lost the evidence. Maybe even the key to the whole case.

Damn it. She needed to let go for a few minutes, needed to know she could trust someone else to handle things, needed… She needed exactly what he was offering right now, she realized with a sudden cold-water dose of reality. Which meant it wasn’t real; it was just a means to an end, just like all the other roles she’d seen him play over the past month.

Stiffening, she pulled away, even though it took effort. “Whatever it takes to get the job done, right?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Never mind.” Going numb now, she submitted to the paramedics, no longer trying to fight them off as they asked her to follow a pen with her eyes and answer stupid-simple questions about what day it was and who was the President.

Nick stood, moved to the back of the room and took a good look around. Moments later, he and Tucker had their heads together and were conferring in low tones, with lots of looks in her direction. She was so busy trying to focus on them that it took her too long to notice that the paramedic working on a small scalp laceration—which had started bleeding when she began to move around—was tossing bloody gauze into the spatter pattern from the murder vic.

“The scene,” she protested, reaching for his arm. “Please!”

“Forget the scene,” Tucker said, more to the paramedic than to her. “A living victim gets priority.”

It was protocol, and normally she agreed wholeheartedly—the emergency responders needed to do their jobs without worrying about evidence. But she wasn’t critical—a headache and some memory gaps weren’t going to kill her—and this was the Death Stare case. “Not here. Not now. Not with me.”

His expression darkened. “Stow it. You’re damn lucky to be alive, you know. If Nick hadn’t come in when he did, the bastard could have—” He broke off, cursing under his breath as he turned away to take a long look out the window.

Nick, though, didn’t seem to have nearly as much of a problem with the prospect. He stared at her, expression unreadable and nothing like the gentleness that had been on his face when she was first waking up.

In a way, she was grateful, because the irritation she wanted to aim at him helped her steel herself against the picture Tucker had painted in her aching head. She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t really questioned why or how Nick had gotten there. Now, though, she was forced to admit she was damned lucky to be alive. It wasn’t like the Investor made a habit of leaving witnesses. Exactly the opposite, in fact.

Nick had interrupted him before he could finish the job. He had saved her life.

What was she supposed to do with that?

“Yes, I am lucky,” she admitted, struggling to keep her voice from wavering. “I’m grateful Nick got here when he did, believe me. More grateful than I can

really say right now. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not seriously injured.”

“You were unconscious for way too long,” Nick said flatly, “and you’re still out of it.”

“I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Describe the attack.”

She glared at him, but the reality was that she wasn’t frustrated with him anymore—she was mad at herself. Why couldn’t she remember what happened?

“You want the scene preserved? Then get out of here,” Nick said with maddening logic. “Let the paramedics take you to the hospital for stitches and make sure that hard head of yours is fully intact.” To Tucker, he said, “We’ll want guards on her, starting now.”

“Who did you have in mind?” The question seemed more pointed than it should’ve been, though Jenn couldn’t be sure. Things were getting fuzzy all of a sudden, like a gray mist closing in on her.

“Send a couple of uniforms with her,” Nick said flatly. “And have Alyssa or one of the others meet her there. I don’t want… Hell, she should have a friendly face waiting.”

Jenn didn’t know why he sounded angry but couldn’t worry about it just then, as the paramedics transferred her to the waiting stretcher. She moaned as the world around her began a big, sickening spin.

Nick took a couple of steps toward them. “Damn it, don’t—”

“It’s okay.” She waved him off, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to cling to consciousness and not give in to the nausea. “I’m…I’m fine.” Or she would be fine once she got out of here, got someplace dark and quiet, where she could be alone and process everything that had happened—and chill out enough to remember the rest. The memories had to be in there, they had to be.

She didn’t know whether she had seen the Investor himself or one of his underlings, but it was an important break, a crucial turn in the case…if only she could remember what her attacker had looked like, what he had said. Had he asked her about the evidence? He must’ve come back for something specific, but what?

“Go on,” Tucker said to the paramedics. To her, he added, “I’ll have Alyssa meet you there. Gigi, too, if she’s free.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. But it was Nick she reached out toward, though she didn’t make contact. “Thank you for chasing him off. Lucky break or not, I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing.” His expression was unreadable, his body utterly still. “I should’ve gone after him, should’ve caught him.”

“I should be able to remember what he looks like. We don’t always get what we want.”

And he was exhibit A on that little fact of life, wasn’t he? Because even with her woozy and concussed—or maybe because of those things—she was very aware of the imprint his body had left on hers, and the way her clothes now smelled slightly of him, a mix of new leather and his own uniquely masculine scent. She wanted to inhale him, remember him. But he wasn’t the one she was supposed to be remembering, was he?

He had been the one to point out the memory gap to Tucker, but now he softened a little, saying gruffly, “Give it time. It’ll come back.”

