Total Control
Author: Laura Griffin
Date: 2019-09-02 06:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romantic Suspense; Romance; Suspense; Military Fiction; Mystery; Novella; Action; Adult; M F Romance; Contemporary
Description: The New York Times bestselling author of Desperate Girls and Touch of Red returns to her sizzling Alpha Crew series with this fourth thriller filled with “scorching-hot chemistry” ( Kirkus Reviews ) featuring a Navy SEAL who meets his match in a fierce FBI agent as they work together to take down a dangerous terrorist. Navy SEAL Jake Heath has his eyes on Alexa Mays. The FBI Agent is whip smart and hot as hell, but she won’t give him the time of day. So, when she calls him out of blue, he thinks his luck has changed. But instead of meeting up for a romantic dinner, Alexa needs Jake for a very
Publisher: Gallery Books

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Failure is not an option.

The words had been swirling through Jake Heath’s mind since he’d jumped out of the Black Hawk and hit the Pacific Ocean with a cold slap. Now he moved through the water, swift and silent as he closed in on his target.

Conditions for tonight’s mission were good. Better than good—they were damn near perfect. Clear skies, half-moon. Low wind, no chop. The waters around San Clemente Island were normally clear, but tonight visibility was especially high, and Jake tried not to get distracted by the otherworldly phosphorescent light show happening around him.

As Jake neared his objective, he reviewed the mission for the umpteenth time. Phase One, insertion. Jake’s sixteen-man team had been dropped off by helo and swum more than a mile through shark-infested water in order to approach the target vessel without being seen. Phase Two, assault. The SEALs would board the vessel—a dilapidated container ship controlled by three dozen armed pirates—and locate the boat’s captain, who was being held hostage. During extraction, Phase Three, the SEALs would get themselves and the captain out by boat, hopefully before the enemy even realized their hostage was missing.

Tactically, the mission was impossible.

Almost.

Which made it a classic Alpha Crew op. Tonight’s plan was so bold it bordered on stupid, and that was the beauty of it. The key was sending most of the team in as a decoy force that would board the ship via a cargo net on the starboard side and engage the enemy. Meanwhile, Jake and one teammate would slip aboard quietly and retrieve the hostage. Several SEALs had objected to the plan, but given the numbers tonight, it was the team’s best, if slim, chance for success. Jake gave the scheme a twenty percent chance of going off without a hitch.

Failure is not an option. The words swam through his mind again as he glided through the water.

Suddenly, the world went pitch-black. No trace of light anywhere.

He’d reached the target. Jake didn’t bother confirming with his compass, because the massive steel ship messed with the instruments. But this was it. Jake gave his buddy cord a tug. Petty Officer Kyle Marin, who lurked beside him in the dark water, tugged back. Jake swam closer and touched the hull. It took him and Kyle a few minutes to orient themselves and reach their designated position near the boat’s stern.

The gigantic ship was like a living thing, and Jake could hear the boat’s innards groaning and churning beside him. He visualized the layout, mentally zeroing in on the bridge, where their intel said the hostage was being held in a room under armed guard. They knew the hostage was injured, which was one reason Jake, the team corpsman, had been tapped for the job of getting him out. Jake was in for some intense CQB tonight—close-quarters battle, a SEAL specialty—and his adrenaline was ramped up accordingly.

“Charlie, this is Delta,” a staticky voice said over the radio in Jake’s ear. It was Ryan Owen, one of Jake’s best friends. “We’re in position, starboard side. Do you copy?”

“Copy that, Delta. Charlie is in position.”

More static.

“Delta? You copy?” Jake adjusted his earpiece through the thick skin of his dive suit.

“Copy that.”

Jake felt Kyle moving nearby, probably readying his gear. Using the seam of the hull as a guide, they maneuvered to the surface, where they waited in the inky shadow of the ship.

Jake removed his mask and fins and let his vision adjust as saltwater seeped into his eyes. Kyle did the same. They took turns zipping gear into each other’s backpack as they waited for the signal.

And waited. And waited.

Jake’s shoulders tensed. His pulse pounded. He didn’t need to check his dive watch to know they were more than a minute behind schedule, which was an eternity on an op like this. He couldn’t see his teammate in the darkness, but he could feel his tension.

“Fuckin’ A,” Kyle murmured.

Jake gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Failure was not an option tonight. It was a training mission, yes, but a lot was riding on the outcome. Reputation, for one. Jake’s team was up against another elite unit from SEAL Team Three. But even more important, one of Team Three’s commanding officers had come up with the idea that the loser of tonight’s challenge would spend the weekend doing PT alongside an incoming BUD/S class. Tonight’s winner would be allowed to take the three-day leave they’d been counting on for weeks.

Jake had plans for the weekend, and they sure as shit didn’t include doing push-ups and beach runs with a bunch of tadpoles.

“What’s taking so long?” Kyle muttered.

Jake checked his watch. They were two minutes past—

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

At the first sound of gunfire, all hell broke loose—yelling, running, the loud pop of charges. Delta had been instructed to let all noise discipline go to shit the instant they were “spotted” by the enemy, and that was exactly what they were doing.

Jake pushed away from the ship and looked up just in time to see a line being tossed down. He caught a glimpse of the man’s greasepaint-covered face. Ryan. His teammate had come through, as he always did. Jake wasted no time grabbing the rope and climbing hand over hand to the deck, where Ryan waited for him. Jake grabbed the M4 he’d slung over his back. Ryan had the same weapon clutched in his hands, ready to hose down any hostile fighters with electronic bullets that would be registered by computer.

Even with all the greasepaint, Jake could see from his friend’s face that something was wrong.

“Hostage isn’t in the bridge,” Ryan reported.

“Where—”

“C deck storage room. Past the galley and the crew’s mess, third door, starboard.”

“Got it.”

Ryan took off, and Jake ducked behind a steel drum, where Kyle was already hiding his gear for later. Jake did the same. If all went as planned, they’d be needing everything again for the boat extraction.

Signaling Kyle to follow, Jake kept low as he ran to the nearest opening. He pushed through a pair of doors, then grabbed a rail and slid one-handed down a ladder, landing in a dim passageway lit only by the faint red glow of a distant EXIT sign. Alert for threats, he jogged through the narrow passage, past the mess room to the third door. Why no guards?

All Jake’s senses went on high alert. This could be a trap.

Kyle grabbed his arm and nodded toward the door. Jake knew what the SEAL was thinking. According to the layout they’d memorized, this storage room connected with an equipment room. Kyle tried the equipment room door and shook his head. He immediately dropped into a crouch, ready to work his magic as the team’s lead breacher. Jake unzipped his pack and handed him a “baby boom,” a quiet charge that was just strong enough to get the job done. Kyle readied it and lit the fuse. He and Jake stepped back.

Pop!

The door burst open. Jake went in low, scanning for threats. No people, just heavy equipment.

A loud squelch near the interior door told Jake the adjacent room had people inside, hopefully including the hostage.

Jake jerked his head, signaling Kyle to follow him. He doubted the interior door would be locked, and his hunch proved correct as he slowly turned the latch.

Jake nodded at Kyle. Silently, he counted. Three, two . . .

Boom.

Five people turned in unison as Jake kicked open the door. Four enemy, one hostage.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

“Holy shit, four for four!” Kyle grinned at Jake.

“Hooyah!” Jake grabbed the startled hostage from a scowling member of Team Three. “We’ll be taking this package off your hands, gents.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not possible, man. You’re dead, remember?” Another grin from Kyle.

Tonight’s hostage was a Team Three member who’d been sidelined with a broken arm and looked none too happy to be in custody of the rival team. Jake pulled the man into the adjacent cabin, then peered into the corridor to make sure the coast was clear.

“Radios.”

Jake looked over his shoulder to see that Kyle had relieved their opponents of their radios, in case anyone planned to pull a Lazarus move and tip off their friends about the secret assault team.

“Nice work.” Jake turned to look the hostage over. “Hope that cast can get wet.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll do my best.”

He led the man down the passageway, with Kyle bringing up the rear. Boots thundered above them as men raced back and forth. It was going to be tough getting off the ship and onto an inflatable boat with an injured hostage who couldn’t grab a rope. But they’d improvise.

As Jake reached the top of the ladder, he heard static over the radio, and then: “Charlie, this is Delta. Scratch the boat evac. I repeat, scratch the boat evac. Helo’s coming with a rescue basket. Get to the stern.”

“Roger that, Delta.” Jake looked at Kyle. “You got that?”

“Got it.”

Jake peered out from the door and was pleased to see mass confusion. Men running, yelling, darting in and out of clouds created by smoke grenades. His team had pulled out all the stops with their diversion, but it wouldn’t be enough to distract however many hostile fighters remained if a chopper suddenly appeared in the sky.

As if on cue, Jake heard the whump-whump of the approaching bird. A rescue basket dangled from a steel cable as the chopper neared the ship.

“You take the hostage,” Jake ordered Kyle. “I’ll draw their attention away.”

“What? How?”

“Just take him.” Jake handed off the hostage and sprinted for the bow of the ship, digging a flash-crash grenade from his belt. When he reached an open area, he pulled the pin and lobbed it into the center of the deck, then plugged his ears.

Boom!

Fifty feet later, he lobbed two more.

Boom! Boom!

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat-tat.

Jake managed to dodge the enemy fire and ducked behind a giant winch.

“Heath, you there?” Ryan said over the radio. “We’re bringing the helo. Get ready to grab on.”

“No way. I’ll jump in and catch the boat.”

“Not happening. Boat is history. You copy? Look for the chopper. It’s—”

The transmission cut off. Jake glanced up, but the drifting smoke made it nearly impossible to see. He went by sound, running in the direction of the whump-whump of rotor blades. Looking up again, he spied the helicopter through a cloud of smoke. It was more than a hundred feet up, and the rescue basket had been reeled in.

Through the side opening, someone kicked out a rope ladder. It dangled over the ocean, though, at least twenty feet past the bow.

“Shit.” Jake looked around. A pair of enemy fighters spotted the rope ladder and started glancing around, looking for whoever planned to use it.

Jake slung his weapon over his back and made a sprint for it.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Gunfire surrounded him as every hostile fighter who could see what the hell was happening took aim at not just Jake but the helo swooping down to get him.

But the ladder wasn’t above the ship yet. Then it was above the ship, but it was too high. A jolt of adrenaline fired through Jake as he realized he had only one option.

Well, two, if he wanted to fail.

Jake pushed the chaos out of his mind and focused solely on the dangling lifeline as he raced through the smoke, timing his leap.

He launched himself into the air and grabbed on. One of the rungs slipped from his grip, but his right hand held firm. Jake’s stomach pitched as the chopper jerked up, snapping him into the air as it gained altitude.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Through wisps of smoke, he saw half a dozen angry men pointing their weapons at him. But they were out of range.

Pain fired through Jake’s shoulder as he clawed his way up the ladder. He’d injured something, but he couldn’t think about that now as he dragged himself closer and closer to the opening. Ryan leaned out, offering him a hand. Jake grasped it, and several more hands reached down to grab his arms and pull him inside.

Jake fell onto the hard metal floor, panting and cursing.

“Holy shit, Heath!” Kyle grinned down at him. “I thought you were in the drink for sure.”

Jake sat up, heart thundering. He looked around and recognized his teammates’ faces underneath the camo paint.

“Casualties?” he asked.

“None.” Ryan smacked him on the back. “Not a goddamn one. And we got the hostage, too.”

Jake scooted back and tipped his head against the wall. The aircraft vibrated around him, making it impossible to catch his breath and bring his heart rate back to normal. It wouldn’t be back to normal for a while yet. He was riding that wave of euphoria that always happened after a successful op.

Holy, holy, holy shit. They’d won. Their reputations were intact, their weekend leave secured. The team would head to O’Malley’s now to celebrate. He could practically taste the ice-cold beer.

Jake turned his attention outward as the glittery California coastline came into view. The Coronado Bridge sparkled, and he skimmed his gaze over the boats moored in San Diego Bay. He looked up the coast to the distant glow of Los Angeles. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep from looking any more than he could keep thoughts of Alexa out of his mind. Some of Jake’s euphoria faded as he eyed the city where she lived.

Thinking of Alexa stirred up various emotions, and the primary one was regret. He’d messed up. All his life, he’d prided himself on his stubborn tenacity. His unwavering determination not to quit and to take on any challenge, no matter what the odds. That bullheadedness had gotten him through boot camp, and SEAL training, and then seven tours of duty and too many harrowing missions to count. And in all that time, never once had Jake given up. So what had happened with Alexa? And why was he still thinking about it, all these months later?

The helo swooped low over the base, nestled on a narrow peninsula right beside the posh beach known as the Silver Strand. Jake eyed the bars and restaurants that were already busy with Friday-night crowds. There were plenty of women out there. Jake knew that. So why was he hung up on the one woman who wouldn’t give him the time of day?

Jake returned to the team room, rolling his shoulder to loosen it. By the time he debriefed, stowed his gear, and showered, half his friends had already left for O’Malley’s. Jake’s adrenaline rush was wearing off, and he thought about skipping out, but Ethan Dunn flagged him down before he could disappear.

“You’re coming, right?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mind giving me a ride?”

And there went his last hope of a covert exit. “Sure, hop in.”

They rode the short distance to the pub in Jake’s pickup with the windows down. It was a nice night, and Jake needed to snap out of his funk and have some fun, because his plans for the weekend weren’t likely to be enjoyable. He was going on a two-day camping trip in the San Bernardino Mountains with his dad and three brothers. Jake’s relationship with his brothers had never been great, but it had taken a nosedive when their dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer. This weekend’s trip, which had been his mom’s idea, was supposed to be about healing. Jake doubted they were going to be able to heal decades’ worth of animosity in two short days, but for his mom’s sake, he was going to try.

The parking lot was full, and Jake created a space at the end of a row of pickups. He and Ethan jumped out of the truck and approached the bar, where a trio of jarheads was stumbling out the door, clearly shit-faced drunk.

One of them darted to the bushes and started puking his guts up.

Jake shook his head. “Pathetic.”

“Hey, there’s Ryan,” Ethan said. “Who’s that woman with him? Doesn’t look like Emma.”

Jake stopped cold.

The woman with Ryan definitely was not Emma.

Alexa Mays turned around. Something flared in her eyes when she caught sight of him. But then it was gone, just like that, and her expression stayed blank as he approached.

Long dark hair, pale skin. In her conservative black pantsuit, she couldn’t have looked more out of place at a dive like O’Malley’s. Jake’s pulse sped up as he neared her. How long since he’d seen her? Six months? Seven? Same length of time since he’d last heard her voice.

He stopped in front of her and gazed down into her cool blue eyes.

“Jake.”

“Lexie.”

She smiled. “I was looking for you.”

His heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Ryan, and a look of understanding passed between them. Ryan knew.

“Catch you inside, bro.” Ryan jerked his head at Ethan, who dutifully followed him into the bar, leaving Jake alone with Lexie.

And a trio of obnoxious Marines. Another retching noise came from the bushes, and Lexie shot them a disapproving frown.

“What brings you down?” Jake asked.

She turned to face him. “I need to talk to you.”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“Somewhere private.”

His heart gave another kick. “We can go to my—”

“Let’s walk on the beach.” She nodded toward it. “I’ve been cooped up at my office all day.”

Jake gazed down at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. She had a good poker face, and damned if he could figure out what she wanted.

He led her to the edge of the highway. Silently, they waited for a break in traffic, and he caught her hand as they rushed across amid a blare of horns. She pulled away when they reached the other side, striding in front of him to cross the wooden bridge over the dune. And then they were on the sand.

Not making eye contact, she bent to take off her sensible flat shoes. No heels for Lexie. At five-eleven, she didn’t need them, and they were bad for running. No telling when Special Agent Mays might have to chase down a bad guy on the mean streets of Los Angeles.

He looked her over, savoring the sight. Everything about her was all business, and she could have traded wardrobes with one of her male counterparts. But that silky long hair was unapologetically feminine, and Jake had been fantasizing about it spread across his pillow for months.

She looked around. “Should I—”

“Leave them.”

She tucked her shoes under the wooden step and looked out at the surf, still avoiding eye contact.

Jake led her to the water’s edge. The wind had picked up since the op. San Clemente was a dark shadow on the horizon, no lights, practically invisible unless you knew where to look. The Navy owned the entire island and kept a low profile.

Lexie stepped closer, and he smelled her perfume on the breeze. It was something subtle and sexy, completely at odds with her businesslike persona. She’d said she’d been working all day, so had she put it on on her way here to see him? The possibility gave him hope that maybe this was a personal visit, even though every other signal she was giving off told him otherwise.

“So.” She looked up at him. “Long time no see.”

He lifted an eyebrow. That had been her choice, not his. After the last time their paths had crossed, he’d called her for weeks and gotten no response. Zip. Finally, he’d stopped. He didn’t see it as a defeat, exactly. But he’d decided a tactical retreat was the best strategy.

“I left you a message earlier,” she said.

“We were out on a training op.”

“That explains it.” She smiled, but it was tense. Lexie was always tense, but she was more uptight than usual tonight.

Jake looked her over more closely. Beneath her blazer, her white button-down shirt looked rumpled. The bulge of the Glock at her side told him she was still very much on duty. His gaze dropped to her feet. She had red toenail polish. He pictured her bare-legged and curled up on her sofa with a boyfriend, and a punch of jealousy hit him out of nowhere.

And he was definitely losing it. He had no claim on this woman whatsoever. Maybe the adrenaline surge from tonight’s op was messing with his head.

“How was it?” she asked.

“What, the op?”

“Yeah.” She tipped her head to the side, feigning interest.

“Fine.”

“Ryan said you guys are on leave now?”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“Nice.”

“Then Tuesday we’re wheels up on a training rotation.”

The silence stretched between them, and he waited. The wind whipped around them, and she peeled a lock of that dark hair away from her face.

“So listen, Jake. I need you for something. And you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone, and his last hope that tonight’s visit was personal evaporated. She swiped at the screen and handed him the phone.

It showed a photograph of a man. The shot was taken from a high vantage point, probably a surveillance camera.

“This is Jerome Matapang, a twenty-nine-year-old American, last seen by authorities eight days ago crossing a border checkpoint in Nogales. I need to locate him.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Jake looked at her. Then he studied the picture. The guy had dark hair, brown eyes, and an average build. “Who is he, exactly?”

“I can’t say.”

“Who’s he work for?”

“I can’t tell you that, either. But it’s important that I find him.” She paused. “It’s a matter of national security.”

Jake shifted his focus to Lexie again. Her blue eyes looked dark and serious in the moonlight.

“Tell me this,” he said. “Why not ask one of your hotshot FBI friends to help you?”

“You’re better.” Her serious look turned coy. “Actually, I hear you’re the best.”

It was an obvious attempt at flattery, and it pissed him off. Not because it wasn’t true—as a SEAL, he’d spent much of his career locating bad guys in hidey-holes around the globe. Alpha Crew was especially good at finding people who didn’t want to be found. But this flirty tone was new from her, and Jake didn’t like being manipulated.

She seemed to sense his reaction. “My problem is, I can’t go through the regular channels.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. “Let’s just call it office politics. I have to go around my boss, and he doesn’t like me.”

“You could get in trouble.”

She folded her arms. “I know.”

Shit, he could get in trouble. He wasn’t supposed to freelance, especially not stateside, and especially not for a federal agency.

“Just talking to you about this could probably get me fired,” she added.

“Then why are you?”

“I told you. I need help.”

Jake looked down at the picture again. “How soon do you need to find him?”

“Yesterday. Hell, a week ago. But I’ll settle for sometime this weekend. I absolutely must have his location pinned down by Monday morning.”

“Eight days is a long time,” Jake said. “He could be anywhere by now.”

She nodded. “I have reason to believe he’s in Southern California.”

“What reason?”

“I can’t tell you that, either. I’m sorry.” She sounded exasperated now. “You know how it is with CT cases.”

Lexie worked counterterrorism out of the FBI’s Los Angeles field office. In fact, it was a pair of CT cases that had brought her in contact with Jake’s team in the first place. During the more recent case, Alpha Crew had just returned from rescuing an American ambassador who was taken hostage by a terrorist group at a resort in Thailand. The group’s mastermind had escaped capture during the mission but later turned up in California, which was when Lexie’s team got involved. The man, known in the intel community as Tango X, had been arrested with a little help from Alpha Crew. The feds had hoped the man would lead them to a terrorist sleeper cell believed to be operating on U.S. soil, but as far as Jake knew, that hadn’t happened. He figured the trail had gone cold.

“Is this related to our friend Tom Green, aka Tango X?” Jake asked.

She didn’t respond, but the slight twitch of her mouth gave him his answer. It also explained why she’d come to him. Jake knew the players and circumstances without having to be told, which saved her from violating even more department policy. She didn’t like breaking the rules, and the fact that she was doing it now told him how desperate she was.

Jake studied her face, still unable to believe he was standing on a beach with her after six months of radio silence. Her eyes looked pleading. That was new, too, and he had the urge to kiss her, like he’d been dying to do for months.

He handed the phone back. “Sorry. Can’t do it.”

She blinked in surprise.

“I have a commitment tomorrow at oh-six-hundred.”

“Could you move it?” she asked.

“No.”

“But . . . I thought you said you were on leave?”

“I am. This is personal.”

Everything in her face changed. The doe-eyed look disappeared, replaced by frustration. She was probably surprised that he’d let something personal come before a job, which was clearly a foreign concept to her. It was foreign to Jake, too, but this weekend was unusual due to some extenuating circumstances that he had no desire to explain.

“Sorry I wasted your time.” She tucked the phone away, seeming not just frustrated but flustered now. Her uncharacteristic flirting hadn’t worked, and she was probably embarrassed. Guilt needled him.

“Look,” he said, “if it’s that important, I know people you could—”

“Forget it. And please forget I asked.”

Lexie drove back to L.A. with a rock in her stomach. Her trip had been a failure on every level.

What had she expected? It was a crazy idea to drive all the way to Coronado to see the one man she’d been avoiding for months. And he’d looked so good she’d almost lost her nerve the instant she laid eyes on him.

Lexie checked her mirror and shifted into the left lane, picking up speed. Even after ten, there was traffic on the 5, and she was going to end up wasting her whole night on this field trip, time she could have spent at the office getting something done.

Sorry. Can’t do it.

Her stomach tightened at the memory. The thing was, he hadn’t looked sorry. He’d looked perfectly nonchalant as he rejected her plea for help. Of all the outcomes she’d imagined, that hadn’t been one of them.

Lexie buzzed down the windows of her Chevy Malibu, hoping the wind would calm her nerves. She liked the vibration and the feeling of forward motion after hours and hours being stuck at her desk today. The cool night air whipped against her skin, and she thought about Jake.

Not much intimidated her. Since the first day she’d set foot inside the FBI Academy, she’d been surrounded by strong men. Men who were competitive and athletic and brimming with confidence. Men who were determined not to be shown up by a woman. Lexie had learned to hold her own with guys like that. Through grueling runs and endless firearms training and hand-to-hand fighting, she’d proven her ability to keep up. She was never the strongest or the fastest, but she had stamina, not to mention a deep well of determination not to go home humiliated. It was challenging, but she’d endured, and graduating from the Academy with her mom and dad—a veteran cop—looking on had been the proudest moment of her life.

After surviving Quantico, she’d encountered a whole new sort of challenge that was subtler but no less difficult: the challenge of building a lasting career in an environment where she was outnumbered three to one.

She’d done it by developing a tough exterior. She didn’t let setbacks get to her. She remained cool and rational under pressure, never earning the label “emotional” that was the kiss of death for a female agent’s career. The Bureau was changing, but it was still very much a boys’ club, and Lexie had learned to hold her own with all the alpha guys she encountered in her job.

Except for Jake.

Jake Heath had shaken her foundations from the moment she met him in the lobby of the L.A. field office. He’d towered over her with his blue-eyed gaze, and she’d felt her insides go liquid. She’d been speechless. But somehow she’d managed to get through that first encounter, and then others, without revealing the effect he had on her.

The last time she and Jake had crossed paths on a case, she’d agreed to have dinner with him. Big mistake. She’d spent the entire meal seated across from him, trying not to stare at his chiseled features and muscular arms and mesmerizing blue eyes. Halfway through dinner, she was debating breaking her personal rule against casual sex when her boss had called and summoned her back to work.

