I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the second floor of my complex. I quickly open the stairwell door, exiting and shooting forward, stopping at Mrs. Lincoln’s door. After knocking, she opens it, expecting it to be me.

“I’m sorry I’m even later than my usual late.” My apology makes me cringe inside. I hate them. I hate them even more when I’m the one having to utter the apology.

She waves my comment off as if it wasn’t a bother to watch Gabe an extra three hours—because ten hours isn’t long enough already.

“C’mon in, dear. He ate about an hour ago and he’s been bathed and changed, too. Gabriel is sleeping over there in the playpen.” She swings her hand, waving in the direction of her living room where it’s set up. “It’s never a problem.” She sits down, sinking into her worn recliner.

“Still, I’m sorry. You know I always feel awful when I’m late.” I stay standing, as I want to get the baby home and into his crib for a more restful sleep as quickly as possible. She shouldn’t have to deal with this and I know that. Yet, have I done one thing to try to get Gabe taken by someone else? Hell no, and it isn’t something I want to think too long about. Admitting I don’t want to give him over to someone else isn’t something I’m ready to admit yet.

“Really, Bri, he’s a delight to care for.” She smiles up at me. “The plants around this place might be lacking the tender love and care I usually give them, but I’d much rather tend after that sweet little baby any day.” She picks up a white mug I’m certain has tea in it, from off the table next to her chair.

“I hope you know how grateful I am and appreciate all you do for him, and me too,” I say, walking toward the baby. Looking down, he’s lying on his back with his little arms raised above his head. So innocent. I can’t help the words as they form in my head. So precious and sweet. Stop it! I command my brain.

“Oh, before I forget.” I turn back around, facing her as she stands up. “A gentleman left an envelope for you this morning.”

That’s a little strange, I think. I wasn’t expecting anything in the mail. I’ve been rather good about not shopping online lately so I’m not spending unnecessary money on things that aren’t for Gabe.

I watch her stride over to the small ledge where her kitchen has a see-through to the dining and living room. When she grabs the large yellow envelope, she turns back toward me, bringing it over.

“He was a nice young man, too.” She smiles too brightly. I take this to mean he must have been nice looking.

Could that mean it was Drago? We spoke through text only a couple of hours ago, but he never mentioned or hinted to leaving me anything.

“Was it the guy that comes over to my place sometimes?” I know she’s been curious about him for the last week. I didn’t follow through on my commitment to myself to stop seeing Drago on a too-personal level. Shows how strong I really am.

I haven’t told her he’s Gabe’s father either. Hell, Drago doesn’t even know he’s allegedly the father and I’m not sure if I should or shouldn’t tell him. I want to, but I shouldn’t want to. Yet, it just feels wrong not telling him since the DNA result landed on my desk.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t that Italian cutie. Which, by the way, are you and he official yet?” She holds out her hand with the envelope.

“We’re just friends,” I tell her as I take it.

“Shame.” I hear her mumble under her breath, followed by a long sigh as she walks back to her chair, sitting down again. “Maybe”—I watch her face light up—“this new gentleman will be more than friends then.” Her eyebrows rise, causing me to let out a light chuckle.

“I don’t even know who left this.” I lift my hand that’s holding the envelope. “There isn’t even a name or anything to indicate who this man is.” I need to get Gabe home, but I’m curious. “What did he look like? Did he give you his name? Have you ever seen him before? What exactly did he say?” I fire question after question at her and in turn, her eyebrows turn down.

Damn, the cop in me is coming out in full swing with my questions.

“Well, dear, he was tall and in tip-top shape. The man definitely puts in time at one of those gyms. Yum,” she moans. “Nice milk chocolatey skin with brown eyes. I could just eat him up.”

“So, he was a black man then?”

“Well, yes,” she says dryly, as if that were obvious. “But the way I said it made him sounds . . . dreamy. The way you put it sounds like you’re profiling him.”

“I was. I’m a cop. I profile everyone.”

“Even me?” she gasps, placing her palm over her chest.

“Of course,” I admit. “You can never be too sure about one’s neighbor,” I joke.

After picking up Gabe, keeping him wrapped in his warm, blue blanket, I say my goodbyes and then leave.

---

Gabriel goes down without a fuss, making me skeptical that he’ll remain that way. That’s usually a sign he’ll be up way before dawn, and there is no telling how long he’d been asleep for my neighbor. In the last week, he’s been sleeping mostly through the night, but only if I keep him up later. Other than Drago popping by twice this week, I’ve been able to do that, and I’ve managed to get a decent night’s sleep.

I’ve been getting my ass handed to me these past few weeks in my daily workouts and that shit’s getting old. I’m decent at holding my own—or so I thought.

