“Yo, Ware!” Matthew Herrington’s voice echoed across the cavernous gym to where Detective Landon Ware was beating the shit out of a punching bag since he couldn’t take his fists to Terrance Weems, a scumbag Landon had put away a year ago, and the system had kicked back out on parole. First thing Terrance did was go home and knock out his ex-wife’s front teeth.

He was back in the pen, and he’d probably stay this time, but dammit, Landon had busted his ass to get the shithead locked up. To protect that poor woman whom Weems had spent years waling on. And one idiotic bureaucratic decision had destroyed all of that.

He loved his job, dammit. But there were times when the system was seriously fucked up.

“Your cell phone’s ringing. Display says it’s from Brent Sinclair. Want me to answer?”

“Just let it roll to voice mail,” Landon said. He’d see Brent soon enough. Tonight Landon’s buddy Derek was running the Man of the Month gauntlet at The Fix, just a couple of blocks away from Herrington’s gym. That’s what came from being in love. Derek’s girlfriend was Amanda, and Amanda’s best friend was in charge of the contest. Which meant that when one of the contestants had to drop out, she’d tagged Derek.

Landon assumed that Amanda had encouraged him to do it and would undoubtedly be yelling the loudest when Derek stripped off his shirt. They were a good match, Landon would give them that. But good matches were rare in his experience, and he hoped his friend appreciated what he had.

Then again, Derek had been topsy-turvy for Amanda for a while now, and the fact that she was finally all-in had Derek doing a permanent happy dance.

Which, of course, explained why Derek had agreed to do the contest. And why Landon was heading to The Fix next, just to watch his friend’s abject humiliation. Or rather, that was where he was heading after he’d burned off enough of his bad mood to be decent company.

He kept at it for another ten minutes, and by the time he stopped, his arms felt like spaghetti. “Not a bad workout,” Matthew said. “Good thing I only invest in quality gym equipment. Pretty sure you would have come near to destroying another bag.”

Matthew wasn’t wrong, but there was humor in his voice.

“I was picturing a particular face,” Landon admitted.

“Rough day at the office?”

“The roughest,” Landon said. “Which says a lot considering I’m on vacation.”

“Did it help?” Matt nodded toward the punching bag.

Landon tried out a smile, managed a slight grin. “Guess so. At least a little.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service. You heading to The Fix?”

Landon nodded. “As soon as I shower. You?”

“I shouldn’t, but I am.”

“Shouldn’t?” Landon had been mopping his face with one of the chilled towels that Matthew kept in three small refrigerators around the gym. Now he peered at his friend. “Why not? I know you’re not giving up whiskey. Selma would disown you.”

Matthew and Landon had met in high school, where their favorite occupations were running track and teasing Selma, Matthew’s quirky sister, who now ran a local distillery that was gaining national attention.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Matthew said. “It’s just that there’s this woman who hangs out there sometimes. This lawyer, and she’s, well, it doesn’t matter…” He trailed off with a shrug, and Landon sighed. He considered diving into part two of his lecture about how Matthew needed to get over the fact that he’d dropped out of high school. He’d opened a successful chain of gyms, had a full-to-overflowing bank account, and was a genuinely nice guy. Any woman who couldn’t see that was an idiot.

Not that Matthew lacked for female companionship. As a gym owner, it was part of his job to stay in shape, and Landon had noticed that Matthew rarely lacked a woman on his arm. Or, presumably, in his bed. That, apparently, wasn’t enough to quiet the self-doubt. Which, Landon thought, was a damn shame, because Matthew actually wanted a relationship. Wanted to wake up next to a woman, and go to bed with her every night. A lover. A friend.

A wife.

And, dammit, Landon didn’t have the heart to tell his friend that what he wanted was a goddamn fantasy. For better or for worse was bullshit except for those few lucky ones. He thought Derek and Amanda fit that bill. He hoped they did. But the odds were good that Matthew wouldn’t get that lucky.

God knew, Landon himself had played the odds, only to have fate give him a swift, hard kick in the balls.

Determined not to bring Matthew down, Landon forced the thoughts of Vanessa from his mind. “Let me grab a shower and we can walk over together. You got someone watching the desk?”

Matthew shook his head. “I changed up the hours. Gold members only after seven-thirty. By then, the after-work crowd’s cleared out, and everyone who’s gold has a key fob to get in.”

Landon nodded, then headed back to the locker room. The Lavaca Street location of Herrington’s Gym was one of six in the Austin metropolitan area, and Matthew was talking to an attorney about franchising his business. Landon hoped it worked out; from what he’d seen, Matthew was making bank. Apparently there were a lot of people out there willing to pay good money to sweat, himself included.

Fifteen minutes later, though, that sweat had been showered away, and he was clean and dressed in jeans, boots, and a clean Austin Police Department T-shirt. The walk to The Fix was short—just a few blocks to the north on Congress, and then a few blocks to the east on Sixth—and they arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, to find there wasn’t a seat left in the house.

They parted ways, Landon to go track down Brent, and Matthew to try to wrangle a free chair, though Landon was pretty sure his real plan was reconnaissance in the hopes of finding the lawyer he was so interested in. As for himself, Landon found Brent near the back, lecturing a skinny-ass kid who’d apparently tried to buy whiskey using a fake ID.

As soon as the kid scurried off toward the exit, Landon met Brent’s eyes. His friend shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Kids,” Brent said.

“Rough gig you got here,” Landon said. “Sure you don’t want to come back to the APD?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Brent shot back. “You know damn well I miss it. You also know why I left.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” Landon said, feeling chastised. “I’m just being an ass.” After all, he did know why Brent walked away from the department almost six years ago, despite having just made lieutenant. Not only that, but Landon knew that Brent genuinely loved his job, and The Fix, and the people he worked with. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Come work with me,” Brent suggested. “You just saw about how rough my world gets lately.” He spread his hands. “But at least I know my little girl has a parent coming home every night.”