For months afterward, she’d resisted the temptation to return Jake’s phone calls. And she’d steadfastly avoided seeing him. Until now.

A warm tingle filled her as she pictured him on the beach under the moonlight. Going to the beach had been a bad idea, too, but she hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of talking to him in O’Malley’s, surrounded by teammates and SEAL groupies.

Lexie buzzed up her windows and adjusted her rearview mirror, taking note of a black pickup that looked familiar. It was the sort of thing she noticed now. She switched lanes to see what he’d do, and the truck sped right past her. Okay, so she was paranoid. Years of dealing with criminals had made her suspicious of everyone and everything around her.

Her phone buzzed from the cup holder. It was Brian, who was probably still at the office.

“Hey,” she said.

“How’d it go with the SEAL?” he asked.

“He can’t do it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“What does it matter? He’s out.”

Brian cursed. “I thought you said we could count on him.”

She’d thought she could. She knew Jake liked her. He’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted to take her out again, and probably take her to bed, too. He’d totally poured on the charm, and Lexie had resisted. Until today, when she’d suddenly been desperate enough to go looking for him, hoping a little flirting might get her what she needed, but her strategy had backfired, and now she felt stupid.

“Lexie?”

“We need to move on to Plan B.”

No point in dwelling on failure.

“What’s Plan B?” Brian asked.

“I have to figure that out.”

“That mean you’re coming in?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because we’ve got movement at the ex-girlfriend’s house.”

Lexie’s pulse picked up. “What do you mean, ‘movement’? Did Jerome show up?”

“No, but Chen tells me the ex-girlfriend packed up her car and left.”

“What do you mean, ‘packed up’?”

“Two duffel bags and a roll-on suitcase, and then she took off.”

“At ten p.m. on a Friday night? That sounds interesting.”

“No joke. That’s why Chen tailed her. She’s on PCH northbound, and Chen’s got eyes on her.”

It could be nothing. Maybe their suspect’s ex-girlfriend was simply heading off on a weekend getaway. But they didn’t have a lot of leads on Jerome Matapang’s whereabouts, and at this point, the ex-girlfriend was the best clue they had. Especially now that Jake, the most talented people-finder Lexie knew, had declined to help her. Not just declined—refused.

It’s personal.

She pictured him standing on the shore, gazing out at the surf, all broad shoulders and confidence. The man was beautiful, no question about it. But he was a player, too. Lexie had done some digging, and it had taken her no time at all to come up with the fact that Jake and many of his teammates had quite a reputation. So Lexie had resisted getting involved, until mounting frustration with her case had prompted her to track him down. She’d been hoping—no, counting on it—that six months of not seeing him would have quelled her reaction to him. But one look, and she realized she was wrong about that, too. Jake was as charming and dangerously attractive as ever.

Her personal kryptonite.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Lexie said, resigned to spending yet another chunk of her weekend in the office. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, no worries. I have even less of a life than you do.”

The sky lightened over the ocean as Jake pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway. Lexie’s address had surprised him. One of Jake’s ex-girlfriends lived in the area, and he knew it well, but it wasn’t what he had pictured for Alexa Mays. He’d imagined her in a stuffy high-rise near downtown, not a Hermosa Beach condo surrounded by bars and surf shops.

He turned onto Lexie’s street, and his headlights swept over a tight line of cars. Four blocks from the ocean, parking was at a premium, and he didn’t see a single open space. Why would she live here? The rent couldn’t be cheap, and he doubted she had much time to enjoy the water, given the hours she worked. But what did he know? He didn’t know Lexie very well, and she’d thwarted his attempts to change that.

One dinner. That was the extent of the time they’d spent together that hadn’t been work-related. It wasn’t much, and yet she’d been different somehow. More real. He figured it was because he’d caught her in a weak moment. She’d been mentally and physically tapped after wrapping up a big operation, and they’d gone out for tacos together. At a picnic table with their feet in the sand, she’d actually let her guard down, and he’d caught a glimpse of the real woman underneath the tough-as-nails exterior. It was only a glimpse, but he’d liked it. Enough to spend six months thinking about her. Enough to hunt down her address on the Internet last night. And enough to risk the wrath of his brothers with his detour this morning.

Jake circled the block twice and finally parked by a fire hydrant. This wouldn’t take long. He jumped out of his truck and nodded at an old bearded guy in a wet suit with a surfboard tucked under his arm.

As Jake walked, he zeroed in on Lexie’s building, a seventies-style complex with six narrow units. Even in the dusky light, he could see the place needed work. Stained stucco, sagging gutters, cracked sidewalks. An overgrown hedge of oleanders blocked much of the ground-floor view from the building’s first unit, which should be Lexie’s.

Jake crossed the street and stood on the corner for a moment, inhaling the damp ocean air and getting a feel for the area. The neighborhood seemed asleep. Lexie’s entire complex was dark, except for a middle unit where a light glowed upstairs. Jake checked his watch. He hated to wake her up. But then he pictured her face last night and those pleading eyes like deep blue pools. Her eyes had haunted him. He’d spent half the night tracking down intel for her, and he damn well planned to hand it off before he left for the weekend. His objective was to help her—he wasn’t completely selfish—but it was also to get back into her good graces so she’d answer his calls.

Eyeing the overgrown hedge, Jake walked up to her door and rang the bell. He waited, listening to the muffled bark of a dog in the neighboring condo. He looked up at the second floor, but the sliding glass door on Lexie’s balcony remained dark.

Jake checked his watch again. He was already late, which would no doubt piss off his brothers, and he was going to be later. Walking around to the back of the complex, he found six covered carports off a narrow alley. He approached Lexie’s unit and stopped short.

The carport was empty.

Either she’d spent the night out or left home early. He tried not to let either possibility get to him as he walked past the other five carports, just in case he had her unit wrong. Each carport had at least one vehicle, but none was a black Chevy Malibu.

He returned to Lexie’s front door, eyeing the bougainvillea dripping from the upstairs balcony. He rang again, just for the hell of it, and caught sight of a cardboard box tucked behind a clay planter near the door. Jake knelt to read the label. The package was book-size and addressed to Lexie, probably delivered yesterday while she was at work, which bolstered his theory that she hadn’t come home last night.

Thud.

He looked up. The noise had come from the back of the building.

Creak.

Jake set the package down and eased the SIG P226 from his ankle holster. He rounded the side of the building, keeping to the shadows. He moved silently over the narrow strip of grass as he neared the building’s edge. The noise had come from Lexie’s patio. He was almost sure of it.

The slap of footsteps had Jake rushing around the corner. A shadowy figure sprinted down the alley and raced around the other end of the building. Jake bolted after him. He caught a glimpse of the fence near Lexie’s carport as he ran past. The gate was open.

Jake turned on the speed, darting around the complex and back onto Lexie’s tree-lined street, where he nearly crashed into a man walking a dog. The schnauzer went crazy barking as Jake hurdled the leash and ran down the block.

But he saw no fleeing figure. No suspicious person or vehicle anywhere.

“Shit!” He turned to the dog walker. “You see which way he went?”

A poop bag dangled from the man’s hand as he pointed to the end of the block. “He went around the corner there. Palm Street.”

Jake took off in that direction, checking parked cars and doorways and shadows as he went. The buildings here were commercial, but the businesses weren’t open yet. He rounded the corner and came upon a four-lane intersection. Even at this early hour, traffic hummed. The sidewalks were busy with joggers and surfers headed to the beach. Jake scanned the figures, looking for anyone who resembled the fleeing man, but he’d disappeared.

Jake searched for hiding places and darted into a nearby alley. It was dark and smelled of garbage. Still clutching his SIG, he eased past dumpsters and doorways, looking for shifting shadows. A door squeaked open, and a woman in an apron stepped out. Jake ducked into a doorway. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans, watching the woman as she wedged a pile of cardboard boxes into a trash bin. She went inside again, slamming the door behind her.

Jake jogged back to Lexie’s, pulse pounding. He retraced his route, scanning the path for clues, and then stopped again at Lexie’s carport. The gate was still open. Careful not to touch anything, Jake leaned his head in and surveyed her back patio, which was lit by a dim yellow bulb. The small fenced area was cluttered with empty flowerpots and a dusty Weber grill. A few shriveled plants lined the fence, and an old surfboard leaned against the house.

Jake stepped over and tried the back door. Locked. He cupped his hand and peered through a window, but curtains blocked his view.

“Police! Don’t move!”

The man turned around, and all the breath rushed from Lexie’s lungs.

“What the hell?” She shoved her gun into her holster as Jake stepped from the shadows. “What are you doing here?”

He looked her up and down, frowning at her clothes. “Where’d you come from?”

“Work. What’s it look like?”

“No, I mean where did you park?” He brushed past her and strode into the alley where she’d double-parked behind one of her neighbors.

“I saw my gate open and didn’t want to pull in.” She folded her arms, trying not to look as rattled as she felt. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she spotted a man at her door with a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. Jake wore an olive-green T-shirt and a Dodgers cap, and she hadn’t recognized him until he turned around.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded again. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“Yeah, well, I chased him off.”

“I had a burglar?”

He stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he towered over her. “I stopped by and rang your bell. Someone was on your patio. He took off down Palm Street.”

She stared up at him. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Lexie turned away and pulled out her phone. She dialed 911 and asked for a patrol unit to investigate an attempted burglary, then rattled off her address. Jake stepped over to her door and searched the patio.

“I doubt it was a burglary,” he said when she ended the call.

“Maybe it wasn’t, but they’ve probably got their hands full with Friday-night arrests, and I’ll be lucky to get anyone over here in the next hour.”

Jake crouched beside the door and studied the knob.

“Don’t touch anything.”

He looked at her. “I know.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and switched on a small flashlight. He skimmed it over the dark corner of the patio.

“There’s a shoeprint here. You should have a CSI look at it.”

She stepped over. There was, indeed, a man-size shoeprint in her dried-up flower bed beside a withered hibiscus bush.

Jake pulled out his phone and took a picture of the print. “Looks like he hung out here, waiting.”

“You think he was waiting for me?”

He turned to look at her. “You don’t?”

“I don’t know.” She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What would be his motive?”

Jake just looked at her.

She shook her head. “I keep irregular hours. That makes no sense. Why wait all night for me to get home, when there are dozens of bars around here and women walking to and from their cars alone?”

Jake shook his head and muttered something.

“What?”

A patrol car rolled up, and Lexie turned around, shocked by the fast response. She took out her ID and introduced herself so the officer wouldn’t get jumpy when he saw her weapon.

While Lexie gave the young cop an overview, Jake walked down the alley, still combing the ground for clues. The sky had lightened, and she watched him moving around purposefully. He dropped into a crouch and studied something near the curb, taking his phone out to snap a picture. Then he moved on. He had so much pent-up energy, and he reminded her of a big cat getting ready to strike.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry.” She turned her attention back to the patrol cop. “What was that?”

“I’d like to check the doors and windows, make sure he didn’t enter the residence.”

Lexie unlocked her back door and took him on a brief tour of her place, but all the doors and windows were secure. Back outside, Jake approached them, and Lexie noticed his gun had disappeared from view. He gave the officer a brief description of the man he’d seen fleeing down the alley. As the officer finished his paperwork, Jake combed the alley one more time, then leaned against the trunk of her Malibu to wait for her to finish up. After giving her a business card and a case number, the officer returned to his car and drove away.

Lexie walked over to Jake.

“They going to send a CSI out to check for fingerprints?” he asked.

“He said they would, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s the weekend. They’re swamped.” She folded her arms, mirroring his posture. “I thought you had something personal this morning?”

“I canceled it.”

“Oh.”

His gazed held hers, and she felt her exhaustion fading away, replaced by a buzz of energy. Whatever his personal commitment was, he’d canceled it to come see her. And the look in his eyes gave her a spark of hope.

“I heard you tell the cop you thought maybe someone was tailing you last night,” Jake said.

“It could have been nothing.”

“Or it could be related.”

She didn’t argue, because she knew he was right. “It was a black Dodge pickup, matte rims.”

“Matte?”

“You know, flat black. Nothing shiny on it. I thought I saw it twice yesterday, but then it sped right by me, so I dismissed it. Could be nothing.”

Jake held her gaze, and she tried not to notice how good he looked lounging against her car in those faded jeans and scuffed leather work boots. What was he doing here, anyway? She had the crazy urge to invite him inside, but she chalked it up to lack of sleep.

“You look like you spent the night at your office,” he said.

“I did.”

“How about some breakfast? I’m starved.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Over breakfast. Let’s go.”

She suggested a pancake place nearby, and Jake didn’t mention that he’d been there before with his ex-girlfriend. Tinley was an aspiring actress and about as different from Alexa as it was possible to get. They’d parted on good terms, but Jake still hoped he wouldn’t bump into her.

“What’s good here?” he asked as they settled into a round booth.

“No idea. Never been in here before.”

“It’s three blocks from your house.”

She shot him a look. “I don’t get out much.”

Jake studied his sticky menu. When the young waitress walked up, he gave her a smile. “Two eggs over easy, double hash browns, short stack on the side.”

“You got it.” She turned to Lexie.

“Short stack and a cup of coffee.” She handed over the menu. “Better make it a pot. And bring an extra cup, please.”

The waitress left, and Lexie leaned back against the booth with a sigh. Her eyes were bloodshot from being up all night. At some point, she’d twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with a pencil. Jake resisted the urge to pluck out the pencil and watch all those thick waves fall around her shoulders.

“So what kept you at work all night?” He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth.

“My case.”

“Jerome Matapang?”

She nodded.

“Any new leads?”

“We thought we had something.” She sighed. “But it turned out to be nothing.”

“What was it, and how do you know it’s nothing?”

“His ex-girlfriend has a house in Venice Beach. She took off late last night in her car, and we thought she might lead us to him, but we lost track of her. She returned home early this morning.”

“Any chance she’s harboring him?”

“I suppose there’s a chance, but I’d say it’s unlikely.”

Jake watched her, studying her face. Her eye makeup was smudged and her shirt rumpled. She looked totally beat. Yet he doubted spending the night at work was a rare thing for her.

He pictured her coming home tired and distracted and getting ambushed at her back door. The thought put a knot in his stomach.

“You know, your building security’s worth shit, Alexa.”

She immediately looked defensive.

“Your gate’s unlocked, your alarm’s not activated, and you’ve got a sliding glass door.”

“It’s a second-floor balcony.”

“I could breach that thing in a minute. And your hedges are overgrown, giving someone a perfect place to lie in wait. And don’t even get me started on your lighting.”

She held up a hand. “Okay, okay, I know, all right? I just moved in. I’ve got a long list of things to do, and I haven’t gotten around to it all.”

He watched her skeptically. “Define ‘just.’ ”

She hesitated. “It’s been, I don’t know, five or six months now. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got a Glock and a black belt, and that’s better than any alarm system. Speaking of which, how did you find me?”

“It wasn’t hard.” He paused. “You know, if you’re serious about privacy, you should talk to someone at the Bureau about covering your digital tracks better.”

She sighed and then glanced around, looking impatient for the coffee.

“You don’t find it concerning that some guy was waiting by your back door for you to come home last night?” he asked.

“Of course I do. That’s why I reported it.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“No.”

“You receive any threats at work lately?”

“No.”

“Testified at any trials recently?”

“No.”

“Piss off any suspects?”

“I hope so.” She frowned. “What’s with the interrogation? You sound just like my dad.”

“So your dad’s protective, even though you carry a gun?”

“He’s a cop, so yes.”

Jake watched her, waiting for more. He knew very little about her personal life and almost nothing about her family. He’d always wondered why she’d chosen a career in law enforcement.

“My dad’s a homicide detective with Phoenix PD. Was. He retired last year. And yes, he’s extremely protective and extremely good at interrogating people, particularly teenage daughters who miss curfew. I’m used to being raked over the coals.”

The waitress was back with a pitcher of coffee and two mugs.

“Anyway, you’re changing the subject,” Lexie said as she poured coffee for each of them.

“There wasn’t one.”

“What were you doing skulking around my house at six in the morning?”

The reminder of the time also reminded Jake that he was now more than two hours late to his camping trip. On his way to the restaurant, he’d called his father and told him not to expect him today and that he’d try to make it tomorrow. His dad had been understanding, but the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. His family should be used to it by now. Jake was always canceling plans for work, and it had gotten to the point where his family seemed surprised when he actually showed up for anything.

Jake pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lexie in the lurch in the first place, and he damn sure wasn’t going to do it after she’d nearly been ambushed at her door. It could have been a garden-variety prowler, but the timing made Jake think otherwise. And then there was the pickup truck possibly tailing her last night, which could have been nothing but probably wasn’t.

The terrorist group Lexie was investigating had taken credit for six deadly attacks in four countries and was now suspected of operating in America. Asian Crescent Brotherhood—ACB—was lethal, and its tactics included targeting law enforcement. What if Lexie had stumbled onto something and someone in that group had gotten wind of it? Until Jake had more of a handle on what was going on, he planned to stick around.

“Hello?” She leaned closer. “You awake there?”

“Sorry.” He combed his hand through his hair. “I was up half the night, too. I tracked down a contact for you.”

Her eyes perked up. “What kind of contact?”

“A buddy of mine. Former CIA. He runs a PI firm now in Orange County, and his specialty is skip tracing. I think he can help us out.”

“What’s his name?”

“Goes by Lance Kilborn.”

“Goes by? What, is that an alias?”

“Probably.”

She sipped her coffee. “I’m picturing a Jason Bourne wannabe. Is he any good?”

“The best. Stateside, that is. And he’s got some tools up his sleeve that I don’t have.”

“Do I want to know what they are?”

“Probably not.”

The server was back with a giant platter of food for Jake and two plates of pancakes. She pulled a check from her apron pocket and tucked it between the condiment bottles.

Jake shook hot sauce over his eggs as Lexie watched him warily. “What’s that look?” he asked.

“You still haven’t explained why you showed up at my house at six a.m. Did you really cancel your plans?”

“I really did.”

She bit her lip, and Jake felt a warm shot of lust. He’d been dreaming about that mouth of hers for months.

“Relax,” he told her. “It’s no big deal.”

“To me it is. I feel like I hijacked your weekend.”

“You can make it up to me.” He reached for the syrup and watched her as he poured it over his stack. “What? Wasn’t that the deal? You come bat your eyelashes, looking for help, I say yes, you agree to go out with me?”

She scowled. “I didn’t bat my eyelashes.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, confirming that she knew exactly what she’d done. “Anyway, it wasn’t a quid pro quo. I just thought you might be able to help, that’s all.”

“I am able to. I cleared my calendar. And for the record, next time you want something from me, just come right out and ask. You don’t have to pretend to flirt.”

Her cheeks turned pinker, and she sipped her coffee.

Jake ate his food, refusing to feel bad that he’d embarrassed her. He wasn’t sure why he’d called her out on it. Maybe because he knew she could take it. And for some crazy reason, he enjoyed ribbing her, even though it probably wasn’t getting him closer to what he wanted. From the first day he’d met her, he hadn’t been able to resist giving her a hard time. She was so composed and controlled, and he wanted to rattle her.

She poured a thin drizzle of syrup over her pancakes, then took a ladylike bite.

“Back to Jerome’s ex-girlfriend,” he said. “How long have you had eyes on her?”

“We’ve had her place under surveillance on and off for four days,” she said. “No one’s seen him around. Still, even if he isn’t there, I think she could be a lead. She very well might know where he is.”

“What do you mean by on-and-off surveillance? I thought this guy was important?”

“In my opinion, he is, but I told you, it’s political. Not everyone agrees.” She sipped the rest of her coffee and refilled her mug. “So what do you think? What would you do in my situation?”

“I’d pull together a team and roll on the house.”

“This isn’t Afghanistan. I don’t even have a search warrant.”

He nodded. “Then I’d put a drone on it. Gather intel.”

“I would love to. But I’m short on resources.”

“I thought counterterrorism was top priority at the Bureau?”

“That’s true. But my boss made the decision that Matapang isn’t as important as some other things we’re working on, and he’s directed our resources elsewhere, which means it’s just me and two agents following up on a tip I got. They’re doing it as a favor to me, but that’s wearing pretty thin.” She squared her shoulders. “We’ve got the CT chief coming in for a meeting on Monday. I’ve worked with him before, and he happens to like me. My plan is to turn up something solid by then, so I can pitch this to him directly.”

“Your boss isn’t going to like that.”

“Yeah, well, tough toenails. We’re talking about a potential terrorist cell operating on U.S. soil, and I believe Jerome Matapang is part of it. I’m not going to ignore that.”

Jake liked the determination in her voice. “Tell me more about this guy.”

She hesitated. Then she seemed to decide she needed to share info if she wanted his help.

“Like I said, he’s American, originally from Nogales. He’s got a clean record, but according to the locals, his brother Joe was busted a year ago for running drugs and guns.”

“What’s his connection to ACB?”

“We haven’t nailed that down. But his father’s Filipino, and two years ago, Jerome traveled to the Philippines, where ACB is based. He stayed for six months.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Mindanao,” she said.

“There’s been an uptick in insurgent activity there and a rise in groups connected to ISIS.”

Jake’s team had personally been involved in several joint operations with the country’s military in response to the threat. But he couldn’t talk about that with Lexie.

“We’re aware,” she said vaguely. So maybe she already knew about it.

“What’s Jerome’s connection to Tom Green, aka Tango X?”

“That’s where it gets interesting to me and my team. When Green first arrived in San Diego last summer, Jerome wired him some money. Also, when we arrested Green, we confiscated his phone. He’d placed quite a few calls, all to Los Angeles numbers, including the landline at the home of Jerome’s ex-girlfriend. We believe Jerome was staying there at the time. The ex denies it, and he hasn’t been seen in months—”

“Except for that surveillance video.”

“Right.”

“Lemme make sure I have this straight,” Jake said. “This guy you’re looking for is an associate of a known terrorist and he has a weapons connection?”

“Right,” she said. “And we believe L.A. is the nexus.”

Jake watched her, picking up on the tension in her voice. No wonder she was so stressed.

“So why would your boss de-prioritize him? Seems like this guy would be key.”

“He’s focused on someone else who’s been deemed more of a threat. We seized Green’s vehicle on the day of his arrest. We recovered a second set of fingerprints inside, likely an accomplice.”

“Could it be Jerome?”

“It’s not. This new person is an unsub, or unidentified subject. But one of the prints is in the system. You remember that nightclub bombing in Bangkok?”

“Shit, you’re kidding.”

“No. Investigators recovered a usable print from one of the bomb parts.”

“And now this bomb maker is on American soil?”

“We believe so, yes. We think he’s linked to a sleeper cell that’s planning something new. And with Jerome’s recent border crossing, that something might be imminent.”

“Damn, Lex.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “All this is totally confidential, by the way. I could lose my career just for talking to you about it.”

“Why are you?”

She looked at him, and he saw a trace of that vulnerability that had pulled him in last time. “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I trust you. With certain things.”

“Certain things?”

“Op sec.” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t good at it.”

So she trusted him with operational security. But from a personal standpoint, not so much.

Jake needed to change that. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted her to trust him with everything, across the board.

It would take time. Lexie didn’t trust easily, which made it all the more surprising that she’d come to him with a request that could torpedo the career she’d worked so hard for. At heart, she was a risk-taker, and she had no idea how much that turned him on. Maybe he’d tell her someday. Or better yet, show her. Just the thought of it lifted his spirits.

She picked up her coffee, eyeing him over the mug. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . you’re excited about this. This isn’t even your job. You’re supposed to be on vacation, not working.”

“Vacation is overrated.”

She smiled slightly. “You, too, huh? Glad I’m not the only workaholic.”

“You’re not.”

She turned her attention to her food, but she seemed distracted. Meanwhile, Jake polished off everything on his plate. He operated under the principle that it was best to refuel whenever possible, because you never knew what the day would bring.

“So what’s next?” she asked. “Do you want me to call your friend Lance, or would it be better for you to do it?”

“What’s next is you get some sleep.”

“What? We’re on a clock here. And this is serious. Do you have any idea how dangerous—”

“I sure as hell do, which is why you need to be alert, not dead on your feet.”

“I just drank two cups of coffee.”

