"Ryker, please tell me that's the last appointment for the day."

I looked up as my office manager sauntered into my office. Just under six feet tall, muscular and wiry, his pale skin was covered in tattoos, some of them peeking over the collar and beyond the cuffs of his suit jacket. Starkly handsome, he would be devastating if he only smiled more often. But he didn't and I'd long ago stopped expecting him to. Doing hard time would knock all the smiles out of you and Ryker had known hard time.

"Last one Dr. Androghetti," he replied, placing a stack of paperwork in the middle pocket of my briefcase. We'd been together long enough that he knew I would tackle it all at home after a hot shower or soak and a glass of wine. Like a couple of old married people, we even bickered like one so I couldn't resist reminding him about our agreement.

"If that was the last patient of the day, then you agreed to call me Carla." I shoved away from the desk and leaned back in the leather chair. I gave him a glare but it was half-hearted because today had been a bitch of a day. Helping people was my passion but it was exhausting. "That was the deal once we crossed the boss/employer thing and morphed into friends."

"If I had any clue that the consequence of holding your hair back as you puked in the toilet during that ugly bout of stomach flu would be becoming your BFF, I would have let you drown." His words were harsh but the lift of his lip told me that he wouldn't have actually let me die in a bowl of artificially blue water. "It's time for you to get the hell out of here because I have somewhere to be and if I leave you here, you'll work until midnight again."

"Where are you going?" I ignored his crack about my workaholic tendencies, there was no use in denying that this tiger had stripes. But Ryker had let slip that he had plans for the evening and inquiring minds wanted to know. "Do you have a date?"

"I'm going to Landslide." He shrugged at the mention of our favorite club and my excitement dimmed. We went there all the time and it was a great place to hook-up but not for much of anything else. And for Ryker . . . I wanted him to have something besides blowjobs in the back room and one-night stands back at some stranger’s apartment. He read my mind because he dismissed it with a slash of his hand. "Don't give me that look. I'm good."

"Will Sebastian be there?"

He shrugged but I didn't miss the tension that settled between his shoulder blades at my mention of the man he wanted but could not have. "I can't afford him so it doesn't matter."

I opened my mouth to start our usual argument, but the appearance of a stranger in the doorway pulled me up short. Tall and leanly built, he reminded me of a mountain with the sharp angles of his face too harsh to make him handsome. Striking. Sexy. Someone you would remember. His gaze swept over me, controlled but interested. Yes, he wanted something from me but his quick inhale of breath told me that it wasn't a professional appointment.

Ryker stepped in front of me, placing his body in between us and I wasn't going to object. I dealt with people with mental health issues all day long and I knew that I could never be too careful. It was one of the reasons I’d hired Ryker, a little muscle in the office never hurt in my line of business.

I stood to greet the stranger just as a larger African-American man filled what was left of my open doorway. His demeanor was more open, inquiring, less intimidating.

The first man was. . .dangerous. Something told me to be careful around him.

"Dr. Androghetti?" He stepped forward, pulling an ID case out of the pocket of his suit jacket. The badge was shiny. It looked real. Ryker took two steps forward and took it from him, scanning it before returning it to him and giving me a nod of confirmation.

"How can I help you?" I ran through my patients in my head. None of them seemed in a place to involve the police.

"I'm Detective Cross and this is Detective Simms. We need to ask you a few questions." He slipped his ID case back into his pocket and my gaze was drawn to his hands. Large with long fingers, scrapes and bruises across the knuckles. Recently inflicted. A man who didn't mind getting his hands dirty. I filed that information away for later.

"Of course. Whatever you need." I took two paces backward, settling when I could lean against the edge of my desk. Ryker moved to the side, standing against the wall of my office. Still close but no longer a wall between us. Detective Simms moved into his orbit, his eyes trained on my watchdog as he pulled out a notebook and pen while Cross crossed into my personal space.

I caught my breath, working hard to slow down the rapid beat of my heart. To ignore the tightening of my nipples. I couldn't control my reaction to him. I should have been wary, cautious, but I wanted to get closer. To inhale him, to touch him. It was crazy but that explained everything and nothing about sexual attraction. Hormones kicked in and you lost a little bit of your mind. It’s what made it so delicious.

"What kind of counseling do you do here, Doctor?" He asked, his eyes trained on my face and completely ignoring the huge diploma displayed on the wall just over my right shoulder.

"I specialize in relationship counseling, veteran counseling, grief counseling, and post-addiction counseling. I help people get through and over some of the hard stuff."

"I see," he said, moving past me to examine my credentials. He glanced down at the top of the credenza, fingers briefly touching the signed baseball from a local Nationals game. "Couples? Kids? Adults?"

"Yes." I glanced at Ryker but he was watching the other guy, laser-focused.

"How long has Senator Nathan Marsden been your patient?" Cross asked, his tone even but there was a subtle change. Something dark coated the edges and all my senses told me to be careful from here on out.

I turned to fully face him and he was looking at me. His face was a void, only his dark eyes betraying his suspicion and controlled violence. Now I knew what made him dangerous, he was a man who chose to keep himself under control because to do otherwise would put him on the other side of that badge. And his control kept him off my couch or the couch of someone like me.

But control could always be broken. You just had to have the right tool.

"Nathan was never my patient, Detective," I said, stepping around the desk to stand in front of him. He was tall, over six feet, but with my heels I could almost look him in the eye. "Are you going to tell me what this is about."

Cross exchanged a look with his partner. It spoke of years together and lots of trust. And something very wrong.

"Senator Marsden is dead. We found him this morning."

I reached behind me, my hand searching for the edge of the desk and the support I needed since my legs no longer worked. Ice cold flashed up my spine and over my skin and bile rose in my throat, my stomach rolling. I felt Ryker beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

Nathan. Dead. I’d just spoken to him a couple of days ago and he’d been alive, excited.

"Was it an accident?" I asked, licking my lips as I sought an answer in Cross' face. I knew it already. "Never mind. If it was an accident you wouldn't be here."

"No. It wasn't an accident," he replied, his expression belligerent. "He was murdered. So, I don't really have any patience with doctor/patient confidentiality, Dr. Androghetti. I need to know why the Senator had your card in his pocket."

"I told you. He was not a patient." I shook my head, sliding a glance towards Ryker. He stared back, his gaze offering no solution other than the truth. "He was. . .Nathan was a sexual partner."

"You were having an affair with him?"

"No." I looked towards Ryker again. This part was always tricky. Rarely did people understand and I didn't feel like I had to justify myself to anyone. But this was Nathan. Dead. Murdered. "No. I had sex with both Nathan and Davina. It's what I do."

"For money?" Detective Simms asked, his voice booming across the office. I turned to face him and his judgment. "Are you a sex worker?"

Ryker stepped towards, everything about his demeanor tight and outraged on my behalf. "Hey."

"No. Not a sex worker. We . . . the Marsden's and myself . . .we belong to a club. Club D. It's all very consensual and free-of-charge."

The partners exchanged another one of those looks and I knew what was coming next.

"Where were you last night?" Cross asked, moving closer to me. He didn't reach for his handcuffs but the twitch in his fingers betrayed his trained inclination. My confession had just pushed me to the top of the people-of-interest list. "Between the time of ten o'clock and three in the morning."

"I was at home. Alone." I stood, bringing myself to my full height as I answered the unspoken question in the room. "For the record, I didn't kill Nathan."