The following day, Faith stepped outside into the early-morning light and observed North Callaghan’s truck in its usual place—and his bike inching over onto her side of the driveway. The guy knew no boundaries. Annoyance punched her in the chest. Just another point of contention to be discussed.

She swung her gaze to glare at his door for a long moment in the already humid morning. The cicadas’ song congested the air as the moment stretched. She plucked at her silk blouse to keep it from sticking to her skin. Pencil skirt. Fancy blouse. Heels. Today she’d gone all out. She had to testify in court and had dressed for the occasion. There was also the chance she might run into Brendan.

She continued to glare at that door. At this early hour, she didn’t know if his guest was still visiting or had left sometime in the night. There was no strange car parked along the street, but that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps North Callaghan drove her home—or not.

Last night, she’d eaten her chow mein downstairs and watched Chopped at full volume, but that didn’t stop the faint sounds of opera sex from trickling down and attacking her ears. Honestly, she didn’t know how many more nights like that she could endure.

Seized with sudden impulse, she dove back inside her house. In her kitchen, she scrawled a quick note on a piece of paper. Finished, she stared at it for a moment, making certain it said everything she wanted it to say.

Polite. Succinct.

Nodding to herself, she swung her purse and satchel back over her shoulder and exited her house, heels clicking on the concrete. On her way to her car, she stopped and stuck the paper between the windshield wipers of his truck. Feeling pleased with herself, she dusted her hands and climbed inside her car.

Now she only had to wait.

Once in her car, she went straight to the courthouse. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the outskirts of Sweet Hill to the city’s small downtown area. Fortunately, she was the first witness called in to the custody hearing over eight-year-old Noah Grimes. Faith had worked his case upon moving back to Sweet Hill after grad school. The parents, in and out of jail for various drug charges, had failed to send him to school—despite all their promises. A bus picked up within walking distance of their home, so that wasn’t an issue. He should be in the second grade by now, but he was at a kindergarten reading level. He knew his alphabet and a few common sight words. That was it. No more. His math ability was deficient as well.

In addition to the truancy matter, prior to removing him from his family Faith had noticed he looked thin. Too thin. When she offered him a granola bar, he’d eaten it without taking a breath. The boy’s maternal grandparents were applying for custody and had already been vetted as appropriate guardians. They were loving grandparents who had effectively lost their daughter years ago to her drug addiction and just wanted to save their grandson.

They sat in the courtroom now, solemn-eyed and attentive to the proceedings. After delivering her testimony, Faith stepped down from the witness stand. She mentally sighed as Noah’s mother buried her face in her hands and wept. They were always sorry. Always remorseful. Her husband, a tall, cadaverous-looking man whom Faith knew to be twenty-eight but looked more like thirty-eight, pushed up abruptly from the table where he sat. The action sent his chair banging to the floor.

His attorney placed a restraining hand on his arm but it did no good. His eyes bulged as he stabbed a finger in Faith’s direction. “You got it wrong! You don’t know nothing, bitch! I’m a good father! You did this, you stupid bitch!”

The judge banged on her gavel, calling for order. Court officers swarmed him. Faith hurried from the courtroom, shooting a quick, encouraging smile at Noah’s grandparents. Mr. Grimes wasn’t the first angry parent she’d ever encountered. She knew better than to take it personally. At the end of the day, when she looked in the mirror, she could take comfort in the fact that little Noah was living in a safe and loving home. That fact made suffering one asshole parent bearable.

She left the courthouse and was back at the office by 10 a.m. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come into contact with Brendan at the courthouse, so the special care she had taken with her wardrobe and hair for his sake turned out to be a waste of time.

She spent a little over an hour answering emails and catching up on work before Wendy popped her head inside her cubicle. “Hey, let’s go get some lunch.”

“I’ve got an interview at Washington Elementary at two—”

“Plenty of time. Frank’s right outside.”

Faith reached inside her drawer and grabbed her purse. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

One of Sweet Hill’s favorite taco trucks was parked outside the building. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed everyone stampeding outside. CPS shared office space with several other government entities.

There was always a bit of guessing where Frank’s would be from day to day. It was early yet. They were lucky that the line wasn’t too long.

“So?” Wendy asked as they sat side by side on a concrete bench eating their tacos. “Excited for your hot date Saturday?”

She chewed her last bite of pulled-pork-and-pineapple-slaw taco, covering her stuffed mouth with her fingers. She nodded assent.

“Brendan Cooper.” Wendy whistled. “Girl, he’s a catch.”

Faith nodded, finally swallowing her bite. “I know. I’ve been hoping he would ask me out for a long time.”