“Yeah, and you’re about to take a nosedive into your pancakes. Go get some sleep.” He took out his wallet and left money on top of their bill. The fact that she didn’t protest his paying told him how exhausted she was. “Anyway, my buddy keeps bar hours,” he added. “It’s pointless to try to reach him early anyway.”

She still didn’t look convinced, but her eyelids continued to droop.

“Rest up,” he said. “We’ll come at it again at seventeen hundred.”

“Five o’clock.”

“That’s right. I’ll pick you up.”

“What do you plan to do between now and then?”

He smiled. “Recon, babe. That’s my specialty.”

The doorbell rang at five o’clock on the dot, and Lexie rushed to gather her gear. She tossed everything she might need into a black backpack and slung it over her shoulder, then checked the peephole.

The sight of Jake on her doorstep put butterflies in her stomach. Wow. How had she gotten herself into this? She’d wanted his help, but maybe she was in over her head with him. All those months and months of resisting the temptation to call him meant nothing now that she’d invited him right into her life.

He looked directly at the peephole as though he sensed her standing there.

She opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hi. Are you ready?”

“Where are we going?” She stepped out and locked her door, then zipped her keys into the backpack. She glanced up, and he was looking her over with a gleam in his eye.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks.” Today she wore skinny jeans and a loose white button-down with a soft gray tank underneath, along with her favorite Converse sneakers. And she realized Jake had never seen her in anything but a suit. “This is my weekend look.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Where’s your Glock?”

“Holster at the small of my back.” She touched it. “Why? Can you see it?”

“No.”

They walked down the sidewalk, and he scanned the area with that alert gaze. He seemed laid-back all the time, but Lexie knew better. Despite his low-key attitude, his situational awareness was off the charts.

She spotted his white pickup at the end of the block. The truck was simple, not fancy, with a few dings and plenty of dust. It suited him perfectly.

“Thought we’d go visit a friend of mine.”

Lexie stopped short. “Who?”

“A guy I know. What’s in the pack?”

“Some stuff I need. You didn’t tell him anything sensitive, did you?”

“Of course not. Give me some credit.”

They walked to his truck, and he reached for the passenger door. “Later I’d like to swing by the ex-girlfriend’s house in Venice. What’s her name?”

“Courtney Stapleton. She’s a yoga instructor.”

“I want to see if anything catches my attention at her house. What do you hear from your guy there?”

“It’s been quiet all day. He’s bored out of his mind.”

She got into the truck and watched him walk around the front. He wore the same snug-fitting T-shirt as earlier and those faded jeans with the frayed cuffs. Just digging his keys from his pocket, he looked amazingly athletic, and the butterflies were back again. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to spend the evening with him.

But of course she had. Lexie was attracted to him. She couldn’t deny it. But she could deny herself the luxury of acting on her urges. She had a job to do right now—the most important job of her career. And she couldn’t get distracted by anything or anyone, not even Jake Heath with his super-ripped body and his ocean-blue eyes.

He hitched himself behind the wheel and looked at her.

“I need some background on this friend of yours,” she told him.

“Relax. We’ve got plenty of time.” The engine started with a throaty growl. “First, I want to hear more about your case.”

“What about it? You know I can’t tell you everything.”

He checked over his shoulder, then pulled into traffic. “Let’s start with your boss.”

“Why?”

He was the very last person Lexie wanted to talk about, especially with Jake.

“I need to know what the deal is.”

“How come?” she asked.

“Whatever it is, it’s affecting his judgment about this case. So spill it. Who is he, and what’s his beef with you?”

She blew out a sigh. Then she turned and stowed her pack in the back of the cab, alongside a camo backpack with HEATH stamped across the top. Just looking at it reminded her that he was leaving soon to go off on some mission. He was always leaving soon. SEALs were gone at least nine months a year—Lexie had researched it—which was one reason she couldn’t let herself get close to him.

“Alexa?”

She leaned back against the seat, resigned to filling him in without giving too many details.

“His name’s Nate McCormick, and he’s the supervisory special agent in charge of our CT group.”

“Okay. Why doesn’t he like you?”

“Messy breakup.”

“Shit. I knew it.”

She looked at him. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“I didn’t sleep with my boss. We were together. We broke up. Then he got promoted.” She stared straight ahead because she didn’t want to see his reaction.

“And now, what, he’s being a dick to you because you dumped him?”

She glanced at him. “How do you know I dumped him?”

“That’s what happened, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“So now he’s trying to marginalize you to get payback?”

“I’m not sure it’s a formal strategy, really. He doesn’t like me because I know what a true shit he is. Basically, he ignores me.”

“Same effect.”

“Can we drop this, please? I don’t want to rehash this. I want to do my job and track down this terror suspect and disrupt whatever he’s planning. Now, tell me about your friend. Is this the CIA guy?”

“Different friend.” He looked at her. “By the way, I called Lance and explained the situation without giving him a lot of details. He’s going to check into some things and get back to me.”

Lexie’s stomach knotted. “What did you tell him, exactly?”

“Basically, I just gave him a name and told him I needed to track him down in a hurry.”

“That’s it? What does he think you want with him?”

“He doesn’t care what I want with him. We operate on a need-to-know basis.” He glanced at her. “Relax.”

“I can’t. This is a high-stakes case. I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“Look, you wanted me to help you find this guy. That’s what I’m doing. You need to trust my methods.”

“I do. I just don’t trust your people. How can I? I don’t even know them.”

“You don’t need to. I can vouch for them, and I can tell you they know how to keep their mouths shut.”

She stared straight ahead as Jake picked up the freeway. She had to trust him. She did trust him, or she never would have confided in him in the first place. But the thought of what she had riding on this made her slightly queasy. What if this suspect continued to elude authorities and then carried out an attack? His organization was responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent civilians. They wanted to put on a show and make a name for themselves, and Southern California had been selected as their stage. With every day that ticked by that her suspect continued to elude her, Lexie’s tension mounted. She was starting to feel desperate. And desperation led to reckless decision-making.

“Lexie?”

“Fine. Whatever. Now, tell me where we’re going.”

“East of the city,” he said as he pulled into the left lane and picked up speed. “An industrial area near El Monte.”

“What’s your friend’s name, and what does he do?” she asked.

“Mario. And actually, he’s a friend of a friend.”

“What’s his business?”

“Guns.”

She looked at him, startled.

“If your suspect is in the area and looking to get his hands on any hardware, this guy’s probably heard about it,” Jake said. “He keeps his ear to the ground.”

“Where exactly do you know him from?”

He slid her a glance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m worried about it. I’m a federal agent. I can’t just waltz in somewhere and—”

“You won’t be waltzing in anywhere. I will. You’re here to observe. Understood?”

She clenched her teeth.

“Okay?” He looked at her. “I can drop you off at your office if that doesn’t work for you, but you need to stay in the background.”

“Fine, all right. But I need some info on this man. Does he have a sheet? And how on earth did you get mixed up with him?”

“He’s got a clean record. He’s retired Navy. He lost a hand in an accident, and now he does customization work.”

“Work such as . . . ?”

“Rifle scopes, custom stocks, engraving, that sort of thing.”

“All of it completely legal.”

“Of course.”

She gritted her teeth and looked out the window, once again feeling in over her head.

The sinking sun gleamed off the high-rises as they made their way through town. It was a clear day, and a recent front had banished much of the haze that usually hung over the city. It was the perfect Saturday for jogging on the beach or maybe taking a drive up the coast. Instead, she was working. Again. And she had Jake at her side, almost guaranteeing that she was plunging headlong into trouble. He was an adrenaline junkie, and if there was trouble anywhere nearby, he would find it. Jake had a nose for it, which was one reason she’d wanted his help.

“Relax, Alexa.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I won’t get you in trouble, promise.”

“Sure, you will.”

He smiled. “Loosen up, would you? I’m here to help.”

Jake navigated the labyrinth of streets, using his phone as a guide as he watched Lexie from the corner of his eye. Despite the casual clothes, she was a bundle of nerves. Not that he blamed her, really, but he wished she’d have some faith in him. Lance and Mario were trustworthy. And at least one of them, if not both, would produce a new lead on this suspect, Jake could almost guarantee it.

“So.” She looked at him. “What was it you canceled today?”

“Nothing important.”

“It sounded important if you were supposed to be there at six a.m.”

He’d known she’d bring it up again, and he wasn’t sure why he felt reluctant to tell her. “It was a camping trip.”

She lifted her eyebrows, clearly surprised. “With . . . ?”

“My dad and brothers.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a family thing.”

“No big deal.”

Silence settled over the truck, and the only noise was the low sound of the radio.

“Do you guys go camping a lot?”

He laughed. “No. Fact, it’s never once happened in the history of the Heath family. My brothers are doctors. They’re not really into roughing it. The golf course is more their scene.”

“Your brothers are doctors? As in all of them?”

“Yep.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three. Plus, my dad’s a surgeon, but he retired a couple of years ago.”

“Wow, that’s . . . really amazing. And now the medic thing makes more sense.”

“We call it a corpsman.” He smiled at her. “And yeah, I guess I took an interest because of my dad.”

She settled back against the seat. “What’s the occasion for this rare Heath family adventure?”

“My dad’s been sick. Just finished chemo a few months ago. He wanted to, I don’t know, get back to nature or something.”

Lexie went quiet. He looked at her.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I had no idea.”

“Why would you?”

“God.” She closed her eyes. “Now I feel like crap.”

“Don’t. This is important.”

“So is your family.”

“Work comes first,” he said. “They get that.”

“Can you catch up to them?”

“What, so I can sleep on the ground and eat out of a can for two days? I don’t want to catch up to them. I want to help you.”

She got quiet again and looked ahead. Clearly, she felt guilty for taking him away from his plans.

“Look, to tell you the truth, I’m relieved. My brothers and I don’t really get along, and I was happy to bail.”

She looked at him but didn’t seem convinced. And he didn’t want to explain any more, so he let it go. She had no idea how incredibly glad he was not to be there. Especially since not being there meant spending time with her.

Jake still didn’t know what it was about her, but she was different from any woman he’d ever met. She had a kick-ass attitude and the training to match, and their verbal sparring always got his blood going. He liked that she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind with him. The only thing she seemed afraid of, really, was trusting him on a personal level. He was determined to change that. Opening up to him about her ex was a good first step. It also helped Jake understand why this investigation was complicated for her.

“Thanks again for helping me,” she said, obviously still hung up about derailing his weekend.

“I haven’t helped you yet.”

“You chased off my burglar.”

He shot her a look. “I really doubt he was a burglar. He could be connected to your case somehow. Maybe someone following you to get an idea of what you know.”

“Well, whatever he was, thanks for running him off. Also, thanks for reaching out to your PI friend. Plus, you’re giving up your personal time to be here, and I appreciate it.”

How much did she appreciate it? He was about to make a joke but thought better of it. Constantly ribbing her wasn’t helping him with the trust thing.

Spotting his exit, Jake shifted lanes.

“I’ve never actually been to this place before.” He checked the map on his phone again. “You know the area?”

She looked out the window. “We did a sting operation on that street once. Human trafficking.”

“I’m not surprised. There’re a lot of factories and warehouses. Trucks and shipping containers in and out.”

“I know.”

Jake took a few more turns and slowed. The neighborhood was about what he’d expected, mostly industrial-looking buildings punctuated by parking lots and the occasional abandoned building covered in graffiti.

Mario’s business had no sign out front. It was a nondescript beige warehouse, like several others nearby. Jake read the number painted on the door as he drove by. Instead of stopping, he continued for another five blocks and then circled back to an In-N-Out Burger they’d passed. The parking lot was about half filled with cars, and he pulled into a space facing the street.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t actually think I’m staying here.”

“You’re staying here.”

“I want to meet this contact. What if he has a tip for us?”

“I’m hoping he does, but why do you need to meet him?”

She rolled her eyes. “So I can see his face, read his body language, gauge his credibility.”

“I can do all that.”

“I’m coming, Jake.”

He looked at her. “Lex, get real. This guy’s in the gun business, and you look like a fed.”

“I’m in street clothes, same as you.”

“Not same as me. My clothes are crap, and I haven’t shaved in three days.”

“Just pretend I’m your girlfriend.”

“Not happening.” He nodded at her crisp white shirt. “You look too conservative. Anyone will take one look at you and know you’re a cop.”

“How? I’ll act like I’m—”

Jake leaned over and kissed her, completely without warning. At first, she froze up. But then he combed his fingers into her hair, and she relaxed a fraction. He pulled her close and delved into her mouth, the way he’d wanted to since he’d first laid eyes on her, and she seemed to melt into him. She was hot and sexy, and he could practically taste all those pent-up emotions she tried so hard to keep in check all the time. He tipped her head to the side to get a better angle, and she slid her fingers around his neck, pulling him closer and making him wish they didn’t have the damn console between them. She made a little moan against his mouth. The sound sent a shot of lust through him, and he slid his hand around her waist.

She jerked back. He opened his eyes, and she stared at him, panting.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“You just proved my point.”

“What point?”

“You can’t pretend to be my girlfriend. You’re too uptight around me. No one would buy it.”

She blinked at him in confusion, but for once she didn’t argue. That kiss had definitely thrown her off. It had thrown him off, too. He’d done it on impulse, mainly to mess with her head after she’d made that pretend-I’m-you’re-girlfriend crack. He hadn’t realized the intensity would ramp up in only a few seconds.

She was staring at him now, all flushed and ticked off, and he had to get out of here before he kissed her again.

“I won’t be long.” He nodded toward the restaurant. “Go grab a burger or something.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to grab a burger while you go in there alone and—”

“Fine, stay in the truck, then.” He pushed open the door. “But keep your phone on.”

Jake struggled to get his head in the game as he approached Mario’s place. It was time to concentrate. Time to focus on the job and not the woman who’d roped him into it. Getting distracted was a good way to get killed.

Mario’s didn’t look like much from outside, which was intentional. He got most of his clients through word of mouth, so there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to his business. Mario was a legend in the SEAL teams. He’d worked in the armory for fifteen years before losing his left hand in a grenade accident. Jake had never personally met the man, but some of the older guys in Alpha Crew swore by his skills, especially when it came to mounting scopes. According to his reputation, Mario could do pretty much anything with a firearm. The man was a perfectionist, as meticulous about his work as he was guarded about his privacy.

Mario’s brother-in-law Sam was another story, evidently, and Jake noted the neon sign for Sammy’s Custom Choppers that hung over an open bay at the south end of the building.

Jake walked past the sign, catching a glimpse of a disassembled bike through the open garage door. A man with orange goggles looked up from his work and nodded. Jake nodded back and then surveyed the area. Most of the buildings were corrugated-metal warehouses surrounded by chain-link fences, some topped with razor wire. Interspersed between the warehouses were concrete lots packed with metal drums or shipping containers. The air smelled of diesel fuel, and Jake could hear the sound of a forklift reversing, along with drills and heavy machinery coming from the property across the street.

Jake stopped in front of a glass door. The painted number on the window matched the address he’d been given. He tried the door, but it was locked.

“We’re closed.”

He turned to see a short, wiry guy watching him from the bay of the bike shop. He wore gray coveralls and had a pair of earbuds tucked in his ears.

“I’m looking for Mario,” Jake said, wondering if the guy could hear him. “Kyle said I’d find him here.”

He looked Jake over and gave a slight nod. “This way.” He motioned for Jake to follow and led him through the open bay. “Kyle” was the magic word, as his teammate had told him it would be.

The workshop was busy for a Saturday evening. Besides an array of bikes in various stages of completion, Jake spotted a few cars up on blocks. His guide led him past a wall of tires. He stopped in front of a solid gray door, knocked twice, and then pushed it open. Jake followed him into a windowless room with several tables made from sheets of plywood on sawhorses. In the far corner was a workbench where a spotlight shone down on a man hunched over a rifle.

“What is it?” He didn’t look up.

“Friend of Kyle’s.”

The man walked out, and Mario swiveled on his stool.

“I’m Jake Heath.”

Mario leaned back, resting his elbow on the workbench. He wasn’t tall, but he had wide shoulders and muscular arms, and his left hand had been replaced by a metal hook.

His gaze narrowed. “You’re Alpha Crew?”

“That’s right. I came after you left.”

“How’s Kyle? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“We’ve been gone a lot.”

He nodded at an empty wooden stool. “Sit down.”

Jake stepped over and studied the gun on the workbench, a bolt-action rifle with an ornately carved stock. A layer of wood dust coated the table.

“That a Ruger?” Jake asked.

“A Sako.”

Jake had seen custom engraving before but never anything so intricate.

“Nice work.”

Mario nodded. He grabbed a plastic cup with his hook and spit tobacco juice into it. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for someone. Name’s Jerome Matapang.”

“Never heard of him.” He leaned over the spittoon again. “Why?”

“I need to track him down.”

Mario gave him a long look, and Jake sensed he knew more than he was saying. Jake couldn’t pinpoint the tell, but he trusted his read. Body language mattered, which was exactly why Lexie had wanted to be here.

“It’s important,” Jake added.

Mario lifted an eyebrow at the unspoken message. He had spent his career around SEALs and knew what Jake meant.

“You have a description?”

Jake took out his phone and pulled up the surveillance photo Lexie had sent him. Mario studied it. With his right hand, he reached over and zoomed in on the face.

“Jerome, you say?”

Something in his tone made Jake’s pulse pick up. “That’s right.”

“He was in a while back. Gave a different name.”

“What’s ‘a while back’?”

“I don’t know. Six, maybe seven days ago?”

“He was in here this week?”

He turned and spit into his cup again. “Friday night, I think it was. Said his name was Joe.”

Lexie sat in Jake’s truck, watching the neighborhood as she tried to keep a lid on her temper. She hated being sidelined. Hated it. She couldn’t count the number of ops she’d been on where she’d geared up with everyone only to be told by the team leader to wait by the car. Other times, she’d been asked to hang out in the van, where she was supposed to obediently bide her time until a woman or a child turned up and needed to be interviewed.

Lexie didn’t mind taking statements from women and kids. Her interviews often yielded useful information. The part she hated was missing out on the action and being treated like a babysitter merely because she was a woman.

Those days were over, for the most part. Lexie had paid her dues and been promoted. But Jake’s command that she hang back and wait while he met with this contact was a reminder of those early days that she wanted to leave behind her.

Another thing she hated? Being caught off guard. Jake’s kiss had come out of nowhere, and she’d completely frozen up. Her cheeks warmed as she thought about the way he’d tasted, the way his fingers had felt in her hair. He’d completely taken charge of the moment and kissed her with the same bold confidence with which he did everything else, and she’d melted right into him. One kiss, and all her logical reasons for keeping things platonic between them seemed to vanish.

Lexie thought about his mouth again and felt a rush of heat. She had to get control of this. She couldn’t control Jake, but she could control her reaction to him, and she needed to get things back on a professional footing.

She looked at her watch and glanced around. What the hell was taking so long? He’d been gone almost an hour, and it was getting dark. Lexie checked her phone, but she hadn’t missed a message.

Headlights flashed in her side mirror as a low-slung yellow Corvette turned the corner. It eased down the street and rolled to a stop in front of a two-story warehouse with blacked-out windows. A man got out with his phone pressed to his ear and a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He cast a furtive look around. The Corvette’s taillights flashed as he locked the car and walked into the building.

Not suspicious at all.

Lexie looked around, her cop radar on high alert. This whole neighborhood was sketchy—block after block, warehouse after warehouse, with only a handful of signs that revealed anything about the businesses operating inside. And who knew whether the signs were real or phony? Even the ones that seemed legit, such as the windshield repair shop directly across from her, might well be a front for some illegal operation. Lexie had personally been on at least half a dozen raids within a five-mile radius of this exact location—people moving everything from counterfeit goods to sex workers.

Lexie glanced at her watch again. It had been more than an hour now, and that was it. She’d had it. She was done being sidelined. She wasn’t going to barge in on Jake’s meeting, but she could station herself outside to get a look at the players and copy down some vehicle tags. She grabbed Jake’s keys and got out of the truck, locking it as she closed the door. Lexie crossed the street, ducking into the dark shadow along one of the warehouses. She racewalked several blocks, scanning the area for suspicious people or activity.

A vehicle zoomed by her. It was a pickup this time, black with tinted windows.

Her blood ran cold.

It was the truck from last night.

The pickup slowed and turned the corner, disappearing down the same street where Jake had gone. Based on the map on her phone, Mario’s workshop was only a few blocks away.

Lexie’s pulse pounded. Was it the same truck that had been tailing her? It had to be. What were the odds of another truck just like that showing up here?

She darted across the street and into the shadow of a crumbling brick building with boarded-up windows. Peering around the corner, she looked for the black pickup. It was nowhere in sight.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket to read the text: Good mtg. On my way back.

She texted a response: Just spotted bk Dodge truck!!

Fm last night? Jake asked.

Possible. Where ru?

Jake read her message as the pickup whisked past him. He heard it slow down and resisted the urge to turn around and watch.

Instead, Jake kept walking, keeping a low profile as he tapped his cell phone to activate the videocam. He held the phone at his side, subtly studying the image on the screen.

It was a black Dodge with tinted windows and flat black rims, just as Lexie had described. Was it the same truck that had been following her? Jake didn’t like coincidences.

The truck turned the corner, headed for a four-lane street. Jake made a quick right, taking a side street that ran parallel. He briskly walked past a warehouse and saw the pickup cut through a gas station without stopping for gas, then turn into the parking lot of a Pizza Hut.

What was this guy doing here? Had he followed them from Lexie’s? The possibility sent a chill through him. But Jake had been careful. He’d been on alert for a tail ever since Lexie mentioned possibly seeing someone last night. He didn’t miss shit like that, and definitely not when he was looking for it.

The truck circled the parking lot and then slid into a space. No one got out, but Jake saw the silhouette of the driver, and it was a man. Could it be Jerome, back to see Mario? He’d been using the name of his brother, Joe, but Mario had ID’d Jerome’s photo with a high degree of confidence. Or was this someone else? Jake wanted to get a look at the driver and the license plate.

His phone vibrated as a text landed from Lexie.

Where ru?

Pizza place on the corner. Sit tight. I have eyes on the truck.

Jake walked toward the parking lot, keeping a casual pace that wouldn’t draw attention. He searched for distinctive details about the truck, but he wasn’t close enough to read the tag.

The windows were tinted, but he could see the bluish glow in the cab as the driver looked down at his phone. He was distracted, so Jake quickened his pace. As he reached the parking lot, the truck cab went dark.

Jake didn’t change his pace. The brake lights glowed red as the truck backed from the space. In the side mirror, Jake made eye contact with the driver.

Only an instant, but it was enough.

The driver shifted gears and shot across the parking lot. He hung a right into traffic, prompting a blast of horns.

Shit.

Jake glanced around, searching for options.

A black motorcycle pulled into a handicapped space near the restaurant entrance. On the back of the bike was an insulated box for pizzas. As the delivery guy pulled off his helmet, Lexie raced up to him, flashing her ID.

“FBI! I need this motorcycle!”

Jake rushed over to them.

The delivery guy looked confused. “But—”

“Police business.” Lexie threw her leg over the bike, and the stunned kid stepped back.

“Hey!” Jake hopped onto the seat behind her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hang on!”

“Lexie—”

The bike shot forward. Jake grabbed her around her waist as she zipped across the parking lot.

“Where’d he go?” Lexie asked.

“Hang a right.”

She did, and Jake searched ahead for any sign of the pickup.

“Next intersection!” he told her.

Lexie rolled the throttle and swerved around a car, and Jake squinted as the wind buffeted his face. The light ahead turned green. The black pickup moved forward. The driver didn’t seem to know he had a tail, though.

“I told you to sit tight!” Jake yelled above the noise.

“I want that license plate.”

Jake wanted it, too. He wanted to know who this guy was and why he kept turning up. Was he here for Mario? Lexie? Had he been at her place earlier, waiting to ambush her?

Skillfully weaving through traffic, Lexie shrank the distance between the bike and the truck as her hair whipped around Jake’s face. He couldn’t fucking believe she’d stolen a motorcycle and gone after a suspect.

The truck sped up suddenly.

“He noticed the tail!” Jake yelled.

The light ahead turned yellow. Cars in front of them slowed. Lexie swerved around a truck, then sped through the narrow space between vehicles as the truck raced to catch the light.

The light turned red as the pickup shot through. Lexie followed. Horns blared as they raced across the intersection.