Shutting the hot water off, I pull the shower curtain back and then reach for a towel.

A yawn cuts through my lips as I head into my closet, snatching up a pair of cotton shorts and a thin, white, long-sleeve Henley.

I need more sleep. I need longer sleep. I need my life back.

I know my neighbor has a point; Gabriel does need someone that will care for him like a child should be. I’m just not convinced I’m that person. Scratch that, I know I’m not that person. I’m doing a half-ass job with Gabe at best, and I’m failing miserably with my investigation that somehow doesn’t feel like a case I’m working anymore. I’m not even eating that great, which is probably one of the reasons I’m in a shitty mood right now.

I yank up my shorts, ready for this month to be over when I hear a hard knock on my door. Heading out of my bedroom, I wonder who it could be. I’m not expecting anyone.

There’s another knock as I lean into the door, looking through the peephole. Seeing Drago, my lips spread wide on their own accord. My earlier berate about not doing my job where he’s concerned is forgotten as I quickly pull open the door.

He’s leaning into the frame of the door, looking tall, dark, and sexy as fuck, holding two plastic bags.

“Hungry?” He lifts the bags.

“Maybe.” My stomach takes that moment to growl, embarrassingly.

“Sounds like a definitely to me.” One corner of his lips tip, making him look younger. It reminds me of his brother’s easy-going demeanor.

I cross my arms and then lean into the doorframe next to him. Being so close, I have to look up to see his eyes. He must be in a good mood; they appear lighter than normal.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Chinese.”

I force a smile on my face, and not because I dislike that type of cuisine. I love it actually, but nine times out of ten it gives me a headache. I don’t have the heart to tell him. I’ll just deal with the misery MSG is sure to bring me.

“I guess you can come in then.” I push off the entryway and then take a step back to let him come inside. “Want a beer?”

“I’d love one—or six.” He laughs. I turn, facing him as he closes the door.

“Bad day?” I question. That’s the opposite thought I had moments ago, I think, walking backward to get us drinks out of the refrigerator.

“No.” He shakes his head, placing the bags down on the coffee table and then sitting on the couch in front of them. “A long one, though, with a long drive.”

Where did you go?” I ask, twisting the cap off both longneck bottles before handing him one and then taking a sip out of the other.

“Had some business to take care of outside of San Diego.” He shrugs, not looking me in the eyes. Scooting off the couch, sitting on the floor in front of my coffee table, he starts taking our food out.

Something strikes me as off. It’s not his steady, cool voice, but more so his body language.

Drago isn’t the shrugging type, at least not that I’ve witnessed; no behavior that would give me that impression. He’s too in control of himself. I doubt most people would have picked up on it, but being—

My thought cuts off when his eyes snap up to mine. I haven’t spoken nor moved to sit down next to him. It doesn’t take an educated guess to wonder what’s flipping through my brain, and those eyes beneath dark lashes reveal too much.

“Stop profiling me and sit your ass down.” There’s no bark to his words. It’s not an order, and if it were, I’d do the opposite just to piss him off. Maybe that’s his point. Maybe that’s what he wants me to do so I’ll stop scrutinizing him.

He huffs, leaning back against the couch; dinner momentarily forgotten.

“If there is something you want to ask, then get on with the questioning.” He slides one leg up, propping his elbow on his knee.

I take the opportunity to bring my beer up to my lips, slowly tipping the bottle back. My eyes never waver as the cold liquid slides down my throat, proving I’m right—irritation flares. He doesn’t like my silence. Drago doesn’t know how to handle it.

Is it wrong of me to find a smidgen of happiness in that?

“There’s nothing in particular I want to ask,” I say, throwing him a bone. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

I tip the bottle back again and keep watching as his jaw locks.

“Didn’t we go over this? I’m not into anything illegal.”

“We did.” I set the bottle in my hand down on the glass table next to the Styrofoam container he’s placed out for me and then I round the table, stepping over him, sitting on his lap with my knees pressed into the floor next to his sides. “I said I’d take your word and I do. I believe you until you prove otherwise.” I cup his face in both hands as I stare down, firmly and honestly, letting him into my soul. “Just don’t prove otherwise.” I shake my head from side to side.

Drago wraps his hands around my hips as the irritation seeps out of his facial expression. He kisses me on the next move. It’s not frenzied. He’s slow about it and that makes it so much hotter.

Do I think he’s hiding something from me? Yes, I do.

Do I think he’s a bad man? A criminal? An evil person that would harm a child? I don’t. When we’re together, my gut feeling is to believe he is none of those things. Does being in his arms and enjoying our time together cloud my judgment? Most definitely, but it wouldn’t feel this good or this right if Drago didn’t have a pure heart.

