“You weren’t kidding, were you?” Daveed said the next morning as he carefully maneuvered the twisted metal of the destroyed frying pan into the trash bin. “No skills whatsoever. At least not in the kitchen.”

He’d been making them breakfast when she’d walked in—fresh as a daisy in her clean white T-shirt and faded jeans, the material of both highlighting her creamy skin and lush curves. He’d staunchly done his best to ignore it all and concentrate on cooking. When she’d offered to help, he’d accepted, thinking it would be better to keep her busy and not lingering around him, tempting him. Of course, that had been before she’d somehow turned making hard boiled eggs into a warzone and nearly set fire to Heath’s condo.

With a dish towel in hand, Daveed fanned the lingering smoke and stench of melted silicone from the pan’s handle from the air. Melody stood near the corner of the stove, looking about as pathetic as the last toy on the shelf at Christmas. Unwanted sympathy for her pinched his chest and he felt an overwhelming urge to clear the sadness from her eyes, to make her smile again. She did have such a nice smile that seemed to light up whatever room she was in.

“Right. Okay.” He glanced around. “How about toast? The bread’s in the drawer over there. I think four slices should do it.”

Cheeks flushed, she glanced up at him with something that looked an awful lot like gratitude and warmth zinged outward from his center to his extremities. Still no smile yet though. Suddenly, that goal had become more important than any secret mission he’d ever run in the Syrian desert.

“Okay. Toast I can do,” she said, grabbing the bread and brushing past him, her arm brushing his and sending shivers of awareness through him. “Have you come up with anything more in this plan of yours for what I’m supposed to do now?”

“I have.” He hadn’t. Not really. Unfortunately, after returning to his bed last night, his thoughts had been consumed with thoughts of her stranded, alone, forced to resort to seeking out some seedy pawn dealer in Tahiti to sell her engagement ring in order to get enough money to make it home. She was resourceful. He’d give her that. But this Jefferson Hanks asshole sounded like a real arrogant douchebag and if Daveed ever had the bad luck to run into him here in the city he might just have to punch the guy out for doing that to Melody. He tossed a handful of peppers and onions into the scrambled eggs he was stirring, the weight of her stare heavy upon him. “I think you should stay here for now, until we can get the rest of your life situated.”

She stared at him a moment, her expression stunned. “You’re inviting me to stay here, with you, at Heath’s condo?”

“Unless you have somewhere else to go,” he said, eager to make it sound like he wasn’t keen on keeping her around, even though he kind of was, for reasons he wasn’t ready to admit just yet. “If you do, then by all means, get out.”

Her expression shifted to annoyance. “Funny. I told you I don’t have any money.”

“And no job skills either, correct?” He nodded toward the toaster, which now had black smoke rising out of it. “Best unplug that and dump it out then try again.”

“Shit.” She pulled the plug from the outlet and retrieved the charred bread from the slots, tossing them into the trash atop the mangled pan before trying again. “See? I’m hopeless.”

“Hmm.” Given her crap cooking, he wasn’t inclined to disagree. But there had to be something she could do, something she was good at. Obviously she’d been educated, so she had to have some skills. “Where did you go to college?”

“Vassar.”

“Well, you had to get good grades to get into that school. What were your best subjects?”

“I liked history.” She tapped her finger against her full bottom lip, drawing his attention to her soft pink lips again. His thoughts once more swerved to what those lips might feel like against his, what she might taste like on his tongue. He shook off the inappropriate track his thoughts had taken and nodded toward the toaster. “Better check that bread again.”

Melody did and this time the toast was perfect, if a bit on the darker side. She smiled, finally, and his world brightened. “Thanks. Guess I can do something correctly, right?” Her soft hums filled the kitchen as she spread butter on the bread. “Oh, and to answer your question. No, my grades weren’t particularly good. My mom went to Vassar, which means I’m a legacy. If you had a relative who went there, that increases your chances of getting in. My dad donating a huge amount to renovate their auditorium didn’t hurt either.”