“Well, c’mon. It’s not easy for any guy in this town to get up the nerve to approach you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad is the retired sheriff. Your brother is scary as all get-out and he’s the new sheriff. Your other brother is like a flippin’ Green Beret.”

“Army Ranger,” she corrected, using a napkin to wipe at her lips.

“Whatever. Not much distinction. He can still kill a man with his bare hands.”

She nodded. “This is true.” Hale, for that matter, could do the same. He’d served in the Army as well, before returning home to work with Dad.

It was the same song and dance from when she was a teenager. She thought it didn’t matter so much anymore. She thought that any man worth his salt wouldn’t be so intimidated. Not if he really liked her. At least that’s what she always told herself.

“So. Where are you and Brendan going?”

“I don’t know. He texted me this morning to ask where I would like to go to dinner.”

“Oooh. I hope you said someplace really good. Like Ruby’s Steakhouse,” she suggested, naming the expensive restaurant

Faith toyed with the edge of her taco. “Not sure if I want to eat an enormous steak dinner on our first date.”

“Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t want to feel stuffed and bloated if you get naked.”

She snorted. “I think you forgot a key phrase there. First date.”

Wendy stared at her with wide, solemn eyes. “You never know. You haven’t been on a date in a good while and he’s a good-looking man. He might make a move. Just saying . . . you better be sure to shave above the knee.”

She tried not to let Wendy’s words fluster her as she went back to work. She wanted a relationship. She wanted love . . . and sex. Now there was a prospect of that on the horizon. She should be thrilled. She was.

She blamed it on this clash with her neighbor. It hung over her like a thundercloud. Hopefully by the end of the day all this could be sorted out and put behind her. Maybe even by the time she got home, he would have read her note and be ready to clear the air between them.

He found the note on his windshield.

It was midmorning. He wasn’t clocking in at work until one o’clock today.

He exited his backyard through his side fence, carrying the large copper-and-aluminum sculpture he needed to deliver to Dr. Perry, a local dentist who’d hired North to create a piece for the waiting area of his office. He existed primarily on his salary from the garage, but his freelance work was gaining momentum and starting to bring in a nice bit of income. His reputation was growing. Three months ago he’d created a sculpture for an agent in Nashville, so word was getting around. A year ago he’d developed a website featuring his work and he received a steady amount of inquiries. It kept him busy. Busy was good. Kept his mind from thinking too much, from going places he didn’t want it to go.

Grunting, he lifted the heavy piece into the back of his truck, managing not to wrench his back, when he noticed the paper stuck there, fluttering in the barest breeze. Grabbing it, he read the note on some kind of soft green stationery.

At your earliest convenience . . .

So fucking proper. Only a woman who baked scones would use such a phrase.

Faith. Even her damn name was proper. She was probably old and matronly . . . living with a bunch of cats and scones. That’s probably what she fed her cats. Her day-old scones.

He was sure she had some gripe or complaint. Why else would she have left a note on his windshield? He speculated for a moment, wondering what had prompted the request. He kept to himself. He wasn’t particularly loud. Unless—

Ahh. Red. The dancer from last night. He wasn’t loud, but she, on the other hand . . . she had been very loud.

The minute they’d finished he had regretted bringing her back home with him. Even if it took the edge off, he just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Alone.

He wasn’t much into kissing. Kissing was too personal and he didn’t want that kind of intimacy from the women he took to bed. He just wanted a quick release.

That said, women always wanted kissing, so he did his part and gave them one or two at the beginning. Red had tasted like the ashtray he’d predicted and her whimpers reminded him of a kicked puppy. Her speaking voice wasn’t much better. It was nasal and overly loud. He was relieved when she didn’t stick around and he didn’t have to be the asshole and ask her to leave. The worst was when they wanted to cuddle. Things really got awkward then.

He glanced down at the note again, staring at the looping handwriting. It was pretty. Elegant. Nothing like his chicken scratch. It made him wonder. Holding the note in his hand, he wondered at the scone-baking woman who wrote it. He looked over at her duplex—sharing a wall with his own. He winced. Naturally she had heard him banging some woman whose name he didn’t even know.

Damn it. He guessed he had to talk to her. Later.

For now, he hopped in his truck and dropped off the sculpture. He was gratified at how pleased Dr. Perry was with it. He loved the piece and assured North he would have more work for him again soon. He also told him that he had even recommended North to one of his friends who wanted a smoke pit for his backyard.

Feeling pleased with himself, North headed to the garage and spent the rest of the day working on the custom bikes awaiting his attention there.

By 5 p.m. he called it quits and headed home.