Since any discussion of the inherent dangers of the job inevitably reminded Landon of why Vanessa left, he shifted the subject back on topic. “I saw you called. Checking to see if I was coming tonight?”

“Hell, yeah. Didn’t you know it’s my life’s mission to keep tabs on you?”

Landon shook his head. “Funny.”

“No, the truth is, I need a favor.”

“Anything, man. You know that.” As he spoke, the now-familiar Man of the Month music filled the bar, and the spotlight caught Beverly Martin, a rising indie film star who was the contest’s emcee, as she walked up the stairs. Almost out of reflex, Landon craned his neck, looking not at Beverly, but off stage to the spot operator. He expected to see Taylor. Hell, he wanted to see her.

Instead, Mina was there.

Before he could check himself, he’d whipped back around to face Brent. “Where’s Taylor?” he asked, and although it might have been his imagination, he was pretty sure he saw a flicker of amusement play over Brent’s face.

“And that, my friend, is the favor.”

---

Taylor.

Someone was stalking Taylor.

And dear God, if that sonofabitch laid so much as a finger on her, Landon would rearrange his face and teach him a new definition of pain.

He drew in a breath, trying to force himself back down to calm.

Shit.

Too bad calm was proving to be more than a little difficult to reach. He had to settle for taking slow, measured breaths. His mind was still churning, but his body relaxed. The calm before the storm, maybe. But at least it was one brand of calm.

Landon and Brent had moved into Tyree’s office, and now that Landon was replaying the highlights of their conversation over again in his mind, it was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep his shit together. Especially when all he really wanted to do was put his fist through a wall. Or, better, through the asshole student who’d been stalking her.

Assuming it was the asshole student.

“What else do you know about this kid? Do we have a name?”

“We don’t. But if you’re willing to step in and keep an eye on her, I’m sure you can get her to tell you.”

“I want to know if he has a record. If anyone at the University has filed a harassment claim. Talk to some of his classmates. See if any of them have the vibe.”

“Which means you’re going to do this,” Brent said, the words a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Landon said, without missing a beat. “I’m going to do this.” The truth was, he barely knew Taylor, but the woman had gotten under his skin. He’d first seen her when she’d crashed into him on the sidewalk just outside The Fix. He’d been coming out; she’d been racing to get there on time. Her body and been flush against his for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time, he’d pretty much seen heaven.

She’d mumbled flustered apologies and disappeared inside, leaving him to his prurient fantasies.

A few weeks later, he’d popped into The Fix to watch the Man of the Month contest after Brent had given him a heads-up, and he’d been curious enough to take a look.

He’d been glad that he had. Not because he gave a flip about the men strutting around on that stage, but because he’d sat in the back of the bar, his view of the stage partially blocked by the same woman. He got a better look at her that time. A dark-haired woman with a ponytail, the kind of small waist a man could use for a handhold, and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

But it was her face that had really done him in. Pretty, but not classically so. Her mouth was a little too wide, her nose a little too crooked, her chin just slightly off center. But those brilliant eyes … damn, but they could light up a room.

As far as Landon was concerned, it was the most interesting face he’d ever seen, and it was paired with a body that had conjured the kind of thoughts that made his mouth go dry. She’d been leaning forward over a step stool as she operated the spotlight, and he’d had a truly enticing view of thighs, long and lean and undoubtedly strong enough to wrap tight around a man.

He’d lost all interest in the contest at that moment, and he’d spent the time watching the girl. The way her small, cute ass moved in her jeans. The smile that lit her face when she turned and greeted a friend.

Holy hell, she’d gotten under his skin. And he’d been back every contest since. Sometimes just sitting in the back, alone and anonymous. Other times chatting with Brent or Derek. On more than one occasion, he’d caught her eye across the bar and felt the sparks fly between them.

He’d learned her name, of course, and they’d even spoken a few times, her melodic voice dancing over his body in a way that made him want to run back to Herrington’s Gym and take a cold shower.

She’d told him that she was a graduate student in the theater department who Jenna had hired as a stage manager. And each time he came to watch the contest, he’d expected her to be less enticing. That he’d look at her and simply see a pretty white woman. Not someone who made his body fire simply from the sight of her.

Yet that reaction never faded. If anything it had grown stronger.

He knew better than to think that meant anything, of course. There’d been only one other woman in his life with whom he’d felt that kind of instant attraction—Vanessa. And God knew that hadn’t turned out well.

On top of that, Taylor had to be at least ten years younger than him, and as far as Landon was concerned, that was too damn young.

The girl was off-limits. No two ways about it.

But goddammit, he couldn’t stay away. Especially not now that he knew someone was harassing her.

On the contrary, he’d stick to her like glue.

He’d protect her.

That was all he could do, and he told himself it would be enough for her.

But it damn sure wouldn’t be enough for him.

He shifted in the chair, turning his attention back to Brent, who was looking at him with the kind of expression that suggested he could read Landon’s mind. “Where is she?” he asked.

“I put her up at The Winston,” Brent said. “I talked to Derek before the contest, and he called his security people. They’ll keep an eye on the room, and she’s registered under my name.”

“Good.”

“I told Mina to go by after the contest. I wasn’t sure when I’d get in touch with you, and I figured she’d want a friend there tonight. I suggested she take a bottle of wine, order a movie, and the two of them should just kick back and forget about the whole thing.”

Again, Landon nodded. “Also good.” He didn’t need to go tonight. Better to give her a chance to rest. To gather her thoughts. To have one last night before she was shadowed by a cop.

Definitely best for her if he went by first thing in the morning.

The hell of it was, though, Landon didn’t want to wait.