“I see,” he said, frowning. There went that avenue of opportunity. Still, she wasn’t stupid, contrary to popular belief. He refused to believe that a woman who could scrounge her way from one side of the earth to the other didn’t have some marketable skills. He’d just have to dig a little deeper to find them, that was all. “What did you major in? Perhaps some of those classes could translate into marketable skills.”

“Liberal arts,” she said as she slathered the next piece of toast with butter.

Daveed did his best to hide his cringe at her words and failed miserably, if the irritated look she gave him was any indication. “That doesn’t give us a lot to work with.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She shook her head and placed the dirty knife in the sink. “Considering my parents had my whole life basically planned out for me before I turned eighteen, I never really thought I’d need college. I only went for the parties.”

“Wow. That’s depressing.”

“Which part? The fact they had my life planned out or the parties?”

“Both.” He carried their plates of food over to the bar. After pouring them each a glass of orange juice, Daveed grabbed the morning paper and sat it beside Melody on the counter then took his seat and snagged a stack of Post-It notes from near the landline phone along with a pen. “Guess you should start with the classifieds. There’s always places that need wait staff or cashiers. Maybe that’s right up your alley anyway, considering how you love to spend money.”

“Very funny.” She squinted at the paper then him. “What are you doing?”

“Making a list,” Daveed said, scribbling. “Pros and Cons.”

“Of the job market?”

“Nope. Of you.”

Melody sat back and crossed her arms while he did his best not to notice how the movement only served to highlight her magnificent rack. “I can’t wait to hear you proclaim all my faults.”

Daveed shrugged, glancing over at her as he swallowed a bite of his eggs. “Let’s see. Under Pros we have highly energetic.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Under the Cons column we have hopelessly disorganized.”

“Wait a minute.” She scowled. “You can’t possibly know that about me. We just met.”

He raised a brow and stared pointedly at the disaster area the kitchen had become in the short time she’d been in it. He’d also had the dubious pleasure of catching a glimpse of the guest room earlier and it looked like a hurricane had gone through there. She’d been in Heath’s condo for one night and already it appeared they’d need to call in the Red Cross for aid.

Melody compressed her lips and scrunched her nose, pink color rising in her cheeks. “Okay. Fine. Tidiness and organization aren’t my strong suits. But I have skills in other areas.”

“Enlighten me,” he said, pen at the ready to jot them down.

“I can sniff out a bargain at Bloomingdales from fifty feet away. And I can plan the crap out of a bachelorette party.”

“Right.” He put the pen down and continued eating his breakfast. Her stare nearly bored a hole through the side of his head as he took his time eating. Finally, he finished the last bite and pushed his empty plate away. “Given your lack of real world experience, I’d suggest you look for entry-level positions.”

Daveed got up to take his plate to the sink, ducking to avoid the wadded-up napkin she lobbed at his head.

“You think you’re so superior to me, don’t you?” She stood, leaving her food untouched on the breakfast bar. “I’ve got news for you, buddy. I will go out today and I will get a job. Bank on it.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, calmly rinsing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher before wrapping her food in plastic wrap and setting it in the fridge for later. He’d seen too many starving kids during his military service to ever waste good food. If she didn’t eat it later, he would. He set about cleaning up the mess they’d made then hung the dishtowel over the hook on the wall. “Now, I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, following him out of the kitchen and over to where his black boots sat near the wall by the door. “Can I come too?”

“No. You have a job to find, remember?” Daveed jammed his feet into his boots then grabbed his coat from the closet. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

“How am I supposed to get back in here if you’re gone?” Melody asked.

He rifled through the drawer of a side table and pulled out a key, handing it to her. “Here. If you lose it, you’ll answer to Heath. Understand?”

She nodded and he shoved his own keys and wallet into his pocket.

“Be careful,” Daveed said as he headed out the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

* * *

“I can’t believe she’d just go like that with nothing but a text telling me not to worry if I didn’t hear from her for a few months,” Murphy Coen said, scrubbing a hand through his short black hair as he stared at Daveed. Given his dark eyes and swarthy complexion, people thought he was Arabic like Daveed. He was an Irish Jew, but the coloring had come in handy during their two tours in the Middle East together. “It’s not like Aileen. And I’m sure as fuck worried.”