He slowed as he turned onto his street. Both driveways were empty. Apparently he had time to take a shower and get the stink off him before he knocked on Faith Walters’s door. At least he then wouldn’t offend the proper Miss Walters with his smell.

He took his time, showering for a long while, letting the warm water spray over his body. He never got tired of having his own shower. No water shutting off when the allotted time was up. No COs, no other inmates. The privacy meant never having to watch his back.

When he finished he grabbed a towel and chafed his head with it, rubbing the long strands of his hair dry. Walking from the bathroom, he noticed a message on his phone. He pushed play, then grimaced at the sound of his brother’s voice inviting him to dinner. Again. He was overdue. He’d have to stop dodging him and go soon.

After setting the phone down, he peered out the blinds of his front living room window and stilled at the sight of Faith Walters’s familiar car pulling into the driveway. The day’s fading sun hit her windshield, making it difficult to see within. He could only make out that someone sat behind the wheel. A smudge of a shape. No distinguishable face. No features.

He waited, a strange anxious energy filling him as the door swung open. Time crawled as he leaned forward slightly. He held his breath, dragging a hand over the faint stubble on his jaw as Faith Walters emerged, her face obscured. She was talking on her phone, her face tucked awkwardly into her shoulder to keep the phone from falling to the concrete. Even as concealed as she was, he could tell she was young. Not the matronly type he had assumed.

The sleek fall of her hair concealed the side of her face that was facing him. He couldn’t make out any of her features.

Her hands were full, carrying a purse, briefcase bag and coffee mug.

Frustration rolled up in him. Turn. Look at me.

Not getting his way, he shifted his perusal to the rest of her. She was tall and slender, wearing one of those high-waisted snug skirts that stopped just past her knees, with a blouse tucked in. The blouse’s pale fabric was shimmery, the kind that would get snagged on his callused palms.

He’d had his share of spinners, but it wasn’t what he preferred reaching for in the middle of the night. He was big, and he didn’t like the feeling, irrational or not, that he might break a woman. This one looked just right. Perfect. She looked like she would fit him.

His cousin had been a small girl. Petite. His hands curled into fists at his sides as memories of Katie flooded him. He tried not to think about her. Ever.

He tried not to think about how that bastard had enjoyed breaking her and then bragged about it to all his friends. He tried not to remember how he and Knox had made him pay for that.

North shook his head. He didn’t want to think about her. He wanted to forget.

He refocused on his neighbor.

She wasn’t very well-endowed, but her blouse draped over her slight breasts like a lover’s hand, and his palms tingled, itching to mold their shape.

She carried herself toward her door, her high heels clicking over the concrete as she talked on her phone. Even without her heels, she would be tall. He wouldn’t have to bend down very far to claim her mouth. Her long legs would wrap around him and anchor him nicely.

Her shoes were sexy as fuck—nude, a shade darker than her legs. He imagined gripping those heels, flinging them over his shoulders as he wedged himself between her thighs. He would slide his hands along that infinite stretch of skin as he drove inside her.

Obviously he had been with all body types. When he first got paroled he couldn’t get enough sex. Anywhere, any woman, he was down for it. Women and good barbecue. For the first few months he indulged himself in both at every opportunity. He had twelve years to make up for, after all. Twelve years of jacking off and eating crap food on a tray. Understandably, he gorged himself.

Except lately his appetite had been tapering off. Instead of sex every night, once a week was enough. Same went for barbecue. Although a brisket sandwich sounded good tonight. Staring at those legs through the blinds, he decided getting laid didn’t sound too bad either.

His gaze skimmed the long lines of Faith Walters. He felt his cock stir. It wanted. Without even seeing her face, it wanted her. Her body was built for taking everything a man could give and giving it back.

He stopped abruptly at the thought, killing it. He didn’t need to be thinking this way. He didn’t want to be thinking this way. Not about her. There were other women out there to fuck. He needed to forget about this one.

He glanced down. Too bad his body wasn’t of the same school of thought.

He still hadn’t dressed. His cock jutted out, hard and aching, the head flushed a hungry reddish hue. All for a woman whose face he hadn’t even seen.

Once upon a time, he could have been with a girl like her. He’d applied to a half-dozen colleges and planned to attend Texas A&M alongside Knox, who was there in his second year. Their lives took a different turn, however, the night they went after Mason Leary.

Now, a woman like her wouldn’t so much as touch him. He scoffed. She wanted to talk to him at his earliest convenience. He shook his head. Fuck that.

He avoided trouble. Ever since he’d been paroled he had managed to stay out of trouble, and he intended to keep it that way.

