The quiet greeted him as an old, comfortable friend. Walking into the neat apartment, he reveled in the clean and organized space. Order and peace. Everything in its place. Just the way he liked it.

Nick lived on the third floor of his apartment building, the modern construction offering security, a night watchman, and a first-floor gym. While located just outside the city, it was still conveniently located to the Bureau’s local office.

Locking the door behind him, he pulled off his tie on the way to his bedroom, passing the neat lines of the minimalistic furnishings in his living room and pristine kitchen. In his obviously masculine bedroom with its navy and gray bedspread paired with dark wood furniture, he walked to his closet, hanging his tie on the tie rack as he toed off his shoes. Placing his shoes on the shelf at the bottom of the closet, he hung up his suit jacket. Giving it a sniff, he shook his head. Sliding the coat hanger to the far end, he hung his pants next to it, adding a trip to the dry cleaners to his list of things to take care of tomorrow.

Moving into the bathroom, he stripped as the water heated, dropping his shirt and boxers into the hamper. Stepping into the pristine, white, tiled shower, he allowed the water to stream over him, washing away the sweat, cheap nightclub smell, and the thoughts of the case. Instead of his job, the beautiful—albeit talkative—woman who had invaded his space at the bar was now invading his mind as well. And I didn’t even ask her name.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he stepped out of the shower, shaking his head to dislodge the regret, but all he managed to do was sling water droplets over his mirror. Irritated, he grabbed another towel from the linen closet next to the double sink and began wiping the water from the glass before it had a chance to dry, leaving spots. Wrapping the towel around his lean hips, he stood with his hands on the counter and stared into the mirror.

Dark hair, neatly trimmed. Tall, muscular in shape. The physical training at the FBI academy years earlier had stayed with him and he enjoyed working out every day. Well, almost every day. Lately, his desk job had taken precedent and, while he appreciated the responsibilities, he missed field work. And that was why he had gone with Janice and Tom to stake out the club. But it got us nowhere. Rubbing his hand over his face, he jerked the towel from his hips and finished drying before folding it neatly and hanging it over the bar.

Stalking into the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of loose-fitting shorts and wandered into his kitchen. Grabbing a water bottle out of the refrigerator, he guzzled the contents, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat. Moving to sit at the table, he pulled up his laptop. Checking his emails, he then typed the notes from this evening so he would not forget anything. They had spotted a few low-level cartel members, but did not see anyone identified as working with the terrorists. Sighing, he saved everything and closed his laptop. Placing the bottle into the recycle bin, he began his nightly checks.

Front door locked. Security system alarmed. Stove off. Toaster and coffee maker unplugged. Laptop and phone charging. Lights off.

Turning the covers down, he reclined in his bed, leaning against the pillows on the headboard. Taking the latest book he was reading off the nightstand, he opened up to the bookmark, but before he read one word, his mind shot back to the woman at the bar. A writer…doing research…who works in a bookstore during the day. He wondered if she had lied about her vocation, knowing many people made up stories about what they did when they met someone in a bar. But as the thought ran through his mind, Nick dismissed it. He considered his bullshit meter to be good, so, he was sure she really did what she said.

Irritated that she was on his mind once more, he slammed the book closed before placing it carefully on the nightstand, precisely where he had left it the night before, and slid down in the bed after rearranging the pillows. Turning off the lamp on the nightstand, he closed his eyes willing sleep to come. But he waited in vain. Her plump, glossy lips came to mind…and how I’d love to see them sliding up and down my cock!

The semi-erection he had sported since he first laid eyes on her was now rock hard and not going away. Slipping his hand down his boxers, he fisted his aching dick and pumped to the thought of her mouth on him…his mouth on her…and then sliding into her slick sex. Closing his eyes, she was all he could see. Grunting, the muscles in his neck tightened and corded as his balls pulled up. Teeth clenched, he came until he was emptied and lying limp on the bed.