The pickup cut across two lanes, and Lexie followed, falling behind as the truck gained speed. Jake held on to Lexie’s waist as the bike vibrated beneath them. It wasn’t big, but it had a powerful engine, and she expertly maneuvered around cars. Where had she learned to drive like this?

Another intersection loomed ahead, this one with cars stacked at a red light. The pickup slowed. Lexie sped up, zipping between cars so they could get close enough to read the tag.

The light turned green. Traffic inched forward. The pickup swerved into the oncoming lane, then lurched ahead. Lexie followed, nearly hitting a van. The driver laid on the horn and flipped them off as Lexie swerved back into the lane.

Jake looked ahead for the pickup truck. It was way in front of them now, getting farther and farther away.

Jake scanned for openings, but the traffic was bad here. Lexie whisked between lanes, gaining ground even as horns blasted behind them. The light ahead turned yellow.

“Don’t do it,” Jake said.

She leaned forward.

“Lex—”

“I can make it!”

The light turned red. The pickup braked. Jake’s pulse jumped as Lexie zoomed closer, speeding through the space between cars.

Suddenly, the truck shot through the intersection. Brakes shrieked. The pickup swerved, and Jake heard a crunch of metal as it hit a white car, sending it into a tailspin.

Lexie swerved around the car just as it careened into a lamppost with another shriek of brakes.

She looked back over her shoulder. Then she swung a U-turn and bumped up onto the sidewalk. The white car was smashed up against the lamppost, its front crumpled. The woman in the driver’s seat was hunched over the wheel.

Lexie zoomed down the sidewalk and screeched to a halt beside the wreck.

“Is she hurt?” Lexie jumped off the bike, and Jake slid forward in the seat as she rushed to check on the motorist. The woman lifted her head. She looked dazed and confused, but she was talking.

Jake glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the black pickup as it whipped around the corner.

“I’m going after him!” he said, then shot forward into the street.

“Jake, wait!”

He took off like a bullet, determined to catch up with the truck. Who the fuck was this guy? Jake wanted that license plate. He reached the intersection and hooked a sharp right, narrowly missing an SUV. Horns blasted.

He looked ahead and caught sight of the pickup. Jake rolled the throttle and leaned forward as he zoomed closer. He swerved around cars and trucks. Traffic slowed at a light, and Jake zipped between lanes, hoping his kneecaps wouldn’t get clipped as he neared the stoplight where the pickup was. Jake could almost feel the instant the driver realized he had a tail again.

The light stayed red as Jake sped between cars. He watched the pickup and knew what the driver was planning even before it happened.

The pickup lurched through the intersection, prompting a chorus of horns and squeals as drivers slammed on their brakes and screeched to a halt. The intersection instantly became pandemonium. Cursing, Jake shot through a gap in the stopped cars.

The black pickup raced ahead, and Jake zoomed to catch up, more determined than ever not to lose him. At the next intersection, the truck hung a right. Jake followed. A parked delivery van blocked the lane.

“Shit!”

Jake took a sharp right, popping onto the sidewalk. He swerved to miss a pedestrian.

The world tilted as the tires skidded and the bike slid out from under him. Fire blazed up his arm, and then he was tumbling forward, over and over, and crashing into a wall with a brutal smack.

Lexie reached her neighborhood and pulled onto her street, fuming. She checked her phone again. Nothing. Her last text had gone unanswered, and Jake hadn’t communicated since a cryptic Sidetracked. Meet at your place. Take my truck.

Lexie tried to cool her temper. Why had he raced off without her? And where was he that he couldn’t answer his phone? Lexie had spent more than an hour at the accident scene. The driver of the white Toyota was okay, luckily, but her car was totaled. After meeting with cops at the scene, Lexie had caught a ride with one of them to the pizza restaurant, where the store manager told her that the delivery kid’s bike had been returned and he’d gone home for the night.

Was that what Jake meant by “sidetracked”? And where the hell was he now? Lexie focused on her fury. Better that than the niggling fear that something bad had happened to him.

She pulled up to her condo and parked in front, glancing around as she cut the engine. She’d hoped to find him sitting on her front steps waiting for her, but he wasn’t there. She shoved open the door and hopped out, grabbing her backpack.

As she slammed the truck’s door, she scanned the street for anything unusual. No suspicious cars or pedestrians. No shadows lurking in the bushes. Just to be cautious, she tucked her hand beneath her shirt, touching the grip of her pistol as she approached her home. Everything looked normal, exactly as she’d left it, right down to the neglected flowerpots.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The alarm beeped at her, and she quickly tapped in the code. She’d gotten into the habit of ignoring the system unless she went out of town, but Jake’s lecture over pancakes had shamed her into using the damn thing.

Lexie leaned back against the door and sighed. Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry and sticky. A toxic mix of anger and worry churned inside her stomach.

Sidetracked. Meet at your place.

What had happened after he raced off on the motorcycle? And where was he now? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to skin him alive. She should have known this would happen. Jake was highly intelligent, highly trained, and highly effective. But he was impossible to control. He did things his way, and she’d been naive to think she could ask for his help and then control how he gave it.

Lexie locked her door and crossed her living room, dropping her backpack onto a dining chair. She unfastened her holster and set it on the table, then stripped off her button-down shirt and tossed it over a chair. Glancing at the kitchen, she realized how hungry she was. And thirsty. And still infuriated over being ditched—although with every minute that ticked by, her anger was giving way to worry.

A loud rap at the back door had her spinning around. A shadow loomed in the window, and she instantly recognized the tall frame and wide shoulders.

She stalked over and glared at him through the glass, then flipped the latch and jerked the door open.

“Where the hell were you?”

He brushed past her. “I got sidetracked.”

She noticed the plastic bag in his hand as he crossed the kitchen and pulled open a closet.

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asked.

“Third door on the left. How did you get here?”

He walked into the bathroom and switched on the light. “Uber.”

He didn’t close the door. When she heard water running, she walked over. “What—”

She halted in the doorway. He stood at the sink, shirtless. His entire shoulder was a bloody mess.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

“Bike skidded out from under me.” He turned his back to the mirror, examining a nasty scrape that extended from the top of his shoulder to the base of his rib cage. The shallow wound was dirty and bleeding, and Lexie’s chest tightened just looking at it.

“What—”

“Hand me that bottle, will you?”

She glanced at the plastic bag on the floor beside his wadded T-shirt. She scooped up the bag and found bandages, gauze, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“You stopped for supplies?”

He had his back to the mirror now, carefully peeling bloody scraps of fabric from the cut.

“Jake?”

He winced. “What?” His fierce gaze met hers, and Lexie’s heart jumped into her throat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a mess.”

“This is nothing, just looks bad.”

She eased around him, bumping her hip against the counter. His wide shoulders seemed to fill up her entire powder room, and she squeezed past him to examine the abrasion.

“You want to help? Here.” He poured alcohol over some gauze and handed it to her.

Lexie dabbed the cuts on his back, beginning at the top and working her way down. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she picked bits of gravel from his torn skin. Jake held his breath, but he didn’t flinch. Mr. Tough Guy, of course, even when he’d peeled half his back off. He hadn’t even been wearing a helmet. He could have been killed.

“Tell me what happened,” she ordered. “Don’t leave anything out.”

The gauze was soaked in blood now, and he handed her a fresh wad. She tried not to think about what she was doing. It had to hurt like fire, and just looking at it brought tears to her eyes.

He took a deep breath, expanding his torso. “I tried to catch up with the truck and get the license plate. Driver spotted me, raced off. I chased him. Ouch.”

“Sorry. Gravel. This is awful, Jake. We should go to the ER.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“Why? So I can wait in chairs for two hours to get a Band-Aid and a five-hundred-dollar bill?”

“You’re injured! Look at all this bruising here.” She traced her fingers over a bluish-black welt on his shoulder. “I think you need an X-ray.”

“That’s from yesterday. This is just a scratch, trust me.”

Lexie glared at him. How many times had he said that to her today? Trust me. She had trusted him, and look where it had gotten them. He was all torn up.

She continued dabbing the cuts, trying to stay focused and not let her gaze wander over his muscular shoulders. Or his lean waist. Or the dimples at the small of his back. Her skin felt hot. She tried to focus on first aid, but she hadn’t adequately prepared herself today for the sight of Jake Heath standing in her bathroom half naked.

She took a deep breath. “Then what happened?”

“Then I lost him.”

“I said don’t leave anything out.”

He laughed. “Okay, shit. What else? I never got close enough to see the license plate. So after I skidded, I got back on the bike, returned it to the owner, and tipped him fifty bucks for his trouble and offered to pay for any damage. Then I grabbed a ride here.”

“I owe you fifty bucks.”

“Forget about it.”

Her eyes burned again as she examined the wound. She plucked out a tiny pebble that was lodged under his skin, and he jerked slightly.

“You’re probably better at this.” She soaked some more gauze, then silently continued her work, trying to block out all the emotions stirring inside her. She was upset about his injury. And deeply concerned about everything that had happened tonight.

He looked at her over his shoulder, and she tried to keep her expression neutral.

“You think that was it?” he asked. “The truck tailing you the other night?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “I think it was. I just don’t know what it was doing there.”

“Maybe it followed us from your house.”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “But we were there an hour before I saw him. And if he saw me, why did he drive right past me?” She tossed the bloody gauze into the wastebasket and unwound some more. He handed her the alcohol.

“I think he was there to see Mario,” Jake said. “Or to meet someone and then go see Mario. He’d pulled into a parking lot and was sitting there on his phone when I first walked up to him.”

“What did Mario know about Jerome?”

“He told me he came by a week ago, gave his name as Joe. Evidently, he’s pretending to be his brother.”

“Why?”

“Beats me,” he said. “Maybe he figures his brother’s got a legit reputation as a gun dealer.”

“So he was looking for weapons?”

His gaze met hers in the mirror. “Mario said he asked about buying some guns.”

Her pulse picked up. “What kind? How many?”

“He didn’t specify.”

“You believe that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She searched his face, noting the glint in his eyes and the cut at the top of his forehead. He smelled earthy and sweaty, and she could feel the energy coming off him in waves. Was he all revved up from the crash? Or from being here with her?

She cleared her throat. “What else?”

He took the bottle of alcohol from her and went to work on his elbow. “Mario isn’t a dealer. He gave him another name, and then he left.”

“You believe all that?”

“Not really. There’s more to the story, but I’ll hit him up later. Hopefully he’ll talk.”

He opened a box of bandages. He selected the biggest one and peeled off the plastic, then smoothed it over his elbow. She caught a look at his shoulder in the mirror, all red and raw, and she felt a pang of regret for dragging him into this.

He turned to face her, propping his hip on the counter. His huge body seemed to fill up the tiny room.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said gruffly.

“Like what?”

“Like your puppy just died.”

“I’m upset, Jake.”

“Why?”

“You’re injured. And everything went sideways tonight.”

“No, it didn’t.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “We got intel, just like we wanted. You’re upset because I changed the plan. Sorry, but that’s the way SEALs work. We improvise.”

The anger she’d been tamping down welled up again. “You ditched me! And took off after a suspect and nearly got yourself killed—”

He tipped his head back and laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“Yeah, it is.” His smile faded. “Hey, don’t look that way.” He reached out and pulled her against him. “Everything’s fine.”

She thumped her fist against his big chest. “It’s not fine. I’m pissed off at you.”

He wrapped his strong arms around her, and she felt a rush of nerves. She tipped her head to look at him, and the intensity in his blue eyes sent a jolt of heat through her.

He touched her chin and kissed her. It was gentle at first. That lasted about a second, and then it was hot and demanding. He pulled her against him, and she went up on tiptoes, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her breasts against the firm wall of his chest. She didn’t want to hurt his raw skin, so she kept her fingers in his hair as he kissed her.

His mouth was warm and urgent, and she slid her tongue over his, desperate to taste him as his hands glided down her body and cupped her butt. Heat rushed through her. Everything was so intense, she felt like she was spinning. Then she realized she was spinning as he turned her around and smoothly lifted her onto the counter. Next thing she knew, her knees were splayed, and Jake’s big, hard body was pressed against hers.

She opened her eyes, and the raw hunger on his face sent a shot of lust through her. She pulled his head down and kissed him.

She didn’t want to talk. Or look. Or acknowledge what was happening. All she wanted was Jake’s mouth on hers and his warm palms gliding over her thighs. He dragged her to the edge of the counter, aligning her body with his, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans. And that was it—no more games. No more denying the attraction that flared between them, heating her from the inside out and making her feel like she might burst into flames. She’d imagined kissing him, but she’d never imagined this frantic need building inside her as his tongue tangled with hers. She dropped her hand from his silky hair to his lean waist, tucking her fingers under the denim. And God, she felt nothing but skin. She dug deeper, digging her nails into his buttocks as she pulled him against her.

A low groan vibrated in his chest, and Lexie’s heart skittered. This was happening, finally. After all those months and months of fantasizing. His hand slid from her hip to her breast, and the desperate way he touched her made her think he’d been fantasizing about this, too. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, and she arched against his palm as he pushed up her tank top to reveal a thin white bra that he quickly moved aside. He dipped his head down, and the hard pull of his mouth made her clamp her thighs around his waist.

She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it away, and he gave a low groan of approval and continued kissing her. His mouth felt so good, and his big, warm hands were all over her. She gripped his hair in her hands and tipped her head back to lose herself in the feeling.

“Lexie.”

She arched against him, wanting more, but not wanting to open her eyes yet, not wanting him to stop. The hot swirl of his tongue over her nipple was all she wanted to feel right now.

“Alexa.”

She opened her eyes, and he gazed at her over the swell of her naked breast.

“Honey, your phone.”

“Huh?”

A low buzzing sound snapped her to attention, and she lurched off the counter. She grabbed her tank off the floor and rushed into the living room. Her backpack was on the chair where she’d left it before Jake had shown up all cut and bloodied.

Before she’d kissed him. And started stripping off her clothes.

The buzzing ceased as she dug the phone out, and she saw that she’d missed three calls, all from Amy Chen, one of the agents on her team. Something was wrong.

“Shit!” She swiped the screen just as the doorbell rang.

Lexie wrestled her shirt on and checked the peephole. Amy was on her doorstep now, phone in hand. She wore jeans and a windbreaker, and her long black hair was pulled up in a ponytail. The agent was supposed to be on her way to Venice Beach for a surveillance shift at Courtney Stapleton’s house.

Lexie tucked her boob back into her bra and straightened her shirt. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Her skin felt flushed, and her mouth still tingled from Jake’s.

What the hell was she thinking?

She squared her shoulders and pulled open the door.

“Hi.” Amy’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. What’s up?”

“I called you a minute ago, but you didn’t pick up, so I thought I’d drop by. So . . . you haven’t talked to Brian?”

Lexie smoothed her hair, hoping Jake wasn’t about to waltz across her living room with his shirt off.

“He didn’t call me. Why?” Lexie checked her watch. “Isn’t his shift about to end?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Amy glanced past her, and her startled expression told Lexie she’d caught sight of Jake.

“Come on in,” Lexie said casually, stepping back to let her inside.

Amy entered the foyer as Lexie glanced over her shoulder. Jake was calmly seated on one of her barstools in the kitchen now. He wore his T-shirt again and appeared to be talking on his cell phone. He glanced up and acknowledged Amy with a nod.

Lexie cleared her throat. “That’s Jake Heath, the friend I told you about.”

Amy’s eyebrows arched. “The SEAL?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought he couldn’t help us?”

“Turns out he can. He is.” Lexie sounded flustered, so she tried to change the subject. “So. What’s up with Brian?”

“I was supposed to relieve him over at the ex-girlfriend’s house, but I just got called in.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure. Something about the case. I think we probably got the phone dump, and Nate needs a couple of agents to comb through everything. He didn’t call you?”

“No.”

“Well, is there any chance you can cover for me?”

Lexie hadn’t planned to pull a surveillance shift tonight.

“The alternative is, we could let it go and hope nothing happens overnight,” Amy said. “It’s been pretty quiet, so—”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” Amy cast another look at Jake, probably wondering what he was doing at Lexie’s house so late.

“I’m sure. You’re supposed to be there when, midnight?”

“Eleven,” Amy said. “I was on my way over when I got the call.”

“I’ll cover it.”

“Thanks.”

Lexie opened the door, and Amy stepped out.

“Call me if anything comes up,” Lexie said.

“You, too.” Another glance at Jake. “And sorry to drop this on you, especially on a Saturday.”

“No biggie.”

When Amy was gone, Lexie locked the door and checked her watch. She had exactly twenty minutes to get to Venice Beach.

“You’re on stakeout?”

She turned to see Jake right behind her, even though she hadn’t heard him approach. His conveniently timed phone call had ended, and now he gazed down at her with his hands on his hips.

“You caught all that?” Lexie asked.

“Yep.”

For a moment, she just looked at him, reliving the feel of his mouth on hers and her hands sliding into the back of his jeans. He didn’t have anything on under those jeans, and she had to stop thinking about that.

She turned away. “I have to go. I have to be in Venice by eleven.”

“Want company?”

She looked at him. “On stakeout duty?”

“Sure, why not? Might be fun.”

“It definitely won’t.” She retrieved her backpack, wishing now that she’d grabbed that hamburger for dinner when she had the chance. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do right now, anyway. Such as going to get your injury treated.”

“It’s fine,” Jake said. “But I do have some stuff to take care of.”

He reached over and opened her door, and her heart did a crazy somersault because he was leaving without mentioning what had just happened between them. Maybe it was better that he didn’t. For her, having a gorgeous man kiss her breathless in her powder room was kind of momentous. As in, it had never happened before. As in, she was going to be thinking about it for a long time. But evidently, to him it was no big deal.

“Shoot me that address,” he said. “I’ll try to swing by later.”

“You can’t just ‘swing by.’ It’s surveillance work. I have to keep a low profile.”

The corner of his mouth curved up. “I’m a master at stealth.”

“Seriously, Jake.”

“Seriously, text me the address.” He stepped closer and dropped a kiss on her forehead, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “And be careful out there.”

Jake watched the sweat-slicked joggers pounding along the boardwalk. These were the early birds, the true fitness nuts who got up at oh-dark-hundred on Sunday mornings to get in their PT before the masses descended on one of L.A.’s most popular beaches. By nine, this place would be swarmed with Rollerbladers, volleyball players, and tourists.

Jake scrubbed a hand over his beard. It was itchy as hell, and he wished he had time to shave, but that wasn’t happening. He combed his hand through his hair, then reached into the back of his truck. Rummaging through his backpack, he found a clean T-shirt and a toothbrush. After changing his shirt, he got out and made use of the toothbrush, spitting in the sand. Then he zipped everything back into his pack, locked his truck, and surveyed the area.

It was a nice morning. A light mist hung over the beach, and the water lapped against the shore. The air felt cool and breezy, and he knew it was a lot warmer here than in the San Bernardino Mountains.

Jake pictured his brothers stumbling out of their tents by now, grumbling as they tried to get some coffee going over a campfire. Except that there was a burn ban, so they were probably standing around the tailgate of his dad’s Escalade, trying to figure out how to hook up someone’s Keurig to the car battery.

Guilt needled him, but Jake tried not to think about it. They were doing fine without him. None of his brothers could cook worth a damn, but they’d probably managed to char a few steaks and open a can of beans. No doubt, they’d spent the evening drinking bourbon and swapping stories about their wives and kids and jobs. Jake’s brothers had much more in common with one another than they’d ever had with him, and whenever he was around, there was a stiffness to the conversation. He always felt like he was being interviewed. Jake had reached a point in his life where he was much closer to his SEAL brothers than to the brothers related to him by blood. Living through countless harrowing missions together had that effect.

Jake leaned against his back bumper and checked his phone. Not a word from Lexie, and he hadn’t expected one. She probably planned to spend the day dodging him, and he didn’t intend to let her.

You still at the parking garage? he texted her.

A few seconds ticked by. A text bubble appeared as she responded.

How did u know that?

He smiled.

Where ru? she asked.

Venice. Got some new info. Meet me at Tio’s when you leave.

She pondered that for a good thirty seconds before responding.

Ten minutes.

He’d guessed right, and her shift ended at six. If he guessed right again, she was tired and hungry after spending the last seven hours cooped up in her car. And she was wondering about the “info” he had, too.

Jake knew Lexie better than she realized. And he knew her burning curiosity would outweigh her desire to avoid seeing him. The job came first for her, trumping any personal issues. It was something they had in common.

Jake thought about what had happened at her house. He hadn’t planned to kiss her—it had just sort of happened when she was staring up at him with that wounded look on her face, as though she was the one who’d gone skidding across a sidewalk at thirty miles an hour. Lexie acted so brisk and businesslike all the time, and that brief glimpse of emotion had hit him like a sucker punch. He’d kissed her without thinking about it.

She’d caught fire. There was no other way to describe it. She’d responded with not just her mouth but her arms and her legs and her entire perfect body. He’d loved feeling her let go of her inhibitions and kiss him like she couldn’t get enough of him. If she kissed like that, he could only imagine what it would be like to spend the night with her.

The problem was timing. Jake made his way toward Tio’s food truck, glumly tabulating how little time he had left to make things happen with her. He’d been thinking about her for months, fantasizing about her for months. Now he’d finally made a breakthrough, and he had to leave soon.

Most days, Jake loved his job, and being gone didn’t bother him. Every now and then, it sucked.

Tio’s Tacos was a silver camper with a hand-painted sign. Even at this early hour, there was already a line of cyclists in helmets and skaters with their boards. Jake surveyed the area but didn’t see Lexie yet. He took a place in the queue and answered a text from his teammate. Jake had reached out to him last night for some help with Lexie’s case.

“Hey.”

He turned around, and there she was, looking much more alert than he’d expected after pulling an all-nighter. She still wore that snug-fitting tank top and jeans, but her long-sleeved white shirt was tied around her waist now. Her hair was twisted into one of those messy buns, and loose wisps blew around her face.

“Morning.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “How was your night?”

“Long. But over, thank God.” She turned to the food truck. “You’re eating again, I see?”

“Whenever I can.”

She gazed up at him, and something flickered in her eyes. Was she thinking about last night? She was, he could tell. And he resisted the urge to kiss her right there in the taco line.

“You must be beat,” he said.

“Actually, I’m wide awake. Mainlining coffee will do that to you.”

They stepped up to the order window, and Lexie surprised him by getting only a bottle of water. Jake ordered a large taco basket and extra salsa, with the intent to share. They grabbed a plastic number and claimed a weathered picnic table under a rainbow umbrella.

“You’re very slick, you know that?” She twisted the top off her water.

“How’s that?”

“Just when I’m on my way home to crash, you dangle new intel.”

He smiled. “Caught that, did you?”

“First, though, how did you know where I was?”

“West end of the block, top of the movie theater parking garage.”

“But how’d you know that?”

“It makes sense. Bird’s-eye view. Unobstructed. Invisible from the subject’s house.” He shrugged. “It’s the same place I’d pick if I was doing overwatch.”

She swigged her water and set the bottle on the table. “So how did you manage to come up with something new between last night and now?”

“I’m resourceful.”

Jake looked at her for a long moment, letting his gaze linger on her plump pink mouth. He’d always wondered about that mouth, and now he knew. And he also knew there was no way he was going to let go of this without seeing it through. Forget catching up with his brothers this weekend. Lexie had his undivided attention between now and Tuesday, when he had to be back on base by noon.

“What’s that look?” she asked.

“Just thinking how glad I am you called me.”

“Oh.” She looked wary. “Really?”

“Really, I’m happy to help. And I’m glad to get to spend time with you.”

She bit her lip, and Jake felt a shot of lust.

“Well, what’s this intel?” she asked. “Because if you made that up just to get me here, I swear to God—”

“I didn’t make anything up. I talked to Mario again.”

“Mario the gun guy?”

“Not his official handle, but yeah. He did some poking around about Jerome Matapang.”

A teenage kid with about a dozen piercings in his face stopped at their table with Jake’s taco basket and two extra salsas, as requested. Jake had three foil-wrapped breakfast tacos. He put one in front of Lexie and unwrapped one for himself.

Lexie didn’t even look at the food. “What is Jerome in the market for?”

“According to Mario’s sources, he’s looking to buy four MP5s and three Kevlar vests.”

Her eyebrows tipped up. “MP5s?”

“Affirmative.”

