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Hope grabbed a large casserole that she’d ordered in frozen from her favorite French restaurant over the holidays but had never gotten around to eating. She defrosted it in the microwave for ten minutes before covering it with tin foil and placing it in the oven on a low heat. It was way too much for one person but would get her through the rest of the week, and probably Saturday, saving her the effort of cooking until she had to dust off her skills for the Sunday roast.

While dinner slowly warmed, she sat at the large dining room table which was only ever used by her but filled the space nicely. She opened her email which she hadn’t even looked at yet today. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue, but she wanted to stay up as long as she could. Otherwise, she’d be awake in the middle of the night. And, for once, she’d dearly love to sleep eight solid hours.

She deleted hate mail without bothering to read it. She didn’t allow that kind of negative energy into her life. She had enough of her own. She did the same with requests for comment from reporters, though yesterday’s soundbites had given them enough fodder to leave her alone for a few days.

She slumped with her elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand. Was that why someone had poured blood over Danny and Paige’s gravestone? Because of her big mouth? Was it, once again, her fault?

Probably.

Leech had very much started this war, and, while she’d eventually won with him being incarcerated, the battles she’d lost along the way hadn’t made it worth it. Especially now that the man was once again free to terrorize.

She pushed thoughts of him aside. She had work to do.

The jury selection was going in the prosecution’s favor so far, although there were a couple of potentials who didn’t have a lot of online history, and that worried her a little. She called Ella to check that she was okay, but the woman didn’t pick up. Hope followed up with a quick text saying today had gone well but they were still in the process of jury selection and not to come in unless she really wanted to.

Ella worked at a fast-food joint where the pay was as terrible as the coffee, but they were allowing her the time off she needed for the trial. The fact Hope had gone to visit the manager to help realign his sympathies and moral code was their little secret.

At 6:30 p.m. a reminder dinged on her cell phone to tell her to go water her neighbors’ plants.

Shoot.

Larry and Enrique had given her a detailed demonstration on each of their plants, which they treated like children. Keeping her promises to them was the least she could do.

She checked the casserole, but it was still cold and would take at least another half hour to heat through. She increased the heat a little and headed downstairs.

Seth Hopper stood outside her door. They’d both had a long day, she realized with another pang of guilt. Hopper had unusual hazel eyes that held a patient kindness she appreciated. A pair of sexier, darker eyes flashed into her mind, and she blinked in surprise.

It was shocking to think of Aaron Nash, or any man, that way.

“Ma’am?” Hopper straightened away from the wall, his face a picture of concern.

She held up her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to the apartment downstairs to water the plants.”

Seth glanced behind her as if searching for a hidden adversary. Then gave her a nod and followed close behind her until she reached the ground floor.

“I think I’ll be safe enough from here. I’m only going into the apartment, which I believe is full of your teammates.”

“Then I’m definitely going to be your backup.”

She laughed as he’d intended.

Ryan Sullivan stood near the front door and gave them both a grin. “Pizza arrived if you want some. You better knock first unless you want to catch anyone naked though.”

He sent her a wicked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She had a read on him now. He used his glib humor as a deflection mechanism the way she used her prickly armor. She wasn’t sure which was more effective, but people probably liked him better.

She knocked as instructed then opened the door that led into Larry and Enrique’s almost unrecognizable living room. She stopped dead. Aaron Nash was stripping off the shirt he’d worn in court today. He was all lean, ropey muscle and broad shoulders, and had the most mouth-watering spine she’d ever seen. A small school of fish swam their way across his right shoulder blade and down.

He turned around and caught her gaping at him like a guppy.

Hope didn’t remember the last time she’d felt that telltale quiver in response to a handsome man. There’d only ever been Danny.

“I, ah, sorry. I did knock.”

“Not a problem. What can I do for you?” He pulled a black T-shirt over his head and made all that tantalizing flesh disappear.

“Hope?” His tone shifted to concern. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No. No. Not that I know of.” She blinked out of her trance. “I need to water the plants.”

“We can do that.” He attached his weapon to his belt but didn’t put on the ballistic vest that was draped across the cot set up in front of the marble fireplace.

Cot…

“No.” She frowned. “I need to do it. Larry and Enrique gave me an hour’s worth of instruction, and I promised I’d take care of them. Even though my horticultural prowess is usually limited to washing lettuce.”

She did have a cactus at work, a less than subtle gift from her last intern. “I won’t be long.”

She went into the combination kitchen/dining room, which was larger than hers, and found the fancy watering can already full. She went to the sink and added the natural plant food the couple used. It smelled like dead fish, so she added a fraction of what they’d suggested because surely nothing would die in the two weeks they were away.

The operators were arranged en masse around the dining table, which they’d covered with a thick cloth to protect. Several boxes of pizza, which smelled hot and fragrant, were laid out in a row, with some still sealed in an insulated bag to keep warm—for those still on duty, she realized.

Her stomach rumbled. At least she had her casserole to look forward to.

She started at the back of the house. Each plant had a name she hadn’t bothered to memorize, but Eliza and Judy were hard to forget. Two massive monsteras that lived either side of the window seat that faced the garden terrace and had the most natural light.

She headed back into the kitchen to refill the watering can and check the herbs which grew in a hydroponic system. All the plants that lacked enough natural light had their own special full spectrum lamp. She frowned. That probably made the apartment very bright during the day even with the curtains closed, but the men here hadn’t unplugged the lights.

The dining and living rooms were crammed with bags of equipment. The bedrooms were even more cluttered, though the space was tidy, beds made. They were obviously using the same bed, so whoever wasn’t on duty had a space to sleep. Shame welled up that she was all alone in her five-bedroom apartment and these men, tasked with her protection, whether she—or they—liked it, were packed in like sardines.