Daveed clapped his hand on his buddy’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “We’ll find her.”

“Damn straight we will,” Heath said from across the room where he was searching through Aileen’s desk drawers. The apartment was a small and tidy sublet on Manhattan’s trendy Lower East Side. “I’ve got more contacts we can work too.”

“Yeah, but they’re all for foreign intelligence,” Murph said. “When we asked around the neighborhood earlier, no one had heard or seen anything from my sister in two weeks. The police won’t even file a missing person report on her because they said it doesn’t look to them like Aileen vanished.”

“What exactly did she say in her message again?” Daveed asked. “Besides the part about not to worry about not hearing from her.”

Murphy pulled out his phone and brought up the text again, holding it out so Daveed could see. “Nothing much, other than she’d be gone and that her rent was paid up for six months. It’s just weird, you know? And I really want to find her before I’m called back to active duty in the SEALs in January.”

“Yeah, I know.” Daveed joined Heath over near the desk, where he was now going through Aileen’s paperwork. A bookshelf was built into the wall beside it and Daveed started going through her books. There were some biographies, a few historical non-fiction titles, and a ton of romance novels. He grabbed one and pulled it out then winced at the cover. An Arab sheikh, his white shirt open and billowing in the breeze, holding a woman in a flowing purple ballgown to his tanned, toned chest. It was titled Captive Desire. Nose wrinkled, Daveed shoved it back onto the shelf and selected another book, this one sticking out farther than the rest, as though Aileen might’ve been reading it recently. This was a romantic suspense, or at least that was what he assumed based on the buff guy with the gun on the front protecting the cowering damsel in distress. He was about to put that one away too, when he saw something sticking out of the top. Carefully, he removed the slip of paper and saw writing scrawled atop it. “I found something.”

“Yeah?” Heath glanced over to see the note in Daveed’s hand. “Good luck deciphering that. It’s in code.”

“Shit,” Daveed said, squinting down at the gibberish. “You’re right.”

“Here.” Heath limped over, snatching the note away and shoved it into his pocket. Surprisingly, the limp came not from his five years in the military, but from a fall off one of his father’s polo ponies when he’d been young. Daveed and the other guys had given Heath all kinds of shit about that during their service together. “I’ll have some of my US contacts take a look at it and see what I can find out.”

Daveed would’ve objected to being bossed around by Heath, but considering he was going to have to kick the guy out of his own condo for the next few weeks because Melody would be staying there, he thought better of it. Besides, from the looks of him, Heath had a lot on his mind anyway. He looked even grungier than usual, with at least four days growth of beard on his face and his clothes wrinkled and a bit ill fitting. Hard to believe this guy had built his family’s dwindling oil and railroad legacy into one of the largest media and tech fortunes in the world. He was a year older than Daveed and way more intense, kind of like that actor Bradley Cooper on steroids. “Fine. Listen, you need to stay away from the condo for a while longer.”

“What?” Heath frowned. “Why?”

“Yeah. Why?” Murphy asked, joining them. “What are you hiding in there?”

“Nothing.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” Heath gave him a flat look. “It’s Melody, isn’t it?”

“Melody?” Murph’s dark eyes widened. “You mean as in Melody Hascall-Ebons, Heath’s ex?” He gave a slow chuckle. “Shit, dude. That’s major.”

“It’s nothing. She’s got nothing and no place to stay. I can’t throw her out on the street.”

“I can.” Heath took off for the door. “That woman ran off with another man and now she thinks she can just show up and mooch off me? No fucking way.”

“Wait!” Daveed grabbed Heath’s arm to stop him. “Listen, I know that you two weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. And I can’t condone her running off to Tahiti with another man, but she’s in serious trouble right now and could use a bit of kindness.”

“Kindness, huh?” Heath scoffed. “Are you sleeping with her too?”

“What? No.” Daveed backed up as images of him taking Melody hard and fast against the wall of the condo flooded his mind. Where the hell had those come from? He shook them off, only to have them replaced by more images of them entwined in sheets on the bed, her crying out his name as she climaxed beneath him. Uncomfortable heat prickled up from beneath the collar of his sweater and Daveed pulled the material away from his neck, wondering when in the fuck it had gotten so hot in the apartment. “No. It’s not like that at all. I just feel sorry for her, that’s all.”