“Did Mario sell him some?”

“No. I told you, he’s not a dealer. But he’s got connections, and he heard this guy was in the market for guns and vests.”

“And did he get them?”

Jake paused. “Mario said he doesn’t know.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that. Maybe he’s holding out on you.”

“Maybe.”

“I want to talk to him. I want to find out what else he knows.”

Jake was prepared for her to say that. He’d already resigned himself to setting up a meeting between the two of them.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She leaned forward. “It’s important, Jake. Mario might have talked to someone who actually made the deal and—”

“I know.”

She didn’t seem totally satisfied with this answer, but she let it go. She watched him as he opened his taco and drizzled salsa over the sausage and cheese.

“Why three vests and not four?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Maybe he’s got one already.”

Lexie rested her elbows on the table and sighed. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Submachine guns. That’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Given the connection with the unidentified bomber . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking explosives. Sounds more like they’re planning a bank heist. Or a kidnapping.”

“You’re tired.” Jake chomped into his taco.

“What’s that mean?”

“Means you’re not thinking creatively. They could be planning to storm a building, or shoot up a concert, or take over a commuter train.”

“Okay, true.”

“Don’t think bombs just because that’s their track record. There’re plenty of high-impact things they could do with MP5s and Kevlar.”

“No, you’re right.”

“You shouldn’t get pigeonholed with one idea.” He finished off one taco and unwrapped another. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

She blew out a sigh. Her gaze fell on her taco, and she quietly unwrapped it.

“Hey, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” She looked at him. “I appreciate the legwork.”

“Like I said, happy to help.”

She nibbled the taco, watching him. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Stiff.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get it checked out?”

“It’s fine.”

She gazed out at the surf, and he caught that look of concern again. It tugged at him. She’d actually been worried about him last night. She’d been emotional and vulnerable, and he’d taken advantage of the moment by kissing her. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

He watched the pale column of her neck as she sipped her water. Her arms were slender, but she had muscle tone, too, and he could tell she worked out. She took her training seriously and kept in shape, so she could do her job.

She turned to look at him, resting her elbows on the table. “So listen, Jake.”

“I think I hear a lecture coming.”

“About last night. That shouldn’t have happened. And it shouldn’t happen again.”

“Why not?”

“Because. We’re working together again. And I don’t want to complicate things.”

“Why’s that?”

A worry line appeared between her brows. “Because . . . you’re leaving, aren’t you? On Tuesday? It’s probably better if we don’t let things get personal.”

“That’s your opinion.”

She just looked at him.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I like you, Alexa. I like spending time with you. When I spotted you at O’Malley’s, I thought I was seeing things, because for six long months, you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

She just stared at him, looking conflicted.

“What? Say something.”

“I think . . .” She shook her head and looked away.

“What is it?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She folded her arms. “Dating men I work with is not a good career move for me.”

“We’re not exactly coworkers.”

“We met through work,” she countered. “Our professional circles overlap. And work is the reason we’ve crossed paths again now.”

Ouch. Jake hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d been holding out hope that there was a personal reason she’d come to him for help.

Maybe he’d been right to hope. If she’d just wanted a SEAL, she could have asked Ryan or Ethan—basically, any of his teammates. Every one of them knew who she was ever since the joint operation with her CT team. But she’d come to him. And the simmering attraction he’d felt when he first met her had only gotten hotter.

Jake swigged his water and watched her. Last night she’d let her guard down. Only for a few brief moments, but it was enough to keep him in the game, enough to give him a glimpse of the real woman underneath all the armor. He wanted more of her. Not just sex—although that was high on his list. He wanted to get to know her.

She was looking at him now, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction.

He smiled and shook his head.

“What’s that smirk mean?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why does it seem like this is a game to you?”

He tried to cover his surprise at the word “game,” as though she’d read his mind.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because I know guys like you. I’ve dated a few, in fact, and it always backfires.”

“You’re talking about your boss.”

“Not just him. I dated a DEA agent several years ago, too, and it also didn’t work out. So I’m a bit jaded.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She rolled her eyes. “Every guy I meet on this job is ultra-competitive. They see me as a challenge. A conquest. And then they talk about me to their friends, and I don’t need that crap. I have enough trouble getting people to take me seriously.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Right. You’re not competitive? You didn’t beat out, I don’t know, two hundred other guys in your BUD/S class who wanted to be SEALs but couldn’t hack it? And you didn’t beat out hundreds more SEALs for a spot on one of the most elite teams? Come on, Jake.”

“I mean I don’t treat women that way.”

“All right, whatever.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I believe you.”

Didn’t sound like it, but he let it go for the moment.

“You’re right about one thing, though,” he said. “I am competitive. That part was spot-on. Which is why I accept your challenge.”

Her brow furrowed. “What challenge?”

“To prove to you that I’m not a player. I don’t treat women like conquests.”

She tipped her head to the side. “How do you plan to prove that?”

“I’ll take you to dinner. We can talk and get to know each other.” He held up his hands. “And I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“You mean like a date,” she stated.

“A perfectly platonic friend date. How about tonight?”

She laughed. “I’m in the middle of a case. I’ll be working.”

“You have to eat, don’t you?”

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He watched Lexie as he dug the phone from his jeans. She looked conflicted again. She hadn’t agreed to a date, but at least he’d planted the seed.

He read the message from Lucas: ETA 2 min.

Turning around, Jake scanned the boardwalk until he spied his teammate among the joggers and Rollerbladers. Lucas was easy to spot. Despite his average height, he spent every spare minute working out and liked to show it off. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt today, and he seemed to be soaking up the female gazes as he jogged.

“Hey, you remember Lucas Ortiz?” Jake asked.

“No.”

“He’s a teammate. He was with us in Thailand when we rescued the ambassador. And in the Philippines when we went after the plane crash survivors.”

“I don’t think I ever formally met him. Why?”

“He’s meeting us here with Scout.”

Lexie’s eyebrows tipped up. “Who?”

“There they are now.”

She followed Jake’s gaze across the beach. Lucas had a leash in his hand and a golden retriever loping along beside him.

Lucas neared their table, and Jake got up to greet them. Scout jumped around excitedly as Jake crouched to rub her ears. Her hair was long and soft, and she smelled like she’d recently had a bath.

“You must be Alexa.” Lucas flashed her a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Good to meet you.”

Lexie darted a look at Jake. “You, too.”

“And this is Scout.”

“Thanks for coming,” Jake said.

“No problem.” He looked at Lexie. “I hear you’re working another case?”

She glanced at Jake again. “Always.”

“You want to grab some breakfast?” Jake asked him.

“Nah, I’m good. Got a few more miles to go before I head back.” He glanced at Lexie and then looked at Jake. “You working all weekend?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” He handed Jake the leash, and Scout wagged her tail as she sniffed at Jake’s boots. “We did about a mile, so she should be pretty calm this morning. Make sure she gets plenty of water.”

“Aye aye.”

“See you at six.” He nodded at Lexie. “Nice to meet you finally.”

“Likewise.”

He looked at Jake. “Call me if you need me to come early. I’ll be at my brother’s.”

“Will do.”

Lucas jogged off, and Scout sat at Jake’s feet, thumping her tail against the ground.

Lexie turned to look at him. “So . . . you’re dog sitting?”

“Sort of. You done eating?”

“Yes.” She put her hand on her hip. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve got some scheme brewing?”

“No scheme.” Jake collected their trash and threw it away. “Just thought we’d swing by the house.”

He started walking, and Lexie fell in beside him. Scout quickly darted between them, as though she sensed a female competing for his attention.

“House, as in . . . ?”

“Scout’s a veteran. We took her on a bunch of missions with us.”

Scout looked up at Jake, tuned in to the fact that he was talking about her.

“She developed hip dysplasia a couple of years ago and had to retire. Lucas was her handler, so he got her placed with his brother here in town so he can see her whenever he visits. Want to take my truck?”

“Wait, hold up.”

Jake tugged the leash, and Scout halted. She looked from him to Lexie.

“Scout’s a working dog?” she asked.

“An explosive-detection canine. She’s a bomb dog.”

“And you want to take her to conduct a search of a suspect’s house?”

“I was thinking more of a drive-by. On foot, that is.”

She crossed her arms and stared up at him. She didn’t have a search warrant, and he could see the battle going on in her head. She didn’t want to break the rules. Or even bend them. But she had a strong hunch about this suspect, and she’d already stuck her neck out more than once by asking Jake to get involved.

“It’s not a bad idea,” she admitted.

“I know that.”

She looked down at Scout. Her tail wagged, and she seemed to sense an adventure in her future.

“We’ll take my truck so she doesn’t scratch your seats,” Jake said. “You can drive, though. Just drop us off and circle the block.”

“No, you can drive. I’m coming with you.”

The ex-girlfriend of their suspected terrorist lived in a small Spanish-style house with a red tile roof. It sat halfway down a street filled with other small Spanish-style houses, and each had its own unique decor. Or lack of decor. According to Lexie’s information, Courtney Stapleton had been renting the place for five years, and it didn’t look like her landlord did much in the way of maintenance. The once-white stucco needed painting. The window shutters were warped. And the small front lawn was a patch of yellow weeds.

According to their current intel—corroborated by six days of surveillance—Courtney lived by herself. She had two jobs, two cats, and a maroon Honda Civic that was registered in her name. She taught yoga at two different studios and spent much of her free time at home. She didn’t have visitors. Or at least, none that Lexie’s team had observed. And she didn’t go out much. Typically, on her way home from work, she swung by the grocery store or bought takeout at the noodle place around the corner, but that was about it.

Lexie tugged the brim of Jake’s Dodgers cap low over her face. She glanced at Jake, who was moving at a lazy stroll, completely unlike his usual gait. He’d put on a floppy fishing hat and some wraparound shades. In an oversize sweatshirt and worn sneakers, he looked like a sloppy tourist—nothing at all like a ripped Navy SEAL who could climb a fifty-foot rope or knock out a hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat.

“You’re good at disguises,” Lexie said.

“The key is not to get carried away.”

“You don’t want to attract attention.”

“That’s right.” His pace slowed as they neared the house. According to Brian, who was on duty now, Courtney was currently at the Black Swan Yoga studio, where she was scheduled to teach three classes before noon.

“No cars in the garage,” Jake said.

Lexie glanced at the detached structure. It was only big enough for one vehicle, but Courtney usually parked her car in the driveway.

“How do you know what’s in there?” Lexie asked.

“I swung by here earlier.”

She drew back, startled. “When?”

“Around oh-three-hundred.”

“Why didn’t I see you?”

He flashed a grin. “Because I didn’t want to be seen.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I was careful.”

Lexie looked at the house. “So what’s your plan? I assume you have one if you went to the trouble to get Scout.”

“I’ll go up to the door, confirm no one’s home, and then take Scout around the property.”

“What if someone answers?”

He shrugged. “I’ll pretend I’m taking a survey. Or running a lawn business. Or looking for my lost cat.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Jake.”

“I’ll wing it.”

She looked at the house again. “What if she has a front-door cam?”

“She doesn’t. I checked. What she does have is a loose board on the back fence.”

“She does?”

“Yeah, and it’s another reason we shouldn’t assume no one else is living there. The loose board leads to the neighbor’s driveway, so it’s possible someone could be coming and going without anyone noticing.”

“You’re saying she knows she’s under surveillance?”

“It’s possible,” he said. “If she’s involved in something criminal, she’s probably considered it. I mean, her ex-boyfriend’s linked to terrorists, so she has to think the feds might be watching her.”

Lexie studied the house in the distance. “I think your plan will work better if you and Scout go alone.”

“I know.”

“Okay, you do your thing, and meanwhile, I’ll check out the back door facing the driveway as well as the side yard.”

“Roger that.”

She glanced at her watch. “Let’s meet back at your truck in ten minutes.”

“Not a lot of time.”

“Ten minutes, Jake. I’m out on a limb already just being here at all.”

He smiled down at her. “You’re a risk-taker.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s a good trait.”

“Not if I blow my cover and botch the case.”

“Where’s your faith? Didn’t you just say I’m good at disguises?” He checked his watch. “I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

He walked off with Scout trotting happily beside him. Lexie watched them go, then looked up and down the street. The nearest pedestrian was a block away, and she was jogging in the opposite direction.

Lexie walked into the shade of a jacaranda tree and took out her phone. As she pretended to check messages, she watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He walked up Courtney’s sidewalk and stepped under the portico.

Lexie scrolled through her phone and waited. Nerves tightened her stomach as one minute elapsed. Then two. She stepped out of the shade to look, but Jake had disappeared. No one was at Courtney’s door or on her sidewalk. Where the hell was he? If he’d picked the lock somehow, she’d absolutely kill him.

But he wouldn’t do that. He would not sneak into a suspect’s home. He must have slipped around the side of the house without being seen.

Her ten minutes were ticking by, so Lexie strolled to the house and sauntered up the driveway, hopefully not attracting the attention of any nosy neighbors.

A dense tangle of wisteria covered the entrance to the narrow side yard. Lexie squeezed past it and found herself on a cobblestone pathway where Courtney kept two trash cans, one for garbage and one for recycling. Lexie darted a look over her shoulder. The street was empty. She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and tugged them on. She lifted the lid on the first can, cringing as the stench hit her. The can was full, indicating that trash day was probably coming soon. Starting with the bag on top, Lexie untied the plastic knot and sifted through.

It was a hot, smelly task, and Lexie was sweating by the time she finished. She closed the lid, checked her watch, and tugged off the gloves. Stuffing them into her pocket, she stepped out of the narrow side yard and onto the driveway, relishing the fresh air. Several cars whisked by, but still no pedestrians, and she hoped she’d managed not to attract attention.

No sign of Jake.

But he didn’t sneak into the house. No way. He wouldn’t do that.

You’re a risk-taker. It’s a good trait.

Lexie scanned the street but saw no hint of Jake or Scout as she rounded the corner. She spied the white pickup down the block and stopped short. Jake was inside, with Scout perched on the console. How had they made it back ahead of her?

Lexie hurried to the truck and slid into the passenger side. Scout greeted her with a yelp.

“Where’d you go?” she asked.

“Checked out the perimeter.”

As soon as she had the door closed, Jake pulled away from the curb. He hung a right at the next street, avoiding Courtney’s house on the way out of the neighborhood.

“Any leads?” he asked.

“Maybe. What about you?”

“Nothing interesting.” He rested his hand on Scout’s back as she poked her head into the space between them. “Sit down, girl. Sit.”

Scout sat.

“She didn’t alert on anything. I tried all the doors, the back porch, the garage.”

“You sure you know what an alert looks like?”

Jake glanced at her. “She was on our team for four years. This dog’s a SEAL. She jumps out of airplanes with us.”

“I’m just asking. You said Lucas was her handler, so he probably knows her behavior better.”

“She didn’t alert, trust me. She did get a little excited about the driveway. But that could have been because of the dead lizard she found there.” He looked at Lexie. “What was the ‘maybe’ you came up with?”

“It could be nothing, but Courtney’s trash looks suspicious.”

“I heard you rooting around over there. How was it suspicious?”

“Well, she comes across as a health freak. She teaches yoga, shops at an organic grocery place, gets carryout at a vegan restaurant. I found a crumpled receipt for one of her meals.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And I also found a bag from Sonic and the remnants of a milkshake. That didn’t seem to fit my profile of her.”

“It doesn’t. Did you grab the bag?”

“No.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t you want to dust for prints? Maybe whoever ordered the food could be in the system.”

“I can’t just grab evidence without a warrant. It’s private property.”

“You really left it there?”

“Yes. But I can find out when trash day is. I could maybe come by again.”

He shook his head.

“What? If the trash is on a public street, it’s fair game. If I’m lucky, she’ll put her can out on the curb the night before, and I can go when it’s dark.”

She’d get Brian to help her. Nothing like a midnight trash run to build team morale.

Jake pulled into a metered space down the street from where Lexie had left her car. He parked and turned to look at her.

“What else?” he asked. “Any guy trash? Condom wrappers? Razors? Men’s deodorant?”

“No.”

He held her gaze, and silence filled the cab. Scout nudged Jake’s arm, and he scratched between her ears.

“I need to get into the office and follow up on some things,” Lexie said. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a meeting with Lance in a couple of hours. I’ll probably take Scout to the beach, catch a swim.”

She made a face. “That’s going to burn your cut.”

“Saltwater’s good for it.” He paused and watched her. “You know, I meant what I said earlier about dinner tonight.”

“You’re dog sitting.”

“That ends at six.”

She hesitated. “I’ll probably be working.”

“Take a break with me.”

Something in the way he said it made her nerves flutter. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her.

I like spending time with you.

She liked spending time with him, too, she realized. She wanted to know him better, even though getting close to him was emotional suicide.

Lexie stroked Scout’s soft head, weighing the pros and cons. There were definitely more cons, including getting her heart shredded if she was dumb enough to fall for this man.

She pushed open the door. “Pick me up at seven.”

His slow smile put a tingle inside her.

“I’ll be there.”

Daylight was fading by the time Lexie finally left the office. Jake had texted her to say he’d made a reservation at a trendy sushi place on Wilshire. The restaurant happened to be a few blocks from Lexie’s office, and she figured he’d chosen it so she’d have no excuse to bail out, even if her work ran long today. It was a clever strategy. So Lexie was surprised when he bailed out, leaving her a voice mail while she was in a meeting with Nate.

Hate to do this, but I have to cancel dinner. I’ll try to come by later, though. Lance came through with a lead.

Lexie had listened to the message twice—once at her desk and once again in the checkout line as she stopped by the grocery for a bottle of wine. She tried to focus on the positive. Yes, her date was off, and that was probably for the better. But more important, Jake’s CIA friend had a lead, and she could use one after the crap day she’d had.

Lexie tried to ignore her disappointment. Jake had canceled dinner. Big deal. Something had obviously come up. She wished he would have explained—how hard would that have been?—but he hadn’t, and she had no clue whether he’d canceled because of logistical or personal reasons.

Maybe something had come up with his family. Or maybe he’d decided to try to make the camping trip after all. She didn’t know what the deal was, but she wished he’d told her. She also wished she didn’t have a tight knot of disappointment in her stomach.

She’d known looking up Jake would be trouble. After spending less than two days around him, he’d somehow managed to throw her entire world off-balance. She didn’t know how that was possible, but going on a date definitely wouldn’t have helped, so it was good that he’d canceled.

Navigating Sunday-night traffic, Lexie focused on the case, which needed her attention more than Jake did, anyway. Her meeting with Nate had been a disaster. Big surprise. He’d railed at her when she told him she’d been “casually keeping an eye” on Courtney Stapleton. And then he’d flat-out rejected her request for a full surveillance team.

Lexie’s phone chimed in the cup holder. Jake.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said, trying to sound blasé.

“You get my message?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about dinner.”

“No problem.” As she neared her neighborhood, she surveyed the area for anything unusual. She hadn’t seen the black pickup at all today.

“Lucas and his brother scored Lakers tickets,” Jake said, “and I’ve still got Scout, so the sushi place is out.”

“It’s fine. No big deal.”

“How’d it go at your office?” he asked.

She gave him the nutshell version, leaving out all the expletives to describe her meeting with Nate.

“You sound frustrated,” he said.

“I am.”

“Well, here’s some good news. Lance came through with an ID on the black pickup.”

“How did he do that?”

“I gave him the license plate, and—”

“How did you get the license plate? I thought you crashed and burned.”

“He cut through a gas station, and I went back and talked to the manager. She agreed to let me take a look at their surveillance footage.”

Lexie didn’t say anything. She could just picture Jake sweet-talking the gas station manager into letting him take a look at whatever he wanted.

“You’re very resourceful,” she said.

“I hear sarcasm.”

“Not at all. What did Lance come up with?”

“The truck is registered to a John Ocampo in—get this—Nogales, Arizona.”

“You’re kidding. Nogales? That means he’s probably linked to Jerome. What if they’re both part of this sleeper cell we think is operating in Southern California? I knew that truck was related somehow!”

“You sound excited.”

“I am. It’s a good lead. Text me the info, and I’ll have someone at my office run this guy. Maybe he has a sheet.”

“He doesn’t. My friend already checked.”

“Yes, well, your friend doesn’t have the same resources we do. Send me the info.”

“I can send you his name and driver’s license photo.”

Lexie neared her house, buzzing with excitement now about this new lead. Since the moment she’d first spotted that pickup behind her, she’d suspected it was connected to her current case. How had he found her? The most logical explanation was that he’d seen her surveilling Courtney Stapleton’s house and followed her from there. But what was his goal? To intimidate her? That didn’t make sense. Maybe his goal was to figure out what she knew by following her around to see what leads she pursued. And if that was the case, he must know that she knew his friend had talked to Mario about some weapons.

“How do you feel about pizza?” Jake asked.

“You mean tonight?” Lexie turned into her carport, scanning the shadows.

“I know a place in Hermosa Beach that has a patio, and they don’t mind dogs.”

A warm rush went through her. She grabbed the bag off her front seat and got out. Opening her gate, she searched her patio for anything suspicious.

“You there?”

“I picked up some dinner on my way home,” she told him. “How about my place? We can share a steak.”

She unlocked the door and tapped in her alarm code.

“You don’t mind Scout?” he asked.

“Of course not. But I’ve got nothing for her to eat, so—”

“I’ll take care of it. Be there in twenty.”

And that was it. Date back on.

A text landed on her phone as she deposited her groceries in the kitchen. It was the info on John Ocampo. She knew Brian was still at the office, so she forwarded everything to him, along with an explanation and a request to get in touch ASAP if he turned up anything important.

Lexie set her phone on the counter and blew out a sigh. What a roller-coaster day. And now her date was back on. Although it wasn’t a date, really. But if not, why did she suddenly feel this heady mix of nerves and anticipation? She hurried upstairs to jump in the shower. She had a full day’s worth of stress clinging to her, not to mention the residual ickiness from her morning trash dive. She scrubbed her skin with a loofa, washed her hair, then quickly dried off and rubbed on her favorite lotion. Did she have time for a blowout? She brushed her hair and was reaching for the hair dryer when the doorbell rang.

“Crap.”

She rushed into her bedroom and started to dress, grabbing a pair of jeans off a chair. Then she stopped. Stepping over to her closet, she surveyed the contents with a racing heart. What was more casual than dinner at home? Jeans were perfect. Or even shorts.

But this was Jake. The first man she’d been attracted to in a long time.

“Screw it,” she muttered, grabbing a short denim skirt. She slipped into it, then put on a pink lace bralette and a loose white sweater. She glanced in the mirror. Perfect. She looked casual but feminine. She definitely did not look like a workaholic FBI agent.

So was she going to sleep with him? She’d washed her hair and shaved and moisturized her skin until it was silky smooth. But she hadn’t made a real decision yet. She was keeping her options open. If the moment was right, she’d know.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and went downstairs.

Jake stood on her doorstep with Scout at his side. She went straight for Lexie, and Lexie reached down to scratch her ears.

“Sorry we’re late. We had to stop,” he said.

“No problem.”

Scout darted for the living room, where she started sniffing around the coffee table.

Lexie ushered Jake inside and looked him over. He wore jeans and a new T-shirt—black this time—and he’d traded his sneakers for the scarred work boots she’d noticed yesterday. Like the jeans, the boots looked like he’d had them a long time.

“So.” She smiled. “Want some wine? I’ve got merlot.”

“Sure.”

She led him into the kitchen and took a cereal bowl down from a cabinet. She filled it with water for Scout and placed it on the floor by the back door. Scout walked over and lapped up a few sips, then returned the living room.

“Not interested,” Lexie said.

“She’s full. I got her a burger on the way over.”

Lexie got down two wineglasses and took out a corkscrew.

“Want me to do that?” he asked.

“I got it.”

She felt Jake’s eyes on her as she opened the wine.

“You don’t mind sharing a steak?” she asked.

“No.”

“I have some salad, too.” She looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She poured his glass. When she glanced up, the simmering look in his eyes gave her a warm rush of nerves.

“What’s that look?”

He shook his head. “I’m kicking myself for what I said earlier.”

“What’s that?”

“The platonic hands-free friend date.”

He held her gaze. The air between them felt charged.

She stepped closer, looking up into those ocean-blue eyes that she’d tried not to think about for six long months. The warmth inside her spread, and her heart started to pound. She’d known what she wanted when she invited him over tonight.

