Penelope took a deep breath and tried to force her imagination under control. She'd sat silently through hours of Sawyer's retelling of the horrific event, even taking notes as he went along. All the while something dark and twisted took root inside her with each passing word.

She clenched and unclenched her fists as she looked out over the water. When he'd finally finished, they'd both needed some time to regroup and so far neither had made a move to rejoin the other.

What details he remembered were vivid and violent, and she'd never forget the way they made her feel. At one point, his descriptions became so real she would have sworn she felt the heat of the fire burning across her own skin.

What caused such a visceral reaction to a witness account befuddled her. Her ability to stay cool and calm in a crisis had always been the one trait she could count on no matter how dark things got. Very little got to her. But this—this anger she felt growing in the pit of her stomach confused her.

This man confused her.

One minute he made light of the situation and looked at her like he could either take her or leave her. Then his demeanor changed and he got intense. His breathing grew ragged and the haunted look in his eyes said he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than tell her a story.

The memory of that look heated her face once again as she gulped for air. She was being ridiculous. It didn't take her psych training to see the man had been as emotionally battered on the inside as he'd been burned on the outside. And it wasn't out of the realm of reasonability for her to be drawn to that.

She was a fixer after all. Drawn to complex problems, she loved nothing more than solving them.

And he needed to be fixed.

Penelope staggered back a few steps.

Whoa.

Those kind of thoughts were pure crazy. She was not here to put this beautiful, but broken man back together. She was here to profile a criminal. Nothing more.

She pushed back her thoughts of the man and his story and re-focused on the job. The elements of a psychotic killer were all here. He, and the fact her suspect was indeed a man was almost a given, had more than a passing knowledge of explosives. He also knew exactly where to place them for maximum effectiveness. Whatever wasn't damaged by the explosion, had eventually burned to the ground. Her gut told her that whatever his reasonings, he’d certainly accomplished his mission.

Except hardly anyone got hurt...

That brought her back to Sawyer. At one point in his story she wanted to reach out and touch him. The need to form a connection overwhelmed her as he seemed lost in what he thought was his failure to do his duty. That word fit what she sensed to a T. His connection to the people on this island felt like a hell of a lot more than just some job.

She toed at a pile of ash.

There was also a lot he wasn’t telling her. Hearing his account firsthand had her mind turning in every direction. But one thing still stood out. They clearly didn’t want her here. And if they didn’t want her to investigate then it stood to reason that they already knew exactly who perpetrated this devastation. That thought gave her pause. If her hunch was right, what did that mean? What exactly did they plan to do with that information if they weren’t going to report it to law enforcement? More specifically, what would Sawyer do with that knowledge?

"Are you okay?"

Speak of the devil. She took one last breath and turned to face him. And the need for a connection with him immediately returned. Although who was she kidding? It had never left. If she was smart, she'd leave now. She should get back in her car and return to Seattle with the information she had now. If her instincts about this island and its residents were true, it was all she would ever get. If she stayed, she suspected something else might happen. Something she absolutely did not bargain for.

But apparently in this case, she wasn't going to be smart. Instead of turning to leave she did the exact opposite.

"I could use a drink," she said.

A start of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "I happen to know a place." He followed up with a wider grin and that hungry look from earlier in his eyes.

The big bad wolf was back and he looked like he wanted to eat her. That thought sent a shiver working down her spine. She couldn't get the comment he made about her panties out of her mind either. At least not when he looked at her like that.

She sighed. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a breathless teenager hoping a boy would kiss her. She was a woman. A smile had no business making her panties damp and she certainly had no business thinking his juvenile comments were cute.

"I'm a little skeptical of this place you have in mind." Although she hadn’t been joking. She really could use a drink. But it would not be at his place and she had no interest in any kind of clubs he might frequent. That thought gave her pause, reminding her that she knew nothing about him except what he'd told her. She made a mental note to herself to look into that.

Someone like him probably had a very interesting story and maybe if she dug deep enough she’d find whatever she thought she was looking for. If nothing else, she was very good at research. She briefly glanced out at the water. There were a lot of unanswered questions.

"Don't look so worried, Agent Bishop. What I have in mind, I think you'll actually like. Nice and casual. Not crowded, but not deserted either. So you wont have to worry about me trying to take advantage."

He said the last with a wink, which caused her stomach to flip.

Oh, for Pete's sake. Her body was really starting to piss her off. She needed a distraction pronto.

"Then by all means lead the way."

He looked over at the parking lot. "We should probably grab a vehicle. It's not far, but probably too far for those shoes."

She looked down to find him pointing at her sensible heels. They were a far cry from his comfortable leather hiking boots, but they weren't impractical four-inch stripper heels either. They were reasonable two inch heels in sedate black and were practically issued by the FBI since all the other female agents had at least one pair of these in their closets.

"You don't like my shoes?"

He looked her up and down nice and slow, taking in more than simply her shoes before returning to the footwear now in question.

To her shock that simple perusal made her nipples stiff and her body flushed and overheated. Official or not, this stupid dark suit was not appropriate island attire. What she wouldn't give for a pair of shorts and a simple tank top right about now.