As the fog of lust lifted and rational thought came back to him, he opened his eyes, looking down at the mess over his stomach and his sheets. What the hell? Hand jobs were relegated to the shower where the results could be easily cleaned. Irritated that this woman had invaded his mind, his thoughts—and my good sense—he jumped up and stalked to the bathroom. After washing himself, he grabbed clean sheets from the linen closet and headed back into the bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later, with soiled sheets rinsed out and in the laundry room, clean sheets on the bed, and lights back out, he lay down once more.

Sleep came, but his dreams were restless…filled with blue eyes and ruby-lipped smiles.

“I didn’t even get his name!”

Bayley Hanssen walked up the stairs to her apartment, juggling her purse in one hand while fishing for her keys, kicking off her shoes and bending over to pick them up with her other hand while balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear.

The phone slipped, bouncing onto the floor of the hallway. Dropping her shoes to scramble for her phone, she cursed, “Shit! Sorry, Daphne, dropped my phone. But yeah, I didn’t get his name. We just talked. Well, I talked and he sat…kinda quietly, actually, while I prattled on.”

Managing to get her door unlocked, she continued, “But damn, I could have just stared at Mr. Tall, Dark, Mysterious, and Beautiful all night.”

“Shouldn’t he be tall, dark and handsome…or gorgeous? You could call him TDH or TDG!” Daphne enthused.

“Mmmn, nah,” Bayley disagreed, shutting the door behind her, entering her small apartment. “Beautiful is the word for him. Gorgeous is such a superficial word, usually just referring to appearance or even enjoyability. Handsome is also so much about appearance, or generosity. But beautiful? It’s not just about looks, but about delighting the senses. Having a very high standard.” Leaning back against the door for a moment, the image of him in her mind, she smiled. “Yes…tall, dark, mysterious, and beautiful is just the perfect description of him.”

“Well, you’re the writer and Mr. TDMB sounds like one of your characters,” Daphne said. “One of your really good characters.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” Bayley agreed, tossing her shoes by the door and her purse on the knotted pine kitchen table with the mismatched chairs, where her keys skidded off, landing on the floor. Kneeling, she petted the dark grey cat that slinked out to meet her. “I don’t know what he was doing there, but I’m sure he was on some kind of stakeout, so I’ll never see him again. But I’m going to remember him, just so I can write him into my next book!”

“Oooh, sounds good, but I gotta go. It’s late and I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. My boss is such a stickler for being on time!”

“Shut up,” Bayley replied lightly. “I’m your boss and when did I care?”

Daphne laughed, “See you tomorrow!”

Disconnecting, Bayley walked into her tiny kitchen, glancing at the clean dishes on the dishrack. She was great about washing immediately, but rarely dried or placed them back in the cupboard. Snagging a cup, she filled it with tap water and drank thirstily. Pouring a little cat food into the bowl on the floor, she smiled as Mr. Lickers ran over, crunching the morsels. Lifting her hands over her head, she stretched. Tired and feeling dirty, she stepped around the counter and down the slight hall through her bedroom, stepping over a few piles of clean laundry that had not made it to the closet, entering the bathroom. Turning on the water, she listened as the pipes groaned a few seconds before the water began to pour. Stripping out of her red dress, she dropped it to the floor, and stepped into the bathtub, letting the shower water wash the nightclub odor off her.

Squirting shampoo into her hand, she washed her long hair, leaning her head back to let the water continue to sluice through the strands. As the warm water relaxed her body, her mind stayed firmly on Mr. TDMB. Easily the most intriguing man in the crowded room, she remembered the instant she first saw him.

Smiling as the memory assaulted her, she continued to glide the fragrant sponge over her body, wishing they were his hands. A giggle erupted at the thought of how out of place he appeared. Had to be police…or FBI…or someone keeping an eye on something.

The water began to cool, so she stepped out, grabbed a towel and dried off before tossing it haphazardly on the shower curtain bar. Standing in front of the mirror, she stared at her reflection.

Her light-blonde hair, now wet and dark, lay slicked back from her heart shaped face. Her cheeks were rosy but the black mascara she wore now streaked trails down her face. Grabbing her makeup remover, she rummaged in a drawer for a cotton pad. Pulling out the plastic bag, she realized she used the last one the previous night and had forgotten to put it on her mental shopping list. Tossing the bag, she pulled some toilet paper off the roll and wadded it up before soaking it with makeup remover. The cheap paper shredded as she rubbed her face, leaving little muffs of white over her cheeks.