“What if . . . I want your hands on me?”

Heat flared in his eyes. “Is that a trick question?”

“No.” She stepped closer and reached down to take his hand. She turned it over and stroked her thumb over the rough calluses on his fingers. “I happen to like your hands.”

She went up on tiptoes and kissed him. His stubble rasped against her chin, and he tasted like she remembered—sharp and male and musky. She thought of yesterday in her bathroom, and the heat was back times ten, only this time she’d kissed him. She’d invited him here, knowing exactly where this could lead. But was that what she wanted?

Lexie pulled away and looked up at him. Her heart was racing. She knew his was, too, and she knew her answer. She wanted this. Even though it was reckless, even though she was setting herself up for a world of hurt when he left, she wanted this. She’d wanted it since that moment on the beach when he’d stood there in the moonlight, looking out over the waves. She’d felt a deep longing that trumped logic and caution and everything else that always guided her decisions.

He smiled slightly as she gazed up at him. “What?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the momentous decision she’d just made.

Without a word, she turned and led him by the hand through the living room and the foyer, then up the carpeted staircase. She felt him behind her, but she didn’t look at him as she pulled him into her bedroom. The air still felt warm from her shower, and she grabbed her towel off the floor and tossed it onto a chair.

“Stay,” Jake commanded.

She turned around to see Scout standing in the doorway, looking forlorn.

“She’s fine.”

Scout understood the words and happily entered the room to start sniffing around the bed.

Lexie looked at Jake, and she felt another flutter of nerves. He was in her bedroom. She was really doing this, after months and months of telling herself to resist him.

She turned away and opened a dresser drawer. She found some matches and lit a scented candle. Heart pounding, she dimmed the lights.

She turned around, and he was crouched beside her sliding glass door.

“You need a brace here.” He glanced up at her, and the intent look on his face made her smile. “I’m not kidding. It’s a problem.”

“Always the security specialist.”

He stood up and towered over her. She traced her finger over the edge of his T-shirt, then trailed it up his arm.

“How’s your back?” she asked.

“Fine.”

She eased around him, trailing her fingers over the waist of his jeans. Standing behind him, she slid her hands under the shirt and carefully lifted it.

She sucked in a breath. “God, Jake.” His raw skin had scabbed over, but it looked horrible.

“It’s fine.”

She traced her fingertip over his shoulder and down to his hip, then carefully pressed a kiss against his warm skin.

He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto a chair. Then he turned around, and she was confronted by his beautifully sculpted chest. Lexie’s heart squeezed. She knew about all the weight training and beach runs and ocean swims and that SEALs spent a ton of time working to stay in peak condition. She knew all that, but still, seeing the evidence right in front of her was striking.

He cupped his hand against the side of her face, combing his fingers into her damp hair, and she felt another flood of nerves.

He leaned down and kissed her, and soon the nerves vanished, and she was back to that hungry, needy place she remembered from yesterday. She ran her fingers into his hair, tugging his head down as she pressed her body against him, and she felt his warm hands sliding under her sweater. He tugged it up, over her head, and tossed it onto the chair with his shirt.

Then his hands slid down her sides and came to rest at her hips. The candlelight flickered off his irises as he looked at her, and she felt the heat in his gaze all the way to her core.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He traced his hand up, dipping his finger under the lace of her bra as he bent his head down to kiss her neck. His lips glided over her skin, sending warm ripples of desire through her. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, savoring the rasp of his beard against her soft skin as his mouth trailed over the edge of the lace. He slid his hand behind her and undid the clasp, and she felt a cool rush of air over her skin as the bra fell away. His hands trailed over her body, making her shiver as they slid around and expertly undid her skirt’s hook and zipper, which were on the side. An instant later, her skirt was on the floor at her feet.

“You’re very efficient,” she said, settling her hands on his shoulders.

“I pay attention.”

His hands slid down her sides and rested on the thin straps at her hips as he bent down to kiss her.

This time, it was hotter and more urgent, and she felt him easing her back onto the bed. He rested his knee on the mattress, and it creaked with his weight as he leaned over her.

“Lie back,” he said.

She scooted back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows, watching him. Holding her gaze, he traced his finger over her breast. When her nipple hardened, he dipped his head down and kissed it.

Lexie closed her eyes. She tried not to squirm. But the hot pull of his mouth, along with the feather-light stroke of his hand over her skin, made her antsy. His fingertips brushed the juncture between her legs but kept going, sending warm shivers through her body. He kissed her, alternating between pulling and teasing her with his tongue, and she couldn’t help but shift restlessly. He looked up at her, laving her breast with his tongue as his fingertips trailed lightly over her thigh, her hip, her knee.

“Jake.”

“Hmm?”

She eased her legs apart. But he continued just what he was doing, setting fire to her erogenous zones but never quite touching her where she most wanted to be touched.

Finally, she got impatient and pulled his head up, taking his mouth with a hungry kiss, and he shifted his weight onto her. She hooked her leg around his hip, grinding herself against his erection.

He pushed up on his hands, hovering over her with a sly smile on his face as she moved against him. He kissed her deeply, and she reached for the button of his jeans.

“Wait,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because. I want this to be good for you.” He eased away from her, dipping his head down to kiss her breasts again as she groaned with frustration. He moved down her body, tickling her skin with his beard as he slid down, down, down. He hooked his fingers into her panties and eased them down her legs and moved up to kiss her navel, and she thought she was going to scream with impatience as he hovered over her.

“Jake.”

And then his mouth was on her, hot and avid, kissing her and exploring her as his hands settled on her thighs. She closed her eyes, letting the world fall away, letting everything disappear except the absolute perfection of his mouth.

She slid her fingers into his hair, gasping as the need inside her built and built.

“Come here,” she said.

But he kept doing what he was doing. The world started to spin, and she felt her control slipping.

“Now. Please.”

Maybe it was the magic word, or maybe he knew how desperate she was, but he moved up her body, and she dipped her hand into his jeans.

“Do you have something?”

“Yeah.”

He got up and quickly got rid of his jeans, then grabbed a condom from the bedside table. She had no idea how it had come to be there, but she just wanted it on him, and he seemed to read the look on her face, because he got it on and moved over her, pushing her thighs apart with his.

She kissed him, desperate for his mouth again. And he eased back to look at her. She rested her hand on the taut muscle of his shoulder, and his gaze met hers as he pushed hard inside her.

She gasped.

“You all right?”

The intense look on his face sent another rush of need through her, and she grabbed his hips.

“Lex?”

“Yes.”

She moved with him, faster and faster, as the need built and built until she couldn’t breathe or think, and there was nothing but Jake moving over her, and his hot skin, and the impossible intensity of their bodies moving together. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any more intense, he shifted her body, hooking his arm under her leg, and she made a slight squeak.

“Jake. Oh my God.” She gripped him, digging her nails into his skin and pressing her face against his shoulder.

“Tell me.”

Now, she wanted to say. Now, now, now. But she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think.

“Alexa.”

And that was it. The sound of him saying her name sent her over the edge and tore a scream from her throat, and in a blazing, white-hot moment, she shattered and came. He stayed with her, pumping into her and clutching her body through the aftershocks, and then, with an earth-moving thrust, he came, too.

Lexie lay there, decimated. Her hands slipped from his shoulders and flopped onto the bed. She opened her eyes.

Jake gazed down at her with a look she couldn’t read.

“You okay?”

She nodded and unhooked her leg from his hip. His skin was slick, and he was breathing hard.

He eased out and rolled onto his back.

Lexie’s heart hammered. Her skin felt hot. She turned and looked at Jake beside her, his chest heaving.

He sat up, and one look at his raw back snapped her to reality. God, had she scratched him? She hadn’t even been thinking about his injury when she gripped his shoulders and dug her nails into his skin.

He got up and went into the bathroom, giving her a brief view of his powerful body in all its glory. Moments later, he returned and sprawled beside her on his back, dropping his arm over his face.

She turned onto her side. “How’s your back?”

He moved his arm and looked at her. “Fine. Why?”

“I’m worried I scratched you.”

He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “You didn’t.” He traced his hand over her nipple. Then his gaze met hers, and those blue eyes hit her with their full force. Jake Heath was stretched out in her bed. His skin looked gold in the candlelight, and everything about the moment seemed surreal. She’d pictured this. Now that he was here, she could admit that to herself, and she felt a flurry of anxiety over what that meant. He held her gaze, and it felt like some sort of moment of reckoning between them. No more walls. No more games. Emotions swirled inside her, but she didn’t want to utter a word for fear she’d say something too light or too serious.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. It was the most perfect thing he could have done, and she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of a thing.

Instead, she nestled her head against his chest. She closed her eyes and felt his fingers sifting through her damp hair.

Her hair hadn’t even dried from her shower. That was how fast everything had happened. That was how fast she’d thrown caution out the window and ended up naked in bed, her head tucked against Jake’s chest. Her eyes drifted shut, and she sighed softly.

She didn’t want to think about it now. She just wanted to be.

Something cold and wet nudged Lexie’s arm, and she opened her eyes.

Scout rested her chin on the bed and stared at her with soulful brown eyes.

Lexie looked around. Candlelight flickered off the walls of her room. Beside her, the bed was empty. She sat up to look at the clock: 9:45.

She got up and slipped into her short black robe. The silky fabric felt cool against her skin as she tied the sash and checked the mirror. Her hair was a tangle, and she spent a few minutes freshening up before following the tantalizing scent of grilling onions down to the kitchen.

Jake stood at the stove in a T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He glanced up from a sizzling skillet, and she had to smile at how sexy he looked with mussed hair and a wooden spoon in his hand.

“Hey,” he said.

She walked over and slid her arms around his waist, peering around him at the skillet filled with onions. A perfectly cooked rib eye sat on a plate beside the stove.

“Looks good.”

“I found a bag of coals in your pantry.” He switched off the burner and turned to face her. “Your grill’s about to fall apart.”

“It’s not mine.”

He lifted his eyebrows.

“It belonged to the previous owner. Same with the surfboard.”

“You don’t surf?”

“Nope.”

He reached for a glass of wine and took a sip. “Ever tried it?”

“Nope.”

“You should.”

She leaned back against the counter and smiled. “Maybe I will sometime.”

She waited for him to say something about teaching her. She had no doubt he knew how to surf, having grown up in La Jolla. She’d be willing to bet there wasn’t a water sport out there that he hadn’t mastered.

He stepped closer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

He kissed her, sliding his fingers into her hair. It started slow and easy, but then his hands went around her waist, and he lifted her onto the counter and moved between her knees. He tasted so good and masculine. His skin smelled smoky from the grill, and she couldn’t get enough of breathing him in. Then his hands were inside her silk robe, stroking her breasts. She’d come downstairs famished, and now all she could think about was feeling his hands on her.

“Lex.” His breath was warm against her neck. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She did, and he scooped her up and carried her from the kitchen.

“Sofa,” she said breathlessly.

He lowered her onto the sofa arm and leaned her back. Then he hovered over her, smiling.

“Your steak’s getting cold,” he said.

“I don’t care. Come here.” She pulled him down to kiss her. His strong thigh rested on the cushion, and she gripped it between hers. He kissed her and kissed her. Then he untied her sash and slid his talented hands over her body as she groaned and arched against him. She reached for the snap of his jeans, desperate to get him out of his clothes.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said against her mouth.

“No. Here.”

“I need something.”

She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a condom, and his eyebrows went up.

“You came down here with a plan.” He kissed her neck. “Damn, that’s hot.”

She hurriedly unfastened his jeans as he kissed her. Then he moved his mouth over her skin, pushing the fabric of her robe out of the way, and she felt a delicious shiver of anticipation. Closing her eyes, she felt his mouth and his hands and the amazing power of his thighs as he knelt on the sofa. She stroked her hands over his body and heard the tear of the condom wrapper. He pushed her legs apart, and she held her breath as he thrust inside her.

It was so amazing. He was so amazing. They were amazing together, and she pulled him tightly against her and held on for the ride. She loved the power of his body, his intensity, the way he moved as though he couldn’t get enough. She dug her nails into his hips. He reached back to take her hands. Without breaking the pace, he moved them above her head, pinning her wrists to the sofa arm.

She arched back, pressing against him as he drove into her over and over and over. Everything felt hot and dizzy and impossibly good as she struggled to keep up with him, but she couldn’t, and she felt her control slipping.

“Jake.”

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and cried out as the climax ripped through her. She clung to him, her body quaking and shuddering as he came.

For seconds or minutes, they lay there, glued together and panting. Gradually, she drifted back to earth. She stroked her hands lazily over his back, taking care not to touch his injury as she savored the weight of him.

How did she get here? Forty-eight hours ago, she was going about her life, completely oblivious to the raw, earth-shattering power of sex with Jake. Now she couldn’t think of anything else.

He rested his forehead on her breast, and she closed her eyes and sighed, combing her fingers through the thick softness of his hair.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“You want to spend the night?”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. “That was a quick answer.”

“Easy question.” He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at her. “I want to spend as much time with you as possible before I leave.”

The frankness of his words caught her off guard, and she felt a giddy bubble inside her chest.

But it quickly popped as she thought about him leaving soon.

“What about Scout?” he asked.

“She’s welcome, too.” She glanced at the pooch, who was snoozing peacefully in front of the armchair.

“I’ll text Lucas,” he said. “I can drop her off at his brother’s place in the morning.”

“Good.”

He disentangled their bodies and got up. He disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, and she rolled onto her side, rearranging her robe. He came back and stretched out beside her, and she rested her head against his chest. It was a tight fit on her narrow sofa, but she liked it.

He stroked his fingers through her hair, fanning it across the cushion. “I’ve been thinking about this forever.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I have.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Forever?”

“All right, since last summer.”

It wasn’t just her, then. She couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her face.

Was he always this sweet after he slept with someone? If so, he had to have left a trail of heartbroken women across Southern California.

The thought of it put a knot in her stomach.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m thinking about the case. And everything I have to do tomorrow.” She decided to add some honesty. “And, you know, about how you’re leaving soon.”

He didn’t respond to that, just gazed down at her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

His expression changed, and she immediately regretted the question.

“I can’t talk about the details.”

Of course not.

“I’ll call you when I get back, though,” he said. “It’ll probably be eight weeks.”

She closed her eyes. This was exactly the conversation she hadn’t wanted to have with him. She was setting herself up for a no-win situation here. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just keep things . . . casual,” she said, not really liking the word.

“Is that code for you ignoring my calls for six months?”

She gazed up at him, and nerves fluttered through her stomach. His eyes were so blue, and he looked so earnest right now. Jake was hard enough to resist when all she had was a text message or a voice mail, but resisting him in person was completely different. He seemed so sincere, but that was completely at odds with her expectations about him being a player.

He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“We don’t need to make this more than it is,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Like I said. Casual.”

He paused, searching her face. “Is that what you want?”

She gazed up at him and discovered that she couldn’t lie to him. “What I want is for us to be realistic.”

That was true. She did want to be realistic. She wanted to protect her heart from the possibility of being crushed.

He seemed to accept this explanation. Or at least he didn’t argue.

He sat up and reached for his jeans on the floor.

“Come on,” he said, and Scout immediately perked up.

“Come where?”

“Your steak’s waiting. Let’s eat.”

Jake scanned Lexie’s block for anything suspicious. Joggers plodded down the sidewalk. Early-morning traffic filled the streets. A battered silver minivan with surfboards on top pulled into a space near Lexie’s condo. Jake watched as several young men hopped out and started pulling on wet suits. Jake walked past them, and Scout stopped to sniff the van’s tires, unfazed by the marijuana smoke wafting out.

Jake shifted his attention to Lexie’s door as they approached it. He’d left her sound asleep, her arms tucked under her pillow. After working two all-nighters followed by last night’s sex marathon, she’d been completely tapped out, and Jake had resisted the temptation to wake her up. She needed the rest. He hadn’t given up hope of catching her in the shower, though.

He let himself in the front door using the key he’d grabbed off the hook in her kitchen.

“Jake?”

“It’s us,” he said, unlatching the leash. The dog rushed into the kitchen, and Lexie crouched to pet her. She was dressed for work in one of her tailored black suits, and her hair made a shiny cascade down her back.

“Hi there. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” She scratched Scout’s ears as the dog practically trembled with glee.

Lexie’s gaze settled on Jake. “You took her on a walk?”

“Just to the beach and back.”

Lexie stood up, and Jake pulled her against him, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” She gazed up at him, and a smile spread across her face. “I thought you left.”

“You thought I’d take off without saying goodbye?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m glad you didn’t.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her longer this time, wishing he’d cut his walk short so he wouldn’t have missed her shower.

She eased away, looking serious now. “I’m late for work.” She checked her watch. “Are you taking Scout back?”

“I’m supposed to take her to Lucas’s brother in Santa Monica at ten.”

“He’ll be there?”

“Yeah, he works from home.” He frowned down at her. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re all tense. I can tell something’s on your mind.”

She heaved a sigh. “I have to talk to Gordon this morning, our director of CT. He just flew in from Washington.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with the CT chief? I’m impressed.”

“I’ve worked on several big cases.”

“That’s why he likes you.”

“So far. And that’s why I think I can make my case directly to him. That we need a search warrant for Courtney Stapleton’s house. Or at least a real surveillance team. I think she’s key to this.”

“And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

“I’m not sure yet. But whatever it is, I think it’s imminent.” She paused. “Don’t you, after everything that happened over the weekend?”

“I don’t know. But I have no doubt you and your team will figure it out.”

She didn’t look boosted by his vote of confidence. Instead, she looked distracted.

She reached for her car keys on the counter. “Are you okay to let yourself out? Feel free to grab some coffee first. Or shower or whatever. I wish I could stay, but my meeting’s at ten, and I have to prepare.”

“No worries. You don’t mind if I use your shower?”

“Not at all. Just, you know, lock up when you leave. There’s a thumb latch. And I can give you the alarm code.” She recited the four-digit number, then crouched down again to pet Scout.

Jake watched her, wishing she didn’t have to go to work. He had to be back on base tomorrow, and it was a crapshoot when he’d be home again. Eight weeks was optimistic, but it could just as easily be ten. His crazy schedule had never bothered him, but lately he’d been wishing he had more control over it.

She stood and looked at him, taking a tentative step forward and resting her hand on his chest.

“I’d like to see you tonight,” he said.

“I’ll probably be working.”

“After.”

She nodded. “I’d like that, too.”

Scout nudged herself between them, and Lexie glanced at her watch again.

“Go. We’re fine here.”

She crouched down to give Scout one last scrub behind the ears. Then she grabbed her purse off the bar. “I’ll call you.”

He nodded.

Scout sat at his feet, tail thumping, as he watched Lexie walk out. Jake listened to her start her car and back out of the driveway.

“Think she’ll call?” He looked down, and Scout gazed up at him hopefully. “Yeah, me, too.”

Jake went upstairs and made use of her shower, which was still steamy and sweet-smelling from her shampoo. He stood under the warm spray for longer than he needed to. Yesterday’s cleanup had consisted of a swim in the ocean, and it felt good to let fresh water sluice over his back.

Jake dried off with one of her fluffy white towels and got dressed. Scout trailed him downstairs, where he poured coffee for himself and heated a pair of sausage biscuits in the microwave.

He grabbed Scout’s leash off the counter, along with the breakfast, then activated the alarm and locked the door behind him as he left. Still scanning the street for anything suspicious, Jake walked to his pickup and stowed the food in the cup holder as Scout hopped in and scampered into the passenger seat. Jake slid behind the wheel and took a gulp of coffee. It was strong and hot, with a hint of cinnamon, and he could have downed a gallon of it after being up most of the night. He wedged the pirated mug into the cup holder, then glanced at Scout.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll bring it back.”

It would give him another excuse, however lame, to make sure he saw Lexie again today. The prospect of not seeing her before he left was unacceptable. Even if she was working, he’d figure out a way to make it happen.

Jake pulled into traffic. With the rush hour, it would take him an hour to get to Santa Monica. He had a detour first, though, and he picked up Venice Boulevard.

Venice Beach was busy with exercisers, tourists, and Monday-morning commuters. Jake passed the taco truck from the previous day, and once again there was a line out front. Jake drove through the neighborhood and turned onto Courtney Stapleton’s street, where he spotted a space down the block from her house. It was a tight fit. Jake pulled into the opening and cut the engine. He picked up a sausage biscuit and tore it in half, offering some to Scout. She wolfed it down in one chomp.

Jake eyed the Honda in the driveway. He also noted the pair of trash cans on the street, awaiting pickup. Lexie had been right about trash day. Jake had a hunch that wasn’t the only thing she’d been right about when it came to Courtney Stapleton.

According to his research, Courtney taught a 9:30 a.m. and an 11:00 a.m. class, which meant she’d be leaving soon. Jake was on his last bite of biscuit when she stepped through her front door and strode across the yellow lawn to her car.

The woman was petite and blond, not at all what Jake had expected. She had a long braid down her back and wore a loose pink top with tight purple yoga pants. She carried an oversize brown leather purse, and she tossed it into the car before she slid behind the wheel.

Jake watched her pull out. After biding his time until she was well past the stop sign, he started his engine and followed her. He took care to keep his distance. If this woman was connected to a terrorist sleeper cell—and Jake was beginning to think she was—then she’d be on the lookout for a tail, especially given what had transpired over the weekend.

Lexie believed something was in the works. As in now. Jake wasn’t sure about the timing, but everything he’d seen in the last forty-eight hours raised a bunch of red flags.

Jake hung back, keeping at least three cars between himself and Courtney as he followed her to work. She reached the strip center and turned in. Jake drove past and turned into the adjacent parking lot, where he found an empty space near a nail salon.

Courtney didn’t get out of her car. She sat there in front of the yoga studio, talking on her cell phone as the parking lot filled—students for the nine thirty class, from the looks of them.

At last, the door opened, and Courtney got out. She still had her phone pressed to her ear as she slung the purse over her shoulder and locked her car. She looked around and cut across the parking lot, headed for the glass door with the studio’s name stenciled across it. As she reached the door, a man stopped to open it for her. She handed him something and then disappeared into the studio.

Jake sat forward. Had he just witnessed a handoff? Scout whimpered softly, seeming to sense his alarm.

Several more women filed into the studio, and the man let the door close behind them. Then he walked across the parking lot toward the Honda. Dark hair, medium height, medium build. He wore mirrored sunglasses and had a neatly trimmed beard, but Jake knew in a heartbeat it was Jerome Matapang from the surveillance photo.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

Had Courtney given him her keys?

Jake’s question was answered when the man stopped beside her Honda. With a quick look around, he popped the locks and slid behind the wheel. The brake lights came on as he backed from the space. He drove to the far side of the parking lot, waited for a break in traffic, and pulled onto the boulevard.

Jake started his engine but hung back, waiting until the Honda was almost out of view before he shifted into gear. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Jerome would be looking for a tail, and whatever he was up to right now couldn’t be good.

Jake pulled out and followed him.

Lexie was twenty minutes from her office when she got a call from Amy.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you?” Amy demanded.

“On the freeway.”

“We need you in Venice, ASAP. Did Brian call you?”

“No.”

“Shit. He said he was calling you. Listen, everything’s blowing up. Brian did a trash run last night and collected that fast-food bag you told us about.”

Lexie’s pulse picked up. “You’re talking about Courtney Stapleton’s?”

“Right. We ran it for prints and got a match with the unsub from the Bangkok nightclub bombing.”

Lexie’s blood turned to ice. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“No. He’s freaking here. In town, and obviously working with a group that includes Courtney. He’s been at her house, and we’re thinking they’re plotting something.”

Lexie glanced in her rearview mirror and sailed across three lanes of traffic, prompting a chorus of honks as she barely made the exit.

“Nate’s working on a warrant,” Amy said. “In the meantime, we’re going to pick her up for questioning.”

“She’s at work. She teaches a class at nine thirty over at Black Swan Yoga.”

“We know.”

“Who’s he sending?”

“Conners and Hull. Can you meet them there? Once she’s in custody, Nate’s going to try to get a warrant for the house.”

A call beeped in, and Lexie ignored it.

“I’m ten minutes away,” she said, making a U-turn under the freeway. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Lexie pressed the gas, weaving in and out of traffic to make the light. It was a bad time of day to be rushing anywhere. She used an app to avoid pockets of congestion and made it to Courtney’s neighborhood in eleven minutes.

