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With his damn knowing smirk still in place, Peters tipped his head toward me before rounding the hood to climb into the driver seat, leaving me alone with the only woman I’d ever felt off balance around.

“It’s fine.” I retreated two steps before she spoke again.

“That's considered trash, you know.”

Taking a deep breath in to get my emotions in check, I turned to face her. Bad fucking idea. Hell. She was innocence and depravity wrapped into one confusing woman. Her tall, lean body was strong beneath the uniform that showed off the curves she did have. Like the fine, perky-as-hell runner’s ass I’d like to sink my teeth into at some point in the near future. The soft, pink lips I wanted to suck between my own pressed into a thin line as those hazel eyes glared through my soul.

Hell, what is with me? She’s just a woman.

The only woman whose similar ruined soul called to mine.

A woman who was too young to have as much pain and fear lurking behind those eyes as she did.

An enigma. That’s what she was. A conundrum of young, beautiful, and understated, yet ripe with fear, hate, and anger. The feelings she evoked were nothing more than wanting to fuck her every which way before I headed back to DC, whenever that would be.

Remembering she said something, I glimpsed down to where she pointed to the discarded cigarette butt.

“Litter is litter,” she said, still pointing with, if I weren’t mistaking it, a slight tremble in her extended hand. Interesting. Either she was terrified of me, or I wasn’t the only one who felt the heat when our hands clasped earlier.

One thing was certain—more information was needed on this woman. A full background, maybe some recon. No. Recon would be too creepy. I wasn’t a damn stalker. I would start with the background and go from there. Surely Peters could get her file pulled quick with his FBI connections.

With a single nod in acknowledgment, I crouched to snag the crushed butt, then stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans. The effort earned me a tentative smile. But even with a smile, I could still see the sadness behind her eyes.

After dusting my fingers off against my thigh, I motioned toward the passenger door. As I held it open, like the gentleman I was not, she shimmied past and a waft of something sweet and purely feminine engulfed me. Releasing the death grip on the door, I slammed it shut after she was situated, then hopped into the back seat with the dog hot on my heels.

“Don’t forget to buckle him up,” Officer Johnson said, turning in her seat to smile at the dog.

“Who?” I stared out the window to avoid being distracted by her again.

“Benny,” she huffed, as if my question exasperated her.

“The dog,” I deadpanned, shifting to face her. She couldn’t be serious. “You want me to buckle up a damn dog.”

She nodded and twisted to face out the windshield once again. “I need him safe.”

“Fine,” I muttered, leaning over to figure out how in the hell to buckle up a fucking dog.

6

Alta

No wayit was my imagination. The Mathews guy was strange.

Okay, strange wasn’t the right word.

Intense. Focused. Authoritative. Dominant.

Who knew those traits wrapped in a hard, tattooed exterior would be a lure for someone like me. You’d think feeling the overwhelming intensity pulsing off him would make me run screaming, but it was just the opposite with this guy. I had to hold back from runningintohis arms and clinging onto him like a spider monkey.

In unison, our seat belts clicked into place. As Agent Peters backed out of the parking spot, I nonchalantly swiped both clammy hands down my thighs and said a silent prayer that a wet streak wouldn’t be left in their wake. Who would’ve thought I’d be nervous due to the super-close, hot, brooding man and not from being trapped in the car, somewhat helpless, with two strange men.

It was odd, but what I’d told John was the truth, I trusted them. The Peters guy seemed harmless, and Mathews… well he looked scary as hell, but Benny seemed to like him, and something else settled in my gut the second he’d helped me up. Somehow, someway, I felt safe when he was around.

A feeling I’d never expected to have again. Such a welcomed relief that I was willing to stomach all the nervous energy that buzzed through me any time he was around.

The compulsion to flick the locks festered even with Mathews and Peters close.

Eyes on the lock button, I casually tossed out a question to distract them from my plan. “You mentioned dropping your gear off first. Where are you two staying?” Once, twice, and a third time—just in case—I clicked in rapid succession.