Somewhat mascara free, she grabbed a bathcloth and washed her face again. Staring into the mirror, her blue eyes scanned her body, critically assessing each curve. Is my stomach poochier than it was yesterday? After turning side to side several times to see if her extra pounds were an optical illusion or not, she gave up. Fuck it! I bet men don’t stand at the mirror and criticize their bodies! Grinning, she thought of her mystery-man standing in front of his mirror. Shaking her head, she brushed her teeth before grabbing her dress off the floor, then padded back into the bedroom.

Her bed, still unmade from the previous night, looked inviting as she hung up the dress. Giving it a sniff, she grimaced at the stale odor from the club. Taking her coat hanger over to her window, she hung it over the curtain rod, deciding a little fresh air would be perfect. Opening the window slightly to let the evening breeze flow in, she smiled at the thought of saving a dry-cleaning bill.

Slipping under the covers after tossing the pillows in a haphazard pile onto the floor, she stretched her body, feeling the last of the kinks from the evening slip away. Jumping up suddenly, she hurried to the front door to throw the deadbolt. Her brother preached home security to her, but she often left the deadbolt unlocked, although she had trained herself to think of it before she went to sleep.

Back in bed, she grabbed her eReader and continued the story she started last night. The sexy romance soon had her squirming in the bed, erotic thoughts filling her mind. Tossing the eReader to the nightstand, she opened the top drawer and pulled out her battery-operated-boyfriend. With BOB in hand, she put it on her favorite setting and worked her body until she cried out her release. Tossing BOB to her nightstand, she frowned. Sure, she had her physical release, but it was a poor substitute for the real thing. And it had been a long time since she had had the real thing.

“Mr. Lickers!” she called, watching as the cat walked stealthily into the room, hopping up on her bed. He curled up next to her hip, closing his eyes almost immediately. Turning off the light, she fell into slumber, her last thoughts of what Mr. TDMB had been doing in the nightclub. Who is he and what was he after?

Outside her apartment, Lazlo stood in the shadows, illuminated by the flare of his lighter. Once his cigarette was lit, he inhaled deeply before letting the smoke curl out from his mouth, creating a halo effect. Seeing the lights go out, he waited until the last puff was completed before dropping the butt onto the sidewalk and grinding it under his boot. Pulling up his collar, he stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered down the street.

Prying her eyes open, Bayley slammed her hand down on the alarm clock blaring country music. Normally one to jump out of bed, she regretted the late night now that it was morning. Forcing her body to a sitting position, she realized why her room seemed darker than normal—the red dress hanging over the window blocked most of the sunlight. Giving a shiver in the cool room, she stared longingly back at her pillow.

Fighting the urge to sleep in, she stood and padded over to the window, closing it before sniffing the dress. Not bad! Grinning as she hung it back in her closet, she headed into the bathroom, staring at the mess in the mirror. Bed-head. A pillow wrinkle down her face. A smudge of mascara that eluded the face scrub with toilet paper last night.

Flipping on the TV as she poured a bowl of Lucky Charms, she watched the news for a few minutes. Weather. Stock market. Ads.

Rinsing her bowl in the sink after finishing the last crunchy marshmallow, she placed it in the rack and walked back into the bedroom just as the news changed to an update. She missed the special report on a missing girl, last seen at a downtown nightclub.

Finishing his early morning workout before most of his neighbors had woken, Nick drank his protein shake before showering, then dressing, and finally fixing breakfast while listening to the news. As he plated his scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, the newscaster was just announcing another missing girl, this time from a nightclub downtown. As he heard the name of the nightclub, his fork halted on its way to his mouth. Turning the sound up, he listened as the reporter gave the information on the missing woman.

His phone pinged an incoming text and he turned from the screen to grab it—8am mtg, Janice. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned back, his breakfast forgotten, as he realized his morning had just gotten complicated.