“Right.” Murphy snorted. “Whatever, dude.”

“Shut up.” Daveed scowled at his friend, then back at Heath. “If you don’t want her there, at least give me some time to get her relocated. Seriously, her parents have cut her off and she’s got nothing but the clothes on her back. She’ll end up in a homeless shelter if I don’t help her.”

“Guess she should’ve thought about that before she took off with that actor.” Heath looked away, a muscle working in his tense cheek above his beard. He exhaled slow and shook his head.

“I’ll go and talk to her right after I leave here and get her moved out, I promise. Just give me a little time.” Daveed had more than proven he was good on his promises. The guys knew that.

At last Heath relented. “Fine. But I want her out by the end of the week. Understand? We need you concentrating on Murph’s sister right now, not getting into my ex’s pants.”

Daveed wanted to contradict that last part, but refrained, knowing when to cut his losses. “Will do.” He started across the apartment for the door. “Let me know when you find out what that code means.”

* * *

Melody was fumbling to get her key into the door of the condo when Daveed returned a few hours later. Her day had turned out to be one big bust as far as finding a job was concerned. Either they took one look at Vassar on her resume and automatically said she was overqualified, or they said she didn’t have enough experience in retail or customer service or whatever other menial job she’d applied for. It was enough to give a girl a serious complex.

“Are you employed?” Daveed said, resting one broad shoulder against the wall while she struggled to get the door unlocked. A gentleman would’ve offered to help her, but he was apparently out of manners where she was concerned.

She hid her embarrassed wince as best she could and sighed deeply as she stared at her toes. “No. Not yet. It’s a tough job market out there.”

“Hmm.” His tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced, but honestly. From the time she’d left the condo that morning, she’d been pounding the pavement all day, searching for a way to support herself. Six hours later, she was still without a job. Some of her defeat must’ve shown on her face because he surprised her by saying, “C’mon. I’ll buy you a coffee and you can tell me your woes.”

Her feet ached and her toes were frozen from cold and a cup of anything hot right now sounded like heaven. They walked half a block to a small café and found a table for two in a quiet back corner.

The barista was polite and efficient as she took their orders. “The special fresh brew today is Blond Roast. Our cold brew is Nitro with Sweet Cream, and the iced tea is bottled Brambleberry. We also have our Short Peppermint Stick lattes on sale two for five. What can I get you?”

“Two Grande Blond Roasts, please.” Daveed said. “Do you want anything else?”

Melody bit her lip. She’d not really eaten all day, except for a few bites of eggs that morning. In truth, she was starving, but she didn’t have money to pay for anything.

Daveed watched her, gaze narrowed. “If you want something more, get it. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

“Okay, then.” She smiled up at the waitress. “I’ll take one of those awesome Christmas Cookie Scones we saw on the way in, please.”

Once the barista left, Melody hazarded a glance at Daveed only to find him still staring at her, his expression unreadable.

“Hungry?”

She scrunched her nose. “I haven’t eaten all day, okay? And no, I’m not employed yet. No one wanted me. No one.” She shook her head and scowled. “Even those charity bell ringers that stand outside the shops turned me down. They all looked at my resume and said I was either overqualified or I didn’t have enough experience. But how the hell am I supposed to get experience if no one will hire me?”

A helper delivered two cheerful red mugs and a small white plate with her scone to their table a few minutes later. As Melody stirred cream and sugar into her coffee, the sounds of a fake Santa bell ringer drifted through the diner from outside, like it was mocking her. “I’m such a loser.”

“You’re not a loser,” Daveed said, sitting forward to pull his buzzing phone from his pocket. “You’re just unique.”

“That’s a special way of saying loser.” She sipped her coffee and stared around at the other patrons in the diner. “You don’t need to sugar coat it for me. I’ve been getting that my whole life and look where it’s gotten me.”