"Well, they do go with the pant suit." He enunciated the words “pant suit” as if it tasted bad in his mouth.

Her mouth dropped open. Was he serious?

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? You asked."

"Just because a woman doesn't dress like she's looking to get laid, doesn't make her anything other than what she is. And in my case, I dress for the job. Or maybe you don't understand that because you don't appear to have much of a J.O.B. these days. Your brain has obviously been clouded by your island vacation. You don't see a woman hobbling around on heels with her vagina playing peek a boo in an impossibly short skirt and what? She's not worth your time?"

Penelope sucked in a sharp breath before slapping her hand over her mouth. Oh hell.

What was wrong with her? Something about him made her defensive and apparently stupid based on the words that kept slipping out of her mouth before her brain could stop them. She had no business getting so worked up over a silly comment about shoes, but there it was. Although rubbing it in about the loss of his job was a total dick move on her part.

Sawyer crossed his arms and leaned against a tree right behind him. "You about done sassing me or should I get more comfortable?"

She opened her mouth to blast him yet again. Sassing? Seriously? Thankfully a second before any words could escape she remembered who and where she was. Antagonizing a witness had definitely not been on the agenda for today. Now that the damage was done, she needed to get her act together, stay focused on the job and begin some damage control. She could not screw this one up. Something she shouldn’t have to keep reminding herself.

She swallowed thickly before she started. "I'm sorry," she cleared her throat and continued. "I don't know what happened just then. Maybe all this fresh air is getting to me. Or not…” She looked down. “Although as overpriced as these shoes are, I had hoped they didn't look as bad as I suspected."

He shrugged, giving her an easy smile. "No worries. I can take it. Besides, I was just yanking your chain. They look fine. No one expects a killer wardrobe from an agent of the FBI. Although I have to admit, you pull off standard issue black better than any other law man I’ve seen."

She looked at him with a blank stare, unable to focus on the words when he turned on the charm. Starting with that megawatt smile he kept throwing around like an aphrodisiac on crack. Didn’t take much to imagine the killer effect it had on all the ladies he encountered.

"How about instead of yanking me around then, you and I call a truce and go get that drink. I've got my car right there." She tipped her head in the direction of a dark sedan that could be any make or model for all anyone cared. It was meant to disappear into the background and not stand out in any way, shape, or form.

Except she always thought those stupid government issued vehicles might as well come with a flashing neon sign indicating law enforcement because they stuck out like a sore thumb amidst today's million SUVs and now thanks to the escalating gas prices over recent years, the current wave of slightly better gas mileage crossovers. Or worse the little electric cars made in factories overseas where they raped the earth's resources to create a vehicle designed to save the planet. Irony at its best.

"I'll drive then." He walked over to her and held out his hand.

She nearly laughed. As if she was going to hand over her keys to a virtual-- She paused. A virtual what? Stranger? He no longer felt like a stranger to her. Not after the emotional retelling of his near death experience. Then there was the fact he pulled at her in a variety of ways and somehow managed to make her both comfortable and flustered all at the same time.

The man had a gift. Not that he would be allowed to drive her car just because he had her body's full attention. Screw that noise.

"Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Dream on, island boy." She shouldered past him, barely able to keep from gasping when they connected again. A jolt of sensation buzzed across her arm and chest, warming her even more.

Damnnn... Had it been so long since someone male had touched her that he so easily had this effect on her?

She dared to lift her gaze and meet his to see if he felt it too. Judging by the return of intensity in his eyes, she dared to say yes.

Penelope took a slow, hopefully calming breath while never taking her gaze off him. In fact, neither of them looked away.

"Maybe next time," she said a little too breathlessly.

He reached up and brushed her cheek with two fingers and it took every ounce of restraint not to lean into his touch. "I like that you assume there will be a next time."

She nearly choked. "Well, I mean—if we—I'll have to—"

He covered her lips with his fingers, silencing her. "Too late, Agent Bishop. You can't take it back now. Next time I'll definitely be driving."

A rush of heat shot between her legs as the heavy insinuation of his words coursed over her. Sex on a stick had always sounded like a cliché until now. This man had that. In spades.

She pulled her attention from him and walked over to the car. Talk about needing space. And they were about to get inside a car, where they had to breathe the same air.

Fortunately for her, he broke the spell.

"So what are the odds you'll tell me what color panties you're wearing after I get a few drinks in you?"

She groaned. The frat boy had returned.

Oh joy.

She mentally shrugged. Oh well, that only made it easier for her to get her mind back on the job and off his...

"Slim to none," she said, forcing certain thoughts out of her head. Penelope climbed into the car, ignoring the mock pained look he shot her, and they silently cruised across the bridge.

"So you can call me island boy, but I can't find out about your panties?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She bit her lips to keep from smiling and shrugged her shoulders as she pointed her car off the island. The lines between agent and victim were blurring into just man and woman, and by all rights that should make her immensely uncomfortable.

Except for some reason it didn’t. Her mind reeled with the possibilities of why that was. There was so damned much she needed to think about and analyze when it came to today’s visit.

She shook her head. That would have to wait until she got back to her room. For now, she had a drink waiting somewhere with her name on it. A stiff one.