A Bureau vehicle was in front of the house when Lexie pulled up, and she spotted Amy and Brian in the front seat. She parked in front of the neighbor’s house and jumped out.

Brian got out of the car, shaking his head. Amy got out, too, but she was on the phone, and her expression told Lexie something was very wrong.

Jake hung back, craning his neck to keep track of the Honda that was now a good six blocks ahead of him. He’d already lost it once, then found it again, but he didn’t want to take the chance of getting too close and getting made. His technique seemed to be working, because Jerome was driving normally and had made no evasive moves.

The Honda’s turn signal went on, and Jake muttered a curse as the stoplight ahead of him turned red. While he waited, he made another call to Lexie, but she didn’t pick up. He sent her a text telling her to call him.

Beside him, Scout stirred in her seat. She was anxious, obviously picking up on Jake’s tension.

The light changed, and Jake swerved around slow-moving traffic to catch up with the Honda. He hung a right, following the route it had taken, and breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the maroon Honda at a stoplight ahead.

As Jake closed in, the turn signal went on again, and Jerome swung into a parking garage.

The car ahead stopped suddenly, and Jake shot out his arm to catch Scout as he slammed on the brakes.

He waited impatiently for the light to change, checking his phone. Why wasn’t Lexie picking up? He hoped she didn’t turn her phone off in meetings. Jake sent her another text.

When the light turned green, he punched the gas, driving aggressively now in his rush to make it to the parking garage. The concrete structure was five stories tall, half the height of the office building beside it. Skimming the sign out front, Jake saw that most of the building’s tenants were doctors and law firms.

A metal arm blocked the parking garage entrance. Jake punched a red button for a ticket. As the arm lifted, Jake hit the gas. The parking lot was dark, and the spaces were filling up as people arrived for appointments. Jake scanned the cars as he went around and around, going up multiple levels without spotting the Honda. Had he lost it?

A wheelchair rolled out from the elevator bank, and Jake hit the brakes as a group of people crossed in front of him. He glanced around, combing the rows for any sign of Jerome or the Honda. Finally, the pedestrians cleared, and Jake rounded another corner, narrowly missing a black van. Two more levels up, and the darkness gave way to sunlight as he neared the roof.

And there it was.

The maroon Honda sat at the end of the very last row, its windshield gleaming in the sunlight.

The car looked empty.

Jake glanced around. Not a person in sight. Jerome had parked on the end of the partially filled row, but the man was nowhere. Jake looked at the nearest elevator bank, but it was empty. Had he gone down the stairwell?

Jake pulled his SIG from his ankle holster and tucked it into the back of his jeans. He pushed open the door and got out just as his phone buzzed. Lexie.

Scout scrambled over the console and jumped from the truck.

“Stay.”

But instead, she dashed away as Jake answered the call.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked.

“Executing a search warrant. I really can’t talk right now, but I saw your message and—”

“I’ve got Jerome.”

“What?”

“Or I had him. I tailed Courtney to work and saw her hand him a set of keys. He took off in her car.”

“Wait, you saw Courtney this morning?”

“Yeah, I followed her to work.”

“We tried to pick her up for questioning, but she skipped out on her nine thirty class, and no one knows where she is. I’m at her house right now.”

Scout was darting around the Honda now, sniffing at the tires, the doors, the bumper. Abruptly, she sat.

“Oh, shit.”

“Jake? Are you listening?”

“Lemme call you back.”

“Wait! You said you’re tailing my suspect? Where are you?”

“At a parking garage at Venice and Oak Street.”

Scout looked at Jake and gave a sharp bark.

“Scout just alerted on the car. I’ll call you right back.”

Jake hung up and walked over, a ball of dread filling his stomach as he scanned the rooftop. He was the only person up here, and he could hear brakes squealing on the parking levels below as cars whipped around corners.

“What is it, girl?” He approached Scout, but his eyes were glued to the car. She’d alerted on the back bumper.

Jake peered through the windows but saw nothing more than empty seats. He noted the doors were locked.

A low whimper from Scout. The ball of dread in Jake’s stomach expanded. Something was in the trunk. Or something had been in the trunk, and she was alerting on the residue. Her nose was amazingly sensitive. She wasn’t trained to sniff out a bomb, per se, but the chemical components that went into one: TNT, RDX, urea nitrate—the list went on. The various odors were imprinted on Scout’s brain, and she knew what she smelled.

Before Jake could overanalyze it, he jogged back to his truck and grabbed a tire iron. He returned to the Honda and shattered the driver’s-side window with a sharp jab, knocked out enough shards of glass to get his arm through, and reached inside to press the trunk release.

The trunk opened with a quiet pop.

Not a bang or a boom—just a harmless little sound, and Jake breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped over to look inside.

Empty.

Scout put her paws on the bumper and gave another bark as Jake stared at the space. A mildewed white shower curtain was spread across the back, but that was it. No pipe bombs. No pressure cookers. No IEDs of any kind. But Scout had smelled something, she was one hundred percent clear.

Jake glanced around, but he was alone. He thought of all the cars he’d passed on the way up here.

The black van.

“Fuck.”

He ran back to his truck and jumped behind the wheel. Scout hopped into his lap and scrambled over the console. Jake dialed Lexie as he rocketed backward out of the space. Balancing his phone on his knee, he shifted into drive.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Where’s is he?”

“Lex, listen to me. He’s got a bomb, and I think he just moved it.”

“Did you see him?”

“He ditched Courtney’s car at the top of the parking garage, and Scout went nuts alerting on the trunk. I think he transferred an explosive of some kind into another vehicle and took off.”

Jake screeched to a halt as a car edged from a parking space. Jake blasted the horn and swerved around it, his tires shrieking as he whipped around the corner.

“I think he’s in a black van,” he told Lexie. “I passed one leaving on my way in here.”

“Can you catch up to him?”

“I’m trying. I’ll call you back.”

He reached a straightaway and gunned the gas, speeding toward the exit. A metal arm blocked the way, and a uniformed attendant sat in a booth beside it.

Jake rolled down his window. He dug into his pocket for some money and handed over his parking ticket plus a twenty-dollar bill.

“The black van that just left here,” he said. “Which way did it go?”

The attendant was young and skinny and had earbuds stuffed in his ears. He pulled one out and leaned closer.

“What’s that?”

“The black van that just left here. Which way did it go?”

The kid turned and gazed out, looking perplexed by the question. He pursed his lips for what seemed like an eternity. “He hung a right.”

“So northbound? You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Yep. Looked to be in a hurry, too.”

Lexie knew there was something off the second she crossed the threshold.

The house was silent and dim. It wasn’t clean but tidy, and the faint scent of curry hung in the air. Glancing around, she decided the home looked inhabited and yet not, for some reason. The many bare surfaces put her on alert.

“Smells like Thai food,” Amy observed, holding out a box of latex gloves.

Lexie pulled on a pair. She walked through the living room and down a short hallway to a bedroom that seemed to have been converted to an office. It had a narrow futon and a cheap wooden desk with a computer monitor on top.

The next room down was a bathroom. Shampoo bottles lined the side of the tub. No shower curtain. The vanity was empty—no toothbrushes or toothpaste. Lexie opened the medicine cabinet.

Empty.

Lexie hurried into the next room, another bedroom. This one had a queen-size bed piled with decorative pillows. A closet door stood open, and Lexie noted dozens of empty hangers. She turned and yanked open a bureau drawer.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” Amy asked from behind her.

“She’s gone.” Lexie thought of the suitcases Courtney had loaded into her car late Friday night. “I bet she’s headed to a safe house. Someplace she’s already got set up.”

Lexie returned to the second bedroom and checked under the desk. Plugged into the wall was a surge protector but no CPU.

“She took her clothes, her computer.” Lexie stepped up to the desk and looked around. On the desk was a mug with half a dozen crushed cigarette butts.

“Our unsub, you think?” Amy asked, nodding at the cigarettes.

“Probably. I doubt she’s a smoker, just like I doubt she eats burgers and milkshakes for dinner.” Lexie glanced around the room, frantic for clues. “The bomb maker has been staying with her. Check the kitchen trash for mail, receipts, any papers with scrawled writing. We need something to link them to a place. We need to know what they’re targeting.”

Amy rushed off, and Lexie stared at the monitor as her stomach filled with dread. There was a pen on the desk and a yellow pad of sticky notes, but the top page was blank. Someone had been sitting at this desk, drinking coffee and smoking as they worked on the computer. They’d been planning something, but without the hard drive, there was no way to follow their digital tracks.

Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out. “Mays.”

“I caught up to him.”

Relief flooded her. “Thank God. Where are you?”

“He’s moving north on PCH.”

Lexie stepped closer to the desk and stared down at the yellow pad. She put her phone on speaker, so she could talk to Jake as she switched on the phone’s flashlight. Shining the light at an oblique angle, she noted faint indentations on the paper.

“Alexa?”

“I hear you. Don’t lose him, okay?”

“I won’t, but we need to know where he’s going. I can run him off the road, or the cops can, but that’s not a good move if he’s loaded with explosives.”

“You really think he’s transporting a bomb?”

“Scout thinks so. Okay, now he’s got his blinker on. He’s getting off on Sunset.”

Lexie opened the desk drawer and found a pencil. She set her phone on the desk and picked up the notepad. As softly as she could, she shaded the top sheet of paper with graphite. The faint traces of indented writing appeared.

It was a phone number, and the first three digits were a local area code.

“Alexa, you there?”

“I’m here. Give me a sec to check something.”

She entered the number into her phone’s search engine. She got a hit.

“Oh God,” she said.

“What is it?”

“I know the target.”

Jake pressed the gas, keeping the van in his sights as he tried not to draw attention to himself.

“The Willoughby Hotel,” Lexie said over the phone. “There’s a notepad here at Courtney’s house, and someone jotted the phone number down. It has to be the target.”

“Why?”

“It’s in Bel Air. There’s an economic symposium happening there today. I heard about it at the office last week. There’re some senators there, and I think the vice president is speaking.”

Jake’s heart lurched. “The vice president?”

“Yes! Jake, I have to go. I have to call this in.”

She clicked off.

Jake cursed, and Scout whimpered beside him.

He didn’t know the route to this hotel, but Jerome seemed to be heading toward Bel Air, as Lexie had predicted. Jake tapped at his phone, bringing up a map of the area. He glanced down at it, looking for landmarks as he tried to keep an eye on the van in front of him.

Up ahead, the van slowed at an intersection and hung a left. Jake’s pulse kicked up a notch. Jake hung a left, too, keeping as close to the van as he dared while trying to come up with a plan. Lexie would sound the alarm with the FBI. But the Secret Service was in charge of the VP’s security, so there would be at least a short delay getting the message through.

Up ahead, Jake spotted a brown brick sign for the Willoughby, with the hotel’s name in scripted letters.

The van’s brake lights glowed. Then the turn signal flashed. Before reaching the driveway to the hotel, though, the van hung a right.

What was he doing? Jake scanned the area, looking for clues. The suspect had stopped short of the Willoughby and turned into a private driveway leading to a high-rise condominium set back on a green lawn. Jake slowed and watched the van pull into the condo’s driveway and approach the covered entrance.

What the hell?

The condo’s entry was flanked by palm trees and manicured flower beds. Parked in front were a sleek white Jaguar and a red Porsche. Jerome passed the fancy cars and rolled to a stop. The boxy black van looked totally out of place.

Jake pulled over abruptly, and drivers behind him laid on their horns. Traffic raced past him. Jake looked from the condominium to the hotel, a stately brick building rising over the neighborhood’s big oak trees. Why pull into the condo, if the target was next door?

Tactical considerations flashed through Jake’s mind. He thought about the flak vests, the van, the MP5s, which were a favorite with SWAT teams.

And suddenly he knew.

“Shit.” He smacked the steering wheel as it all fell into place.

A faint siren sounded in the distance, confirming Jake’s suspicion.

He tried Lexie, but the call went straight to voice mail. Cursing, he tapped out an urgent message.

More sirens sounded, growing closer and closer. Jake glanced around, trying to throw together a plan. He could attempt to take the terrorists down alone, but if they were on a suicide mission, they might detonate their cargo right there beside a ten-story building filled with people. Whatever was in the van had to either be disarmed or moved to an area not jammed with people.

The sirens grew louder. Traffic slowed as drivers tried to figure out where to go.

Jake tried Lexie again, and she picked up.

“Someone just called in a bomb threat to the Willoughby,” she said. “It’s in the ballroom at the back of the hotel, supposedly, and they just started evacuating. I’m almost there.”

A pair of police units raced past, sirens blaring as they turned into the hotel.

“Listen, don’t evacuate through the front,” he told her.

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t think it’s in the ballroom. The explosive isn’t there yet. It’s still in the van. Remember the flak vests? I think these guys are going to show up looking like the bomb squad and barge their way in while everything’s in chaos and then abandon the van and detonate the device.”

“But—”

“What’s your ETA?”

“Five minutes. We’ve got a SWAT team en route.”

“Stay away from the black van, Lexie. You hear me?”

But she was gone.

Jake cursed. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and jumped from his truck. Noise surrounded him as a pair of fire trucks screamed past. This whole thing was a potential horror show. Besides all the VIPs and civilians, an explosion now would take out a slew of first responders, too, and Jake had no doubt that was part of the goal.

He looked around, distressed to see people stepping from the condominium to see what the commotion was about. Meanwhile, hotel guests were streaming through the Willoughby’s front doors, gawking at all the emergency vehicles. The bystanders wore white bathrobes, workout gear, business attire. It was a mix of people, from conference attendees to tourists.

Amid all the confusion, Jake spotted a trio of black Suburbans. This would be the vice president’s motorcade. The Secret Service had obviously hustled him inside one of the vehicles and was ready to move out.

Jake looked around desperately for SWAT. He glanced at the sky, hoping a helo would swoop down and a team would fast-rope in to disrupt the attack, but the sky above him was blue and empty.

As if on cue, the black van started to move.

Jake was out of time. He readied his SIG in his hand and darted to a tall hedge, keeping himself out of sight as he watched the van. He stayed close to the hedge, moving briskly until he ran out of cover. Then he sprinted for the van, staying behind it to avoid being seen. It worked for a second or two, and then Jake caught the driver’s eye in the side mirror.

Jerome.

The van door opened, and Jake caught a flash of muzzle fire.

Rat-tat-tat.

He ran straight toward the gun, leaping onto the back bumper and grabbing the swinging door as he muscled his way into the van. A rifle barrel swung in his direction. Jake blocked it with his forearm and lifted his pistol.

Pop! Pop!

A man in black lunged toward him, tackling him to the floor of the van. John Ocampo. He recognized him from the driver’s license photo. Jake struggled to get his weapon up, but his arm was pinned. With his left fist, he smashed the man across the face and heard the sickly sound of a bone breaking. Kicking his legs out, he brought down a second attacker.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

Bullets pinged around him as everyone fired at once. The man on top of Jake was heavy and lifeless, and Jake figured one of his shots had landed. He heaved the guy off him and jumped to his feet, taking a swing at the second attacker.

The van screeched to a halt, and everything lurched forward. Jake smacked his head on something hard, then got to his feet and tried to get his bearings.

Two men down, both in black flak vests. Jake set his sights on the driver.

Pain seared his side. He spun toward the attacker behind him and saw the glint of a knife. Ocampo was gut-shot but not yet dead. Jake jabbed him in the throat and grabbed his weapon.

As the attacker crumpled again, Jake’s gaze landed on the hard thing he’d hit his head on. It was a homemade bomb strapped to the side of the cargo space. Jake’s stomach clenched. The device was on a timer, which meant he probably needed a code to disarm it.

Jake lunged for the driver, shoving the gearshift into park as he thrust his pistol into the man’s neck.

“What’s the code?” Jake yelled.

Jerome reached for a gun under his leg, and Jake grabbed it.

“The code, or I blow your head off!”

Jake glanced at the bomb behind him as the digital numbers ticked down: 1:58 . . . 1:57 . . . 1:56.

Jake smacked Jerome’s cheek with his pistol. “Two seconds, or you’re dead!”

A slow, diabolical smile spread across his face. Suddenly, he thrust open the door and leaped from the truck.

The clock ticked down. Everywhere Jake looked were civilians and first responders. A pair of uniforms had noticed the man tumbling from the van and were rushing over now, guns drawn.

Jake jumped into the driver’s seat. He glanced behind him to make sure the other two attackers were really down, then threw the truck into drive. He blasted the horn and stomped on the gas.

He had to get out of here. The whole area was jammed with people, and he had to get somewhere less populated. He envisioned the map in his head. There was only one place within miles of here that would work, and he had probably ninety seconds to get there.

Jake plowed through a flower bed, then swerved around the cop racing toward him across the lawn. Jake jumped the curb and maneuvered around a fire truck. The street was clogged with cars. Jake veered into the oncoming lane, which was clear somehow—probably because the other side of the street had been blocked off to traffic. He pulled a U-turn and headed back the way he’d come. Jake glanced around frantically, scanning all the cop cars and emergency vehicles. No sign of Alexa, and he prayed she’d stay away.

Lexie screeched to a halt beside a fire truck. She jumped out, scanning all the chaos, and spied a man on the ground.

“Hey!” Jerking her gun from her holster, she raced toward him. “FBI! Don’t move!”

A uniformed cop held his hand up. “He’s with us, ma’am.”

As soon as he said it, the man got up and barreled into the police officer, knocking him off his feet and grabbing his gun.

“Drop it!” she screamed.

He turned and ran, and Lexie aimed her weapon.

Pop!

He dropped to the ground, and she raced over. Other cops converged on the subject, guns drawn, looking confused.

“He’s with SWAT!” one guy yelled.

“No, he’s the suspect!” she said.

The man writhed on the ground, clutching his leg. Lexie whipped out her handcuffs.

“Cover me!” she ordered, slapping the bracelets on as the man groaned and snarled. Flipping him onto his back, she saw that it was Jerome. His face was flushed with pain and fury as he squirmed on the ground, clutching his leg.

“Where’s the van?” she demanded.

The sign for the country club came into view. Jake took the turn without slowing, and the tires squealed. Up ahead was a white gatehouse with a wooden arm blocking the driveway. An attendant with a clipboard stepped out, looking alarmed.

Jake sped through the barrier, sending splinters flying. He raced up a curved drive, skimming the landscape. The clubhouse looked like a plantation perched on a sloping green lawn. Beyond it was a golf course. Jake stomped on the gas, scanning the ponds and trees and sand traps. A paved golf-cart path snaked through the property, and Jake veered onto it.

He had half a minute left. Maybe less. Sweat streamed down his face, and his heart hammered. He had to get to the middle of the course, as far away from crowds as possible. But what about people and golf carts?

Jake sped past a barricade, then slammed on the brakes and reversed. A sign hooked to the barrier read CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. Beyond it were a yellow bulldozer and a pair of workers in orange vests and hard hats.

Jake turned left and stomped the gas, plowing through the barricade. The workers stopped to gape at him as he raced past them and swerved onto the fairway. It was a long green strip, and Jake careened down it, bumping and lurching over the dips and rises.

He was almost out of time. He couldn’t see the clock, but with every second that ticked by, he knew he was getting closer to zero.

He slammed on the brakes, thrust the van into park, and shoved open the door. He leaped from the van and sprinted away. The guys in hard hats were walking toward him, lifting their arms in confusion.

“Go, go, go!” Jake yelled, waving them off. He caught up to them and grabbed their vests. “Take cover!”

Hauling them with him, he took a flying leap into a sand trap, and they landed in a heap.

Boom!

The concussion rocked him. He cupped his arms over his head as clumps of dirt rained down. Beside him, the workers cursed and choked.

Jake’s ears rang. When the debris settled, he pushed up, coughing and spitting sand. The workers beside him were covered in dirt.

“You okay?”

Both men stared back at him, wide-eyed with shock. One of them said something, but Jake couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

The workers stumbled to their feet. Jake started to do the same but felt dizzy again. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, trying to get his bearings, as the construction workers scrambled out of the sand trap. Sirens grew closer and louder. Or maybe he was getting his hearing back.

“Jake! Jake!”

Lexie dropped to her knees beside him. Jake blinked up at her, dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wild with panic. Jake forced himself to sit up.

“Are you hurt? Don’t move!” She gripped his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

And then she was kissing him, cupping his face in her hands and raining kisses all over his mouth and cheeks. He held on to her, letting her lips and her hands reassure him that he was still alive and in one piece.

She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “I thought you were dead.”

“Nope.”

Jake got to his feet, pulling Lexie with him. They climbed out of the sand trap, and he saw the flaming wreckage of the van in the distance, probably fifty yards away. Smoke billowed up. Sirens howled.

He nodded at the inferno. “They’re dead.”

“I know. And you could have been, too.” She smacked her fist against his chest. “What is wrong with you? I told you to wait for SWAT!”

“Yeah, well, I was short on time.”

She smacked him again, and he caught her hand. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You could have been killed!”

He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and breathing in the scent of her hair. Never in his life had he felt so fucking relieved. She pulled away, practically vibrating with emotion.

“I told you to wait!”

He kissed her. She tasted hot, and angry, and passionate, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so turned on. She was incredible—everything about her—and he felt like the luckiest man in the world that she’d given him a chance. He was crazy about her, and he wanted to take her somewhere private and show her how he felt.

When he pulled back, she glared up at him, her eyes still swimming with tears.

“Where’s Jerome?” he asked.

“Where do you think? I arrested him.”

“Of course you did.” He cupped his hand against the side of her face and grinned down at her.

“What are you smiling at?” she demanded.

“You. I’ve noticed that you lose your shit whenever you’re truly worried about me.”

She shook her head and looked away, and Jake pulled her against him. Her arms went around his waist, and he kissed the top of her head.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I like it. That’s how I know you care.”

The sun warmed Lexie’s cheeks as she listened to the seagulls cawing nearby. She propped herself up on her elbows on the sand and gazed out at the surf, nerves flitting through her stomach as she thought about the hours ahead.

Not just the hours—the days, the weeks, the months.

Jake lay flat on the surfboard, looking over his shoulder as a wave rolled in. The board seemed to be sucked in, and Lexie waited for the wave to crash over him and swallow him up. Just as it crested, Jake popped to his feet. He balanced perfectly, dragging his fingertips over the water as he rode the wave in.

Lexie watched him with a lump in her throat. He tucked the board under his arm and waded to shore, and she savored the sight of him coming toward her across the sand. He stopped beside her, blocking out the sun.

“You want to try?” he asked.

“No.”

“I bet you’re a natural. You should let me teach you.”

“Are you crazy? That water’s forty degrees.”

He put the board down and leaned over her, scrubbing his hands through his hair and raining icy drops across her stomach.

“Hey!”

He dropped beside her onto the sand and looked out at the surf.

Lexie leaned back on her elbows, admiring his beautiful torso beaded with water. Her gaze went to the knife wound at his waist. A “scratch,” he’d called it. She studied the shallow cut, trying to get her mind around this new reality. She had fallen for a man who got in knife fights with terrorists.

He turned and smiled at her. “What?”

“Why don’t you wear a wet suit?” she asked.

“Wet suits are for wimps.”

“And again I ask, why don’t you wear a wet suit?”

He leaned over her, caging her in with his arms before he kissed her. It started out playful but shifted to serious, and soon she was completely underneath him, straining against his body as he kissed her breathless.

Finally, he drew back and gazed down at her. All the yearning and frustration she felt seemed to be right there in his eyes.

“Thank you for twisting my arm,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I don’t remember the last time I took a morning off.”

“You should take more.” He grabbed a beach towel and scrubbed it over his hair, then looked out at the surf.

It had been a crazy twenty-four hours. After the dust settled—literally—Lexie had spent three full hours at the scene of the explosion, interviewing witnesses and being interviewed herself. Then she and Jake had gone to her office, where they’d been debriefed separately. Afterward, Lexie learned that FBI agents had linked John Ocampo to a rented storage unit north of Los Angeles. They believed Jerome Matapang and his team had used the location to construct the bomb before loading it into Courtney’s Honda late Friday night or early Saturday morning. Courtney had been picked up at the northern border last night, trying to cross into Canada. She and Jerome were both in custody now, undergoing questioning. The charred remains of the third terrorist in the van still hadn’t been ID’d yet.

