Kylie nearly leapt right out of her own skin. And then a familiar low male voice said in her ear, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay.”

“Joe,” she gasped, sagging a little. “You startled me. I didn’t see you.”

“No shit. But we all saw you,” he said, his hand warm on the back of her neck. “You and your vicious pet lion.”

Kylie looked down at Vinnie, who’d fallen asleep at her feet, mouth open, snoring at maximum volume. She scooped him up. He snorted and snuggled in, setting his head on her shoulder, going right back to sleep.

And back to snoring.

“Ruthless guard dog on the job,” Joe said, steering her away from the vendors and toward where he’d parked. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?”

“Yes, and your spare sunglasses too,” she said. “It’s my disguise.”

His mouth quirked. She was pretty sure he was laughing at her on the inside.

“What did you learn?” she asked.

“Not here.”

When they got back to his truck, he took a call on Bluetooth.

“Four a.m. tomorrow,” Archer’s voice said. “Be locked and loaded.”

“Ten-four.” Joe disconnected with a flick of his thumb on a button on his steering wheel.

Kylie stared at him.

Joe kept his gaze on the road.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Tomorrow’s job.”

“Four a.m., locked and loaded?” she repeated. “What kind of a job is that?

“The kind I can’t talk about.”

She sighed and tried to let it go, but curiosity killed the cat and all that. “Is this job dangerous?”

He spared her a quick glance, eyes amused.

Right. All his jobs had the potential to be dangerous. Very much so. It hadn’t been too long ago that Archer had been shot on the job. And Joe himself had taken a bat to the back of his head in a terrifying incident as well. She was thinking about that, the differences in their lifestyles, when his phone rang again.

It was Molly on speaker that time. “I need backup on Dad,” she said.

Oddly enough, this had him looking far more tense than needing to be “locked and loaded” tomorrow morning at four a.m. He pulled the truck over and took the phone off Bluetooth. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He listened and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Got it. I’ll take care of it.”

Then he disconnected and speed-thumbed a long text. He sent, waited a minute, got a response that he read, and returned with another, a short one this time, before he started driving again.

All without a word.

Kylie couldn’t hold her tongue. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“This would be a lot more satisfying conversation if you used more than one word at a time,” she said.

She thought maybe she detected the slightest exhalation from him at that. His version of a sigh. “My dad’s got some problems I need to take care of,” he finally said.

Her heart squeezed with worry. “Do you need any help?”

He slid her a look.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m good at helping.”

This got her a ghost of a smile. “Thanks, but this one’s all on me.” He stopped at a light. “My dad’s got a lot of medical bills,” he said. “I try to pay them all, but sometimes he hides the mail.”

“Why does he do that?”

“God knows,” he said on a mirthless laugh. “But apparently a collection agency called earlier and he threatened them quite inventively. They called the cops.”

She didn’t know what to say to this. “Did he get arrested?”

“No. I’ve got friends on the force. It’s taken care of.”

He was quiet for the rest of the drive. Must have used up all his words. Kylie spent the time thinking about what kind of guy takes care of his dad and sister with everything he had.

A good guy, she decided, and sighed. Dammit.

Joe pulled up in front of her apartment building, and she looked over at him in surprise. “How did you know where I live?”

“I know a lot of things about you,” he said, coming around to open the door for her and Vinnie.

“Like?”

“Like the fact that someone else also knows where you live, someone who shouldn’t.” He pulled her out of the truck and walked her to her front door. “Keys?” he asked.

“Hold on.” She was searching her bag, but couldn’t find them. Then she remembered the rush she’d been in that morning. Vinnie had gakked all over her rug, throwing up the pinecone he’d eaten at the park the night before. She’d stepped in it with her bare feet, which had pretty much set the tone for her entire day. “I think I must’ve forgotten them this morning,” she said. “I was running late and almost missed the bus. Crap.”

Joe didn’t say anything, just pulled something from one of his pockets, and not five seconds later her door clicked open, faster than she could’ve used her key in the first place.

“Wait—” she exclaimed. “Did you just break into my apartment?”

“That would be illegal,” he said and discreetly slipped the small tool back into his pocket. He nudged her inside and bent to pick up an envelope on the floor, taking in the handwritten Kylie on the front.

Same as before with no stamp or postmark.

“Another one,” she breathed. She set Vinnie down and took the envelope from his fingers. She realized she was staring at it like it was a rattlesnake ready to strike when she realized that Joe was quickly and efficiently walking through her apartment and looking hot as hell while he did it.

When he came back to her, he nodded at the envelope. “We’re all clear. Open it.”

“It might be nothing.”

“All the more reason to open it.”

Right. But she didn’t want to because she knew—as Joe clearly did—it wasn’t nothing.

Vinnie trotted off toward the kitchen, stopping just short of the doorway to lift his paw and poke at the air. When he was satisfied that he wasn’t going to encounter a glass door, he happily made his way to his water bowl.

“What was that?” Joe asked.

“He has trust issues.”

Joe let out a low laugh. “Well, at least we know where he gets them from.”