Granted, his impulse control was low when it came to women, but he hadn’t broken any laws. No, it was simply fucking—trouble of a different sort, but the good it did him, the need it served when he slaked his lust in a woman’s body, far outweighed any risk he courted.

Suddenly the idea of meeting her was a sour concept.

He didn’t want to exchange niceties. Some sixth sense told him to avoid her, and he had long ago learned to trust his instincts.

She was his neighbor, so it wouldn’t be an easy matter to escape her. She was proper . . . what Uncle Mac would have called a lady. She was the type that would want to cuddle with any man to warm her bed.

His partners were women into casual sex. Women that didn’t mind shacking up with a former con. One look at this female told him that she would very much mind that. There was nothing casual about her. She probably only ever fucked tax attorneys and men who played golf on Sunday afternoons—oh, and it wasn’t fucking for her. It was making love.

Turning from the window, he grabbed a beer out of his fridge and marched upstairs to get dressed, deciding he would forget all about her.

He rubbed at the center of his chest where the dull, twisting ache was flaring up again. It was his earlier thought of Katie. It chased him like a fog that would never fully fade.

His cousin was dead and it was partly his fault. He knew he wasn’t to blame for her attack, but what he’d done afterward to Mason Leary . . . yeah, he was responsible for that. Killing Leary hadn’t been right. He knew that now. Not that he and Knox had set out to kill the bastard. They’d wanted him to admit what he’d done to Katie, but things had gotten out of hand. Especially once Leary started mouthing off and calling Katie dirty names.

Killing Leary wasn’t what Katie needed to heal. She had needed North and Knox to be around to support her. She needed them to not go to prison.

North had been closest in age to his cousin. She’d talked to him about everything. Confided in him. He still remembered when she had told him about her upcoming date with Mason Leary. She had been so excited, and he’d been happy for her. She’d tried on and modeled her outfits in front of him that night. They had both agreed that the blue shirtdress with boots was the way to go. The old familiar bile rose up in his throat when he remembered the state of that dress after Leary was finished with her.

North and Katie had a special bond, and he’d turned his back on her—abandoned her—when he and Knox got arrested.

The last thing she’d needed to hear was a judge pronounce them guilty for manslaughter and sentence them to prison. It had been the final cut. The thing that pushed her over the edge. As wrong as he was for taking Leary’s life . . . his greatest crime was what he had done to Katie.

A heavy sigh pushed out past his lips. As for Faith Walters, he needed to forget about her—pretend as though that house was still vacant and continue on with his life as usual.

Stopping, he stared at himself in front of his dresser mirror for a long moment—and did the exact opposite of that. He thought about his neighbor.

His cock was hard, the skin still flushed an angry red, tight and pulsing with hunger. Before he could quite think about what he was doing—or why—he wrapped a hand around himself. Lowering himself on the bed, he sank onto his back and pumped his dick, working it almost savagely from the base to the head, desperate for release . . . for something to take the edge off.

His eyes drifted shut and the image that rose in his mind was of a sleek body in an ass-hugging skirt. Long legs propped up on nude-colored heels. He saw all of that as he fisted himself. Thinking about her wasn’t hurting anything. It was simply a convenient image that got him off. That was all.

That was it.

He closed his eyes, feeling a flash of frustration at the vagueness of her face in his mind’s eye. He could envision parting those thighs well enough, but when he reached for her face, he had nothing. He went back to the memory of her body, the curve of her ass, the straight fall of her hair.

His breathing grew ragged and his balls drew up tight.

He visualized fisting those strands with one hand and gripping that ass with the other, his fingers digging into tender flesh. In his mind he was spreading her thighs wide and driving the swollen length of him into her. He came with a head-tossing groan. His spine arched on the bed as he shot out over himself, rattled in the aftermath.

He was certifiable. Just the thought of some faceless woman had him jacking off to the best release he’d had in months. This shouldn’t have felt so good. It shouldn’t have shattered him so much. Masturbating should not be better than the reality of an actual flesh-and-blood woman. Maybe he was tired of the women he’d been spending time with . . . maybe he wanted something else. Someone. Maybe that’s why nothing—no one—seemed to help take the edge off lately.

Dropping his head back down on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his heavy breaths slowing, wondering what the hell that meant for him.

Decision reached, he quickly rose from the bed and cleaned himself off. That done, he strolled naked downstairs and snatched Faith Walters’s note from where he’d left it on his counter. He crushed the paper in his fist and pulled the front door open in one smooth move. North stepped one foot outside on the porch, then twisted sideways and tossed the note in the direction of her door. It bounced once on her mat before rolling and settling to a stop.

Let her see it there tomorrow. She’d get the message.

His earliest convenience was never.