* * *

B UT J ENN ’ S MEMORY OF THE attack didn’t come back. It didn’t magically return that afternoon as she submitted to a battery of tests and grudgingly agreed to spend the night for observation, all too aware that there was a uniformed officer at the door. And it didn’t come back later that night when she lay in the not-very-dark room, staring at the shadowy pieces of hospital equipment and trying to force the memories to return.

She remembered coming into the apartment and seeing the blood, the ropes, the chair, Gigi…then nothing. It wasn’t even that she was fuzzy on the details, or her mind had been frozen in fear. She just didn’t remember. Her world skipped from telling Gigi there wasn’t anything between her and Nick anymore, and then waking up practically in his arms.

Unfortunately, every time she got to that part, she remembered all too well other times that she’d woken up in his arms. Then, when she deliberately steered her mind away from that, she skipped back to the attack, and how she owed him her life. If he hadn’t walked into Dennison’s apartment when he did, she’d probably be dead now. And that was a hell of a thought. As was knowing that she’d probably seen the Investor’s face, making her a valuable witness…and possibly, as far as the killer was concerned, a loose end.

So it was no real surprise that she tossed and turned as if it was an Olympic sport and she was going for the gold, until the painkillers and her body’s need to heal overrode her churning thoughts and she finally conked out.

She slept poorly and woke near dawn, but felt a heck of a lot better than she had. She could see out of her right eye and move without wanting to whimper or throw up, and that was a huge relief. Still, a few hours later when Tucker, Nick, Gigi and Maya all filed in past the uniformed guard, she could only shake her head, answering the question before it was asked. “No, I haven’t remembered anything new. I’m sorry.” Then, seeing their expressions—different mixes of anger and sympathy—she added, “And don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. The doctors said so.”

She didn’t look fine, though. She’d seen herself in the mirror, bruised and battered, with a bandage at her hairline where they’d glued the gash shut rather than stitching it. And she’d seen Nick’s wince when he’d first looked at her…and then looked away.

“Don’t push yourself,” Maya advised. “Post-concussion syndrome is nothing to mess around with. You might feel okay now, but if you overdo it you could set yourself back, or worse.” Trim and petite in dark wool pants and a soft, creamy sweater, the exotic brunette could’ve been a model. She wasn’t, though; she was the Bear Claw P.D.’s resident psych expert. Which made her Jenn’s next best hope.

“Help me,” she said, reaching out to her coworker from where she sat on the edge of the bed, wearing the yoga pants and hooded sweatshirt Gigi had brought from her apartment. “I don’t care what it takes. Drugs, hypnosis, I’ll do anything.”

“You can do yourself a favor by not rushing things,” Maya said. “We can try hypnosis later. For now, just relax.”

“How can I?” She gestured to the window. The view of the parking lot wasn’t terribly scenic, but beyond the cars rose the skyline of Bear Claw City, and beyond that the mountains. “He’s out there killing people. I need to do whatever I can to help bring him down.”

“Trust me, it’s not worth killing yourself over this one case,” Nick said bluntly. He didn’t say especially when it’s not even your hometown. She’d bet he was thinking it, though, given that he’d said similar things when they’d been together, as if to remind her that he was just passing through.

Should’ve listened. Now, though, she narrowed her eyes in his direction. “This is the case for Bear Claw, Detective. Hopefully there won’t be another one like it here, ever. And I’m not trying to grandstand, here, I’m just trying to be part of the team.”

His expression flattened. “You’ve earned your place. You don’t need to keep earning it.”

That hit close enough to make her wince, especially when he wasn’t one of the ones who would be reviewing her probation…but Tucker was. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Which doesn’t include you needing to solve the case single-handedly.”

Jenn was sucking in a breath to retort when Tucker said mildly, “She’s not trying to fling herself into the middle of a firefight, Lang, so dial it down.” He cut a look at Jenn. “Both of you, take a breath and keep the personal stuff out of this, okay?” His tone was mild, but there was an undercurrent of steel, a subtle reminder that he was the boss here.

“But I wasn’t…” She subsided, though, because Tucker had a point—she might’ve had the same debate with him or another of her teammates, but there wouldn’t have been the same sort of emotion behind it: frustration, annoyance and the need to prove herself, not to her bosses, but to Nick.

Except that she was over him, damn it.

Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. “Sorry. You’re right. I’ll chill.” And not just because her head was suddenly throbbing once more, her face gone sore and tender. “But I’m not backing off. I want to get these memories back and help get this guy, and his drugs, off the streets of my new city.”

Besides, closing the case would mean that Nick would leave Bear Claw for good and she could get her mind back where it belonged—on the job, and eventually on finding a nice, uncomplicated guy for a nice, uncomplicated relationship with no manipulation, no heartbreak and no nasty surprises when she least expected them.

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