She finished watering the plants and went back to the kitchen. Refilled the can and placed it in the allotted space alongside the food for next time.

Aaron Nash watched her as the other men finished dinner.

She cleared her throat. “I’ve changed my mind about the accommodation arrangements.”

Everyone stiffened, clearly expecting the worst. Aaron frowned and looked around, as if searching for property damage.

“Some of you can sleep upstairs.”

“We’re fine right here,” Aaron said quickly.

“I insist.” She shook her head. “I have the space. As long as I have the main floor where I can work undisturbed, there’s no reason you can’t all have your own bed.”

Aaron opened his mouth as if to argue.

“This is not up for discussion.” She used her hostile witness tone.

“We don’t want to impose,” Will Griffin spoke up when Aaron appeared stumped for words.

“You’re willing to take a bullet for me, but you won’t sleep in an empty bed I’m freely offering because you ‘don’t want to impose’?”

“We know you value your privacy.”

To cry alone at midnight.

The fact they all probably knew felt strangely liberating.

“Last night was difficult, and I always knew it was going to be difficult. It will be difficult again next year.” They’d tried to ease her pain with a dead-of-night visit to the cemetery, but they all knew how that had ended. Still, she was glad she’d been the one to find the vandalism rather than some stranger. And she was even more glad the scene had been processed and evidence collected, and everything had been wiped clean again so no one else could witness the ugliness that had been inflicted.

“I can’t pretend to know how you work, but the rooms are available if that gives you a little extra space.” She gave a wooden smile. “If you don’t want to use them that’s fine too.”

She wouldn’t argue. She’d made the offer. She certainly wasn’t going to beg, but she wanted them to know the offer was sincere.

“I’ll take you up on it if it means I don’t have to sleep on another couch. I’m about done with sofa surfing,” Ryan Sullivan drawled from the doorway.

“Thank you, Hope. We appreciate it,” said Will Griffin.

A warm feeling spread through her chest. “Good.”

“Hope.” Aaron followed her to the door.

She raised her hand to ward off an argument, but he trailed her anyway.

“This isn’t about the beds.”

She glanced at him sharply and noticed everyone else was suddenly busy doing other things. Avoiding her gaze.

A knot formed in her throat. “Leech?”

Aaron nodded. “Let’s go upstairs and give the teams the opportunity to finish eating and switch over.”

She wrapped her arms around herself as she forced herself tiredly up the stairs. What now? Her apartment smelled of garlic and chicken, but she feared she was about to lose her appetite.

She turned to face him. “Tell me quickly. Don’t try to soften the blow.”

Pity twisted his features. “It looks likely that Leech murdered Sylvie Pomerol and her husband in their home last night.”

Her knees went, and she dropped to the couch. “I don’t understand. Sylvie knew better than anyone how dangerous Leech was. What about her protection?”

Aaron sat beside her. “She refused protection. Her husband was a former Marine, and she went to great pains to cloak where she lived.”

“He found her anyway.” Questions peppered her mind. “How? How did he do that when he’s on the run from prison without money or a computer? He must have help. Did they question his personal assistant, Blake Delaware? He could have supplied information.”

Those black eyes of his were warm with compassion. “I’m not in charge of the investigation, but I assume he’s been questioned by the marshals and will be questioned again following these murders.”

“Did you call Frazer?—”

“No. Frazer called me. He’s the one who found them.”

The breath went out of her, and she sagged against the couch. “Shit.”

“He’s on his way here.”

She felt his eyes on her as she stared at the ceiling, probably waiting for her to break down again. Part of her wanted to. Wanted to rage and grieve, but that wouldn’t stop the bastard.

“I need to contact every person on that list of witnesses at the trial again and warn them. Make them listen.”

“News of these murders hasn’t been released yet,” he cautioned.

She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward, insulted. “I won’t tell them about Sylvie or her husband, Operator Nash. I know how to do my job.”

He leaned forward. “I know you know how to do your job, ADA Harper. And I know how to do mine.” His gaze glanced off her lips for a fraction of a second, belying his harsh tone. When their eyes locked again something shifted between them.

Because she felt it too.

This underlying pull of physical attraction. The most alien feeling on the planet, and yet familiar too. Something normal and even ordinary. Something basic and elemental like a riptide or a tornado. Something she’d never expected to feel again.

His tone softened. “I also know you’re not as tough as you like to make out. Not that you aren’t tough,” he added quickly, “but you’re human too.”

Something dropped away from her then, and it scared the ever-loving crap out of her. She covered it with humor. “Don’t tell anyone. My reputation will be ruined.”

He took her hand, and she jolted in shock. “Let someone else make the calls, Hope. Let the FBI and the marshals do their jobs.”

He gently squeezed her fingers, and she felt the touch down to her bones.

“We’ve got you. He isn’t getting anywhere near you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

That admission didn’t make him look happy, but she’d been honest with him from the start. She wanted Leech to come for her. The fire that lit her from the inside, fed by the pain and fury in her soul, welcomed the chance to confront him. Leech couldn’t hurt her anymore. But she’d sure as hell like to hurt him…

Her cell phone rang, and she used the moment to separate herself from this man who somehow felt like too much and at the same time not enough. The edgy feeling tipped her off balance.

How was she expected to think straight with everything that was happening?

She picked up her cell, and a photo appeared on her screen.

She thrust it away but not before the naked bodies and glazed staring eyes imprinted themselves on her brain.

She dashed to the bathroom. Aaron shouted after her then swore.

She heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach except bile.

Tears stung her eyes.

Leech had sent that to her.

She hadn’t read the message, but the bodies themselves were enough of a reminder of all the reasons why not to get emotionally involved with anyone—it hurt too much when you lost them. She couldn’t go through that kind of pain again. No one should have to go through that sort of pain ever.

She didn’t think she’d survive next time.