After hours of paperwork last night, Lexie had finally, finally, been cleared to leave. Jake had waited for her in the lobby. And when they got home, he’d made it his mission to take her mind off the day’s stress. Just like he’d made it his mission to convince her she should take the morning off, so they could have a little more time together.

Jake planned to get on the road in one hour. He had to be on base at noon, and even without traffic, he’d still be cutting it close. But he’d wanted to hit the beach this morning. He seemed to be under the delusion that he could teach her to surf, and Lexie had gone along with it, mostly because she needed a distraction.

She sat up and adjusted her bikini top, ignoring the chill in the air. Jake actually went swimming in this weather on a regular basis.

She traced a finger down his back. “I’m sorry you missed your campout,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“Is your dad disappointed?”

“Maybe.” The side of his mouth curved up. “When he meets you, he’ll understand.” He picked up her hand. “I’d like you to meet my mom, too. She’ll love you.”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “Why’s that?”

“She’s a feminist. She’ll love that you have a law-enforcement job, kicking down gender barriers. For years, she’s been asking me when we’re going to let women in the SEAL teams.”

Lexie rested her chin on her knee. She tried to imagine meeting his parents and everything that implied. And she couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.

For months, she’d avoided getting close to him. She’d been worried about letting her guard down, about him talking crap about her to his friends, about him treating her like a conquest. Now she wasn’t worried about any of those things, but her stomach was tied in knots for completely different reasons.

He bumped her knee with his. “What is it? You’re all quiet.”

She turned to look at him, resting her cheek on her knee. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“You. I never expected you to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got the looks, the confidence, the swagger.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Swagger?”

“I didn’t expect you to be a nice guy.”

He smiled slightly. “Is that a problem for you?”

“I don’t know.” She looked out at the waves churning against the shore. “A week ago, all I could think about was tracking down a terrorist. I didn’t expect to be crushing on a guy who jumps out of airplanes and dodges bullets for a living.”

“If I do my job right, there aren’t a lot of bullets. That’s a misconception.” He looked at her. “Are you really crushing on me?”

She smiled. “I thought you didn’t catch that.”

He leaned in and kissed her. “I’m crushing on you, too. Just so you know.”

He kissed her again, and again it went from sweet to hot in a matter of seconds. Pretty soon, he had her breast in his hand, and she knew he was wondering how long it would take them to get back to her place, so they could make it to the bedroom one last time before he had to get on the road.

She pulled away, groaning as she pressed her forehead to her knee. “God, Jake. What are we doing?”

“Making out on the beach.”

“I mean, really.” She looked at him. “I’ve never tried a long-distance relationship before. I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“It’s not that long-distance. It’s totally drivable.”

“I’m not talking about where we live. I’m talking about how you’re gone all the time.”

He took her hand and rested it on his leg, and his skin still felt cool from the water.

“Look at me.”

She turned to look at him.

“You have to decide to be good at it, like anything else that’s hard. Like, I don’t know, the FBI Academy. What was the hardest thing there?”

“The obstacle course, hands down,” she said. “There was this wall we had to climb, and it kicked my butt every time.”

“Until you mastered it, right?”

“Yeah, after weeks of misery. What’s your point?”

He smiled. “It’s like that. You keep at it. One day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time.”

She laughed. “Wow, you make it sound so fun.”

“Actually, I think it’s going to suck.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m going to miss you every day.”

Lexie’s chest tightened. He sounded so sincere. And the intense look in his eyes put a lump in her throat.

I’m crushing on you, too.

He hadn’t said he loved her, but the words hovered there in the space between them.

A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. For months, she’d tried to avoid the pain of yearning for someone who wasn’t there. But now she was giving in to it. Her decision was made. Relief washed over her like water, and she felt a sense of peace as she gazed out at the waves.

She had no way of knowing whether this would work out, but she needed to try. She was done ignoring her true feelings. She was done being afraid.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did.

“Do you trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

A smile spread across his face.

“You look surprised,” she said.

“Not surprised—relieved.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for a long time.”

Keep reading for a preview of

HER

DEADLY

SECRETS

By LAURA GRIFFIN

Available now from Gallery Books!

CHAPTER

ONE

Kira Vance gripped the steering wheel and navigated the slick streets. The summer downpour had come out of nowhere, catching her off guard. She’d wanted to make a good impression, and now she was going to arrive not just late but soaking wet in a white T-shirt that was nearly transparent.

Water dripped onto her shoulder as she reached a stoplight, and she glared up at her leaky sunroof. There was no denying it—she needed a new car. Her little Celica had six-digit mileage and a bad transmission, but she refused to trade it in. She couldn’t afford an upgrade, and the car had been with her through so many ups and downs, she was sentimental about it.

The phone chimed on the seat beside her, but she ignored it because it was Ollie, her shrewd, rude, and sometimes infuriating boss. She didn’t want to talk to him on the phone. She needed a face-to-face.

As Kira skidded away from the intersection, her car’s engine warning light flashed on.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

She’d just had it in for an oil change, and the guy had said he’d checked everything.

But people lied. Often. If they didn’t, she’d be out of a job.

Kira’s work was a search for the truth—the good, the bad, and the ugly. She dug up the facts and let the lawyers deal with them in court. Or not. Sometimes her discoveries meant a witness wouldn’t be called to testify. Or the defense team would develop a new strategy. Sometimes her discoveries poked big fat holes in the case of a zealous prosecutor.

The truth cut both ways, and that’s what she liked about it. Finding that truth gave her a heady rush that made up for the downsides of PI work, such as dealing with cheating spouses and deadbeat dads and insurance scams. Those were the cases that made her pissed off and cynical.

Another thing that pissed her off? Unpaid invoices. Ollie was three weeks behind on a big one, and he was the master of the dodge, which was one reason she’d decided to track him down in person tonight to deliver her news.

Kira reached the street that turned into River Oaks, where stately houses sat far back on manicured lawns. The thunderstorm had brought an early evening, and the thick St. Augustine grass looked almost neon green in the eerie light.

Cars lined both sides of the street. Someone down the block was having a party, apparently, which seemed odd for a Tuesday. A red Jaguar glided up to the curb ahead, and a valet sprang out and sprinted past her.

Kira spotted Ollie’s no-nonsense Ford parked at the base of a steep driveway. She wedged her car between a pair of Mercedes SUVs and cut the engine as she looked around.

This was it. Mount Logan. Named for Brock Logan, managing partner at the law firm that had hired Ollie to investigate its big cases. Kira had thought the name was a reference to Brock Logan’s oversize ego, but she saw now that she’d been wrong, at least partially. The house perched atop a hill on a large corner lot, elevated above the other mansions in Houston’s most exclusive neighborhood.

Kira had never set foot inside a River Oaks home, and her curiosity was mixed with professional ambition. Besides confronting Ollie, she was here to do some business development. It was high time for her to meet Ollie’s big-fish client, who’d been keeping her in Ramen noodles and Netflix these past three years. She’d never met the man because Ollie liked her to stay behind the scenes. But those days were over.

Kira grabbed her files and glanced in the rearview mirror. This extreme humidity was not her friend. Her mascara was smudged, and her long dark hair was a frizzy mess. She smoothed her hair down and swiped on some red lipstick. Nothing she could do about her damp skinny jeans, but she grabbed her tailored black blazer from the back seat, hoping to hide the wet-T-shirt look she had going on. After trading her cheap flip-flops for strappy black sandals, she pushed open the door with a squeak.

The torrent had let up, but it was drizzling as another valet ran past her. Not far behind him was a plodding jogger in a soaked gray hoodie. Kira waited for him to pass and then crossed the street to Logan’s house.

The homes here sat on huge lots, and each seemed to have its own theme. To Logan’s left was a Mississippi Plantation with tall white columns. To his right was a Stuffy New England Brick with a steep roof, no doubt to accommodate Houston’s frequent snowstorms. Logan’s house fell squarely into the Tacky California category, a sprawling mass of yellow adobe with a red-tiled roof. Tall palm trees surrounded it, towering obnoxiously over the neighborhood’s namesake oaks.

The air smelled of rain and fresh-cut grass as Kira trekked up the stone path. She passed through a pair of concrete lions into a courtyard, where she faced an imposing carved wooden door.

This was it. Brock Logan. She had to nail this meeting. She took a rubber band from her pocket, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and hoped for the best as she squared her shoulders and rang the bell.

Brock Logan had made a fortune defending wealthy people accused of serious crimes. The cases were high stakes, high pay, and Logan’s current project was a prime example: a prominent heart surgeon accused of murdering his wife. According to the prosecution’s theory, the mild-mannered doctor was actually an abusive control freak. When his wife threatened to leave him, he killed her.

The story had a catchy ring to it, kind of like a cable docudrama. But Logan planned to counter it with an airtight alibi: his client had been having drinks at his golf club with a fellow doctor at the time of his wife’s murder.

The door jerked back, and Ollie stood there in his typical short-sleeved button-down and dark pants. He had a gray buzz cut and a paunch that hung over his belt.

“Christ, what are you doing here? You coming from the courthouse? Get your ass in here.” He took her elbow and pulled her inside. “You could’ve called me, you know. You didn’t have to drive all the way here in the rain.”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ollie smirked. “And I’m guessing you wanted to meet the Big Kahuna, too, right?”

“I’m here for my money, Ollie. I’ve got rent due, and you’ve been dodging me.”

“I was just about to write your check.”

She crossed her arms.

“Hey, you know I’m good for it.” He made a sweeping gesture at the entrance foyer, attempting to distract her. “So what do you think of this place?”

“It’s nice.”

The foyer was large and airy, and Kira’s living room would have fit inside it, no problem. An ornate staircase curved over a tall archway that led into the back of the house. To Kira’s left was a formal dining room, and to her right was a spacious living area with oversize sofas.

“Beats working at the office,” Ollie said, leading her through the archway. “We’ve got Hunan coming. Logan’s outside on the phone.”

“In this weather?”

“Covered patio.”

Kira stepped into the kitchen and stopped short, dazzled by the endless white countertops, sleek new appliances, and massive cooking island. In the breakfast room, financial news droned from a wall-mounted TV, and she noted the long wooden table blanketed with files and legal pads. Logan and Ollie were already neck-deep in trial prep.

Kira glanced around the kitchen. “You could cook for an army in here.” Not that she cooked, but hypothetically. “Is he even married?”

“Divorced.” Ollie rolled his eyes. “He made out better than I did, though. Pays to be a lawyer. Want a beer?”

“I’m good. Listen, we’ve got a problem.”

“One sec.” Ollie took his phone from his pocket and frowned down at it as he scrolled through a message. He muttered something and looked up. “What is it?”

Kira set her files on the island. “Robert Peck. The defendant’s doctor friend.”

“The golf-buddy alibi. What about him?” Ollie grabbed a beer bottle off the counter and took a swig.

“I was at the courthouse, and I dug up an old divorce,” she said.

“How old?”

“Fourteen years.”

Ollie set his beer down. “I didn’t know Peck had been married before.”

“Yeah, guess he forgot to mention it. The marriage only lasted eight months.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“In the filing, Peck’s ex-wife alleges infidelity, along with mental and physical cruelty. She got a temporary restraining order against him.”

Ollie’s face didn’t change.

“It’s not going to look good if the defendant’s alibi witness is guilty of spousal abuse,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “Undermines his credibility.”

Ollie looked down at his phone again, and Kira gritted her teeth. She’d spent her afternoon combing through filings, and what she’d discovered could potentially sink Logan’s case, or at least damage it.

“Ollie? You listening?”

He rubbed his chin as he continued reading. “We’re dealing with something bigger right now.”

“Bigger than your alibi witness being a wife-beating dirtbag?”

“If this pans out, Peck won’t matter.”

“If what pans out?”

He looked up, and something flashed in his eyes. It was a look she recognized, and her pulse quickened.

Ollie had something.

The doorbell rang, and he glanced toward the foyer. “That’s our food. You staying?”

“I’m not leaving without my money.”

“You act like I’m some deadbeat. Jesus.”

He grabbed his beer and went to answer the door, leaving her alone in the huge kitchen. She hadn’t planned to stay for dinner, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she heard more about this new lead.

And met the Big Kahuna.

As if on cue, the back door opened, and Brock Logan stepped inside. The forty-something trial lawyer was tall and lean and had his sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. If he was surprised to find a strange woman in his kitchen, he didn’t show it.

“You must be Kira.”

“That’s me.”

The side of his mouth curved in a sexy half-smile, and she remembered all the rumors she’d heard about him. Logan was a player, and meeting him in person, it was easy to see why.

A crash came from the front door. Kira whirled around.

“Ollie?”

She rushed into the foyer and found him sprawled on his back, clutching his chest, a puddle of beer and glass beside him. Kira dropped to her knees. Had he had a heart attack? A stroke?

Blood seeped between his fingers, and Kira’s breath caught.

“Ollie! Oh, my God!”

Something moved in her peripheral vision. She swiveled toward it just in time to see a dark figure sprinting through the dining room.

“Hey!” Logan, who had followed behind her, bolted back into the kitchen to intercept the intruder.

A wet gurgle jerked her attention back to Ollie. Blood trickled from his mouth now. His eyes were wide with shock as he pushed his phone into her hand. The device was slick with blood, and it clattered to the floor before she managed to pick it up and call 911.

A crash in the kitchen. Then a sharp yelp, followed by two low sucking sounds that Kira recognized instantly.

Gunshots, but the gun had a silencer.

A vase shattered nearby. Something stung her cheek. She scrambled into the living room, diving behind a sofa and smacking her head on an end table.

The intruder was shooting at her.

Another crash from the kitchen, and Kira’s heart skittered. Was that Logan? The gunman?

She tried to think. The phone glowed in her hand, and she realized the call had connected. She muted the volume with her thumb and ducked low, trying not to make a sound. Where was the shooter? Inching to the end of the sofa, she peered around it. She could see Ollie in the foyer, and he wasn’t moving.

Kira crawled back to him, hoping he’d stay quiet and then hating herself for hoping that. His face was slack and ashen. She stripped off her blazer and pressed it against the crimson stain on his chest.

Ollie, please.

She heard more commotion at the back of the house as she desperately tried to stanch the bleeding, but the wadded fabric was already soaked through.

Kira’s stomach twisted, and she pictured the gunman walking up behind her and putting a bullet in her skull. Blood, warm and sticky, covered her hands now, and she felt a surge of panic. This couldn’t be happening. She checked the phone again, hoping they were tracing the call. The line was still open, but she had it on mute. If the shooter was nearby, she didn’t want to draw him in here.

Ollie, come on. Open your eyes.

He wasn’t moving, wasn’t blinking, wasn’t making a sound. The rest of the house had gone quiet, too. She prayed the shooter wouldn’t come back. Had he fled out the back door? Was he in another wing of the house? Where the hell was Logan? She pictured him dead in the kitchen, and her blood turned cold.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the frantic pounding of her own heart.

Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.

The quiet ended with an earsplitting shriek.

CHAPTER

TWO

Charlotte Spears pulled up to the curb and surveyed the action. This was not her lucky night. She counted five patrol units and two SUVs, but the CSI van was nowhere in sight.

She got out of the car, tucking a notebook into her pocket just as a media van turned the corner and rolled to a stop beside the police barricade.

“Oh for two,” she murmured.

Charlotte studied the house. The sidewalk leading to the front door had been cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape, so she picked her way up the steep lawn, cursing as her heels sank into the grass. She’d considered going with flats today because of the soggy weather but had ditched the idea. She’d learned to accept the dull pantsuits her job required, but she would never be a gumshoe.

Charlotte paused beside a pair of cement lions and noted the open French doors on the far end of the courtyard. Ken Phan stood in the doorway talking to another uniform.

Okay, so maybe her luck was changing. She liked working with Phan. He had an eye for detail and didn’t have a problem with female authority figures.

Phan looked up and waved her over to the alternative entry point. Something must have gone down near the front door.

“Welcome back, Detective. How was your break?”

“Too short,” Charlotte said, trading her heels for paper booties. She stepped through the French doors into a formal dining room with a table big enough for twenty.

“What have we got?” she asked.

“Shooter rang the bell. Guy who answered took it in the chest, point-blank range,” Phan reported.

She sniffed the air. “Smells like a fraternity party in here.”

“Vic dropped his beer when he got shot. There’s glass everywhere.”

Charlotte stepped closer to the entry foyer, where a crime-scene photographer in a white Tyvek suit was crouched beside a dark red puddle. She snapped a photograph of the blood, then stood and stepped carefully around some shards of brown glass.

“Where’d she come from?” Charlotte asked. “I didn’t see the van outside.”

“They parked around the corner. Street was a mess when we got here. Looks like someone’s having a party down the block.”

Which would add even more chaos to an already hectic scene, no doubt. But maybe they’d catch a break and one of the partygoers had seen something.

Charlotte nodded toward the foyer. “Is our victim the homeowner?”

“No. Homeowner was in the kitchen. He had some kind of confrontation with the perp, who got a couple shots off and left him bleeding on the floor.”

The photographer continued taking pictures from various angles. The puddle was smeared, and it looked like emergency personnel had already managed to muck up the blood evidence.

“Are the victims a couple?” Charlotte asked.

“The vic works for the homeowner.” Phan smiled. “And last I heard, Brock Logan likes women.”

She turned around. “Brock Logan the lawyer?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Guy from the foyer is Logan’s investigator, apparently.”

Charlotte disliked lawyers in general and defense attorneys in particular. She’d never met Logan personally, but she’d gone toe-to-toe with plenty of defense attorneys in court over the years, and it was about as fun as a migraine.

Phan led her through the dining room and into a spacious kitchen. Most of the room had been taped off, including another bloody patch of flooring near the granite cooking island.

“Logan went down there.” Phan nodded at the spot. Once again, there was a great deal of blood. Near a door to the utility room, Charlotte noticed a smear of red on the wall beside a keypad.

“After the shooter fled out the back, Logan managed to get up and set off the alarm,” Phan said.

“What’s the status on him?”

“Both vics were transported to Hermann Hospital. I don’t have an update.”

“Get one.”

Phan stepped away and spoke into his radio as Charlotte studied the scene. The breakfast table was a mess of legal pads and index cards. File folders were strewn across the floor, along with loose papers and a FedEx envelope. Charlotte noted two black power cords plugged into the wall but no computers in sight.

“We’re getting an update,” Phan reported.

“Two laptops stolen?”

“Looks like. But nothing obviously missing in the rest of the house. There’s a bunch of high-end electronics everywhere. He’s got a gold Rolex sitting on the dresser in the master bedroom and a pistol in the top drawer of the nightstand, so not your typical burglary.”

Charlotte didn’t like the sound of that.

“There’s a partial footprint on the FedEx envelope on the floor there,” Charlotte said. “Make sure the techs see it.”

“I did.”

She shook her head. “So this guy just rings the bell, shoots Logan’s PI, comes in here and shoots Logan, then helps himself to some computers?” She glanced through the archway into the entry foyer. “Why’d the PI open the door in the first place?”

“Witness said they were expecting a food delivery.”

Charlotte’s gaze snapped to Phan. “What witness?”

“There was a girl here, too.”

“A child?”

“No, a woman. Sorry.” Phan cleared his throat. “She was here the whole time. The perp shot at her and missed.”

“Is she injured?”

“No.”

“Where the hell is she?”

Kira sat motionless on the patio chair.

Motionless except for her hands, which wouldn’t stop shaking. She clamped them between her knees but couldn’t get them to still.

The scene before her seemed far away. Detached. She was surrounded by people and noises and clipped commands, and she felt like she was on a movie set, watching a cast of characters rush this way and that. She kept thinking someone would jump into the action and yell “Cut!” and it would all be over.

But the people around her weren’t actors. They carried real badges and real guns with real bullets that could tear through flesh.

Kira’s stomach roiled, and she leaned forward, hoping she wouldn’t puke. She glanced at the huddle of cops on the other side of Logan’s patio. The pool lights cast their skin in a bluish hue, and again she felt like she was in some alternative universe. She was sitting on Brock Logan’s patio in a borrowed Harris County EMT sweatshirt with Ollie’s blood all over her jeans.

Police had arrived shortly after the alarm sounded, and Kira didn’t know whether it was her phone call or the security system that summoned them. Maybe both. Ollie had been loaded onto a gurney and whisked away. Logan, too. He’d been conscious, at least, and cops had pelted him with questions as paramedics wheeled him out.

Ollie hadn’t been conscious at all. Hadn’t been moving or even breathing, as far as Kira could tell.

She tucked her hands under her thighs, but still they trembled. She stared down at the little bits of glass embedded in her knees.

Kira took a deep breath to steady herself and got a whiff of chlorine. Logan must have just had his pool shocked. She looked out over the blue expanse, and again she felt like she was on a movie set.

As she watched the group of police officers, the patio door opened, and a tall woman with short blond hair stepped out. She wore pants and an HPD windbreaker, and she towered over her male counterparts, including the heavyset uniform who’d interviewed Kira earlier. Hanson? Hamlin? Kira couldn’t remember his name. Her brain was only minimally functioning, and her answers to his questions had come out garbled and disjointed. Embarrassed, she’d asked him for some water, and he’d given her a look of disapproval before he’d flipped shut his notebook and walked off.

The woman turned, and her gaze rested on Kira. She broke free from the others and walked over.

“You’re Kira Vance?”

“Yes.”

“Detective Spears, HPD.” She took a notebook from her pocket. “Can you tell me what time you arrived at the residence?”

“Where’s Ollie?” Kira sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. “Oliver Kovak. He had a pulse when they took him out of here. I heard the paramedics talking.”

The detective looked her over. “He’s been transported to Hermann Hospital. That’s all I know.”

Kira’s chest squeezed. A tremor went through her, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

“We should know more soon,” the detective said. “Can you tell me what time you arrived at the residence?”

Kira took a deep breath. “Around six forty.”

“And you were coming from . . . ?”

“Work.”

The detective nodded. “Where do you work?”

“I work for myself. Not, like, for a company. I’m a licensed PI.”

The woman’s eyebrow tipped up as she scribbled in her notebook. “And you were coming from . . . ?”

“Downtown,” Kira said. “I had some papers for Ollie that I knew he’d want for tonight’s meeting.”

The detective flipped a page in her notebook. “Officer Hanlin tells me you got a look at the shooter.” Her eyes locked with Kira’s. “Can you describe him?”

“It was a blur, really. I didn’t see much.”

“Was he white? Black? Tall? Short?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you get a look at his clothing?”

“He wore a gray sweatshirt. He—” Kira halted. Her throat went dry.

“Ms. Vance?”

“I saw him before.”

The detective’s gaze sharpened. “When?”

“When I pulled up. He was jogging. He had a gray hoodie and shorts, and he was jogging down the street right in front of the house.” The words spilled out of Kira’s mouth, and she was sweating again. “I had a fleeting thought about how that takes discipline, jogging in the rain like that, but maybe . . . I don’t know.”

“You think he was casing the house?”

Kira nodded.

Spears eased closer, her gaze intent now. “What else do you remember?”

“He was white.” Kira visualized the jogger. “Caucasian but . . . tan. He was tall. And he was wearing these tinted glasses. Amber-colored.” Which was odd, now that she thought about it, given the weather. “I didn’t notice his hair because of the hoodie.”

Officer Hanlin was back, and he looked Kira over as he handed her a bottle of water. Spears motioned for him to step away with her, and they spoke together in low voices.

Kira twisted the top off the water and took a gulp. It felt cool on her throat, and she realized how thirsty she was. She guzzled half the bottle. Then she poured the remainder over her fingers, trying not to think about Ollie’s blood as she wiped her hands on her jeans.

Another cop approached. He talked to Spears, and Kira overheard the words “Kovak” and “hospital.” She held her breath as the detective stepped over.

“Ms. Vance? We just got word about your friend.”

One look at her eyes, and Kira knew.

Continue Reading…

Her Deadly Secrets

Laura Griffin

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LAURA GRIFFIN is the New York Times bestselling author of the Tracers series, the Wolfe Sec series, the Alpha Crew series, and several other novels. A two-time RITA Award winner and a recipient of the Daphne du Maurier Award, Laura lives in Austin, where she is working on her next book. Visit her at LauraGriffin.com and on Facebook at Facebook.com/LauraGriffinAuthor.

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Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Laura-Griffin

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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ISBN 978-1-5011-6246-6