“Getting a free meal in a diner with a dashing, handsome man?” Daveed gave her a sly wink before concentrating on his phone. “I’d say you’re pretty lucky.”

Melody snorted. “Right.”

She bit into her scone—and yes, she might have been a tad biased, given her empty stomach—but she’d swear it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. Ever. The creamy butter frosting mixed with the chunks of actual Christmas cookies baked into the scone was amazing. It was so, so good and…

She looked up to find Daveed still staring down at his phone screen, his expression troubled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked between bites, figuring he’d just tell her to mind her own business.

“Huh?” He glanced up, as if just remembering she was there. “Oh, nothing. The guys and I are trying to find a missing person and the only clue we have so far is this garbled note she left behind.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Melody said around another bite of scone. “Like Sherlock Holmes or something. Can I see it?”

“What?” Daveed’s dark brows drew together as he looked at her again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I used to love puzzles when I was a kid. I was pretty good at solving them too. Maybe I can help.”

His reluctant expression said he doubted it very much, but he handed her the phone. On screen was a photo of the note in question. There were letters going every direction, like a crossword puzzle, but none of them seemed to form anything that made sense. Squinting, she turned the phone sideways and looked again, spotting her first word.

“I got one,” she said, handing him back the phone.

“One what?”

“A word. Not sure you’ll like it though.” She finished her treat as the helper returned to take away her empty plate. “If this gal is missing, it might not be a good sign.”

“What is it?” Daveed’s voice had developed an edge of tension. “Tell me.”

“Corruption.”

“Shit.” He raked a hand through his short brown curls and once again she had the sudden, crazy urge to slide her fingers through his hair too, just to see if it felt as soft as it looked. “That’s not good.”

“So is this person you’re looking for Murphy’s sister?” Melody straightened in her seat. “If you want me to keep searching that note to find more words, I can. Not like I’ve got anything else to do right now. I love doing the Times weekly puzzle too.”

Daveed held up a finger as he dialed his phone. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I think this note is some kind of puzzle. Like a crossword or something. Yeah, yeah. We found one word so far. Corruption. There are probably more, we just need time to find them.” He glanced over at Melody, his light mocha eyes intense. “Yes. Okay. We’ll meet you back at the condo in an hour.”

After he clicked off, Melody sat forward. “So, can I help or not?”

Exhaling slowly, Daveed clasped his hands atop the table and shook his head. “This goes against every instinct I have, but yes. You can help. Under the condition that you do whatever I tell you to do. Understand?”

They refilled their mugs and Daveed ordered a scone too. Once they were alone again, she smiled. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s hungry, eh?”

“Guess not.” Daveed sat back and crossed his arms. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“About the note? Yes.”

“What about my other conditions?”

“We’ll have to see on those.” It was her turn to wink at him. “You can trust me, you know.”

“Can I?” He sipped his coffee and took a bite of his scone. “I’m not so sure.”

“What’s not to trust?” she said, then regretted it instantly when he gave her a flat look.

“Let’s see. You ran off to Tahiti with a man you just met, you have no job, no money, no marketable skills, no—”

“All right, fine.” She looked away, cheeks heating. “Maybe I’m down on my luck right now, it’s true. But I need this. I need something to help me believe in myself again. If I can help you find this missing woman, maybe I can build up some confidence in myself again.”

He stared at her a long moment, silent, and for a moment Melody feared he’d say no. Then Daveed’s tense shoulders slumped. “Fine. Yes. You can help, but you must listen to me when I tell you things. No running off half-cocked on some crazy idea.”

“Yeah, I hate being half-cocked.” She chuckled. “Full cock all the way, baby.”

Daveed choked on his coffee then glared at her. “And none of that kind of talk. Things are going to be awkward enough as it is.”

“Why?” She frowned, her stomach sinking to her toes. “Who is this person we’re looking for anyway?”

“Murphy’s sister, Aileen.”

“Whoa.” She set her cup down, her fingers shaking. “Wait a minute. You mean I’ll be working with you and Murphy and…”

“Heath. Yes.” Daveed grinned. “Best drink up. You’re going to need all your energy for what lies ahead.”