“Hey,” she said. But also, it was true. With a deep inhalation, she opened the envelope.

This time there were two Polaroids. The first one was of her beloved little penguin—sitting in a jail cell this time. “Is that . . . Alcatraz?” she asked in shock.

Joe took it in, mouth dialed to Not Happy. “Yeah.”

Kylie pulled out the second Polaroid and stilled in confusion. There were two items in this pic, one of a small entry table, ornately handmade. The other was a bench to match. She stared at them both before Joe turned the photo over in her hand. On the back was a scrawled note:

“I don’t understand,” Kylie said. “This table looks like my grandpa’s work, but I know all of his pieces that are out there. This never hit the market. But it couldn’t have been something he had in his unsold inventory either, since everything burned.”

“And the bench?”

She took a pic of the pic with her phone’s camera and then used her finger and thumb to enlarge the back, getting a close-up look before shaking her head. “I really don’t think this is his at all. It’s nowhere as good as the table.”

“You can tell from just a photo?”

“I can. But I don’t know if anyone else could. It’s not his, Joe.”

“Actually,” he said slowly, “I think that’s probably the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m guessing as Michael Masters’s granddaughter, someone who’s in the field as well, you’re probably one of the only people who could authenticate his work. And if you do, this person makes bank.”

“But how does he have something of my grandpa’s at all?”

“That’s what we have to find out,” he said. “But I can guess the reason for the bench. If you authenticate it along with the table, he makes potentially a lot of money on something he either made himself or had made. This could be just the beginning of a very profitable scam.”

She stared at him in horror and anger. “This isn’t Rowena. She’d never do this.”

“Agreed. I already ruled her out.”

“How?”

“Back at the pier, she cleansed my aura and told me that money is the root of all evil and that if I believe, the universe would fill my cup with love.”

That broke through her temper and she had to smile. “Aw. Is the universe going to fill your cup?”

“Jury’s still out,” he said. “But I asked for her autograph.” He pulled a piece of paper from another of his million pockets and held it up next to the back of the photo. “Her handwriting doesn’t match this or what’s on the envelopes.”

Kylie pulled out her phone and Googled the auction details. “The auction he’s talking about is in two weeks’ time,” she said. “Which means . . .”

He met her gaze. “We’ve got less than that to find this asshat so you don’t have to do something you don’t want to do.”

“But that won’t get me my penguin back.”

“I’m going to get the penguin back for you,” he said with such confidence that she wanted to believe.

“Maybe I should call the auction house and find out who the seller is or try to see the items,” she said.

“We can try,” he said. “But I’m betting you’ll get stonewalled on the seller details. Auction houses protect their sellers and buyers with everything they have. If one of them wants anonymity, never the two shall meet.”

“But I don’t get it,” she said. “Surely there’s an easier way to make money.”

“Not if this guy is just getting started,” Joe said. “With your grandpa gone, his work is only going to continue to go up in value. So I’d bet whoever this is, they’re out there making or commissioning other pieces. The bench is probably just the beginning. Once you authenticate it, everything else he makes could be authenticated as your grandpa’s stuff as well—without you.” He turned and headed toward her front door. “Lock up tight behind me.”

“Wait—Where are you going?”

He looked back at her. “There’re seven other apprentices out there.”

“No, not seven. I told you, one’s old, one’s passed away, two are out of the country, and Gib isn’t a viable suspect. With Rowena out, that leaves only three.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t cleared any of the others yet, including Gib.”

“It’s not Gib!”

Their gazes met, his as stubborn as hers probably was. “Look,” she said. “You’re going to have to trust me on this. He’s not a thief.”

Joe studied her. “I asked you once before, but now I’m going to ask you again. Is there something going on between you two?”

She tossed up her hands. “Why do you both keep asking me that about each other?”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought nothing was going on.”

“And before today, I could’ve passed a lie detector test on that,” she said.

“What happened today?”

She paused. Not because she had anything to be ashamed of, but because she wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

“Kylie.”

She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Try again,” Joe said and gave her the very male universal go on gesture.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. He . . . finally made a move on me.”

Joe didn’t budge. Not a blink, not a muscle twitch, nothing, but she could’ve popped corn off the electric tension coming off him.

“Describe ‘made a move,’” he finally said.

She crossed her arms. “And again, how is this relevant to my case?”

He just gave her that careful stare again and she thought wow, those eyes of his should be registered as a lethal weapon, because she found herself opening her mouth and spilling her guts. “He kissed me.”

“He kissed you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you know that you often repeat what I say?”

“What kind of a kiss?” he asked.

She was momentarily bewildered. “I don’t know. It was a kiss. A normal kiss. A nice kiss.” She cocked her head at him. “How many kinds of kisses are there?”

He just looked at her for a long moment before coming toward her. He backed her to the wall and pressed his big hands on either side of her head. “There are many kinds of kisses,” he said.

Her breath had backed up in her throat, where her heart had lodged, pounding wildly. “S-s-such as?”

“Such as this one.” And then he leaned in and covered her mouth with his.