It couldn’t.

And God help me if I’m wrong.

No matter what happens, if this goes south, if he’s lying to me, I will do everything within my power to protect the little boy that’s sleeping in the other room. I might give in to pleasure, but I do so with eyes wide open.

If it comes down to it, and I pray it doesn’t, I will choose Gabriel’s safety and wellbeing over anything else. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s stolen more than just a room in my condo. He’s stolen my heart. And I also know that’s exactly why I haven’t called the chief about him still being in my care. It’s why I haven’t said a word to Mike. If Mike knew I still had him, he would have jumped on it and gotten in touch with Tom’s contact.

But my neighbor is right. Isn’t she? He does need someone to care for him the right way. A child needs more than food in their bellies. More than a warm bed to sleep in at night. They need love.

My eyes open when he pulls away from my lips. I hadn’t even realized they’d closed.

He’s looking right at me, but he’s not present as if he’s deep in thought. The moment he finally reappears, I know he’s going to ask me whatever it is he has on his mind.

“Why are you breaking protocol?” His thick, dark eyebrows almost meet together. “Why did you let me take you home with me that night? Hell, why did you start up something you knew you shouldn’t have?”

“I wish I fucking knew.”

What else am I going to tell him—or myself? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be in this predicament. Not that it’s unpleasant, but there is an embarrassing aspect to it. I’m risking a lot. I’m risking everything on something that could play out to be just a fling. For the life of me, I don’t know why. There has to be more than an overwhelming amount of attraction between us. There has to be . . .

“You’re putting your career on the line.” His words are a statement. And one I hadn’t wanted voiced.

I lean back, looking away from him because I hadn’t wanted to voice that out loud. It’s one thing for them to roll around in my head. It’s another for it to be laid out in the open.

“You sure you want to do that?”

“No.”

I’m not. I love my job. I know I’m good at it. It’s not something I’ll ever willingly walk away from. The pay sucks, but the fulfillment I get out of it is worth so much more than money. No—I’ll have to be forced to leave my role in law enforcement.

“Then tell me to leave.”

His words cut something inside my chest. I look back at him. His hands are no longer on me. His palms are planted on the floor, pressing into the hardwood as if he’s making himself stay in place so he doesn’t touch me. His body is rigid, bracing for my reply—my command.

He’s giving me the chance to walk away from him. Yet his eyes have a plea in them.

“Tell me to get out, Bri.”

I know I’m not going to. My mouth wouldn’t cooperate even if I wanted it to. Fact is, I don’t want that.

Why am I willing to risk so much for him? Aren’t I putting Gabriel’s life at risk by allowing him in my home, in my life, in Gabe’s life?

“I’m giving you one more chance.” His eyes bore into mine. “Give the order, Bri, because if you don’t, you’ll never have another chance to walk away from me. From this.”

If he’s trying to scare me, he’s doing a shit job of it. If he wants out of this, then he can be a man and leave on his own accord. I want my job and apparently, I want him just as much. And I might want Gabriel.

I remain silent, not uttering a sound besides the breath entering and leaving my lungs. He’s still, watching me, waiting for something that’s never going to come. At least not tonight.

“I hope it’s fucking worth it,” he mutters before grabbing me in an aggressive embrace, smashing his lips to mine, and holding me tighter than he ever has before. My soul sparks with something I’ve only ever felt when I have that baby in my arms. I haven’t a word I can assign to it yet because it’s too new. It’s so foreign that I think I’m scared to admit what I think it is.

“So do I,” I whisper between us.

My stomach makes another demand for food, this time louder, and D smiles against my lips.

“Let’s eat.” He taps my butt. “It’s probably cold but . . .” He trails off as I flip around, settling between his legs.

I’m even hungrier than I thought when I start shoveling sesame chicken into my mouth. I missed lunch today when a tip came in that a well-known drug dealer was at his mom’s house. Connie and I had been searching for over three months for his whereabouts. Today was our break. We were able to apprehend him along with his cousin that skipped bail on a drug charge last month. I call that a win-win.

We eat relatively silent. I’m not going to push Drago, right now, to tell me the details of his business. But in the back of my mind, I know he has to give me something to bring back to the chief. I’ll take any kernel I can get at this point.

“I gotta piss. Can I use your bathroom?” Drago asks once he’s finished his dinner, tossing a used napkin inside his container.

He taps my hips, asking me to let him up. I’m done, so I crawl around to the side of my coffee table, getting out of his way.

“No,” I shake my head, but a laugh bubbles out. “Of course you can. You don’t have to ask, you know.”

Getting up, he leans over our food, snatching my lips up in a quick kiss.

Tasty, I think when he pulls away.

He heads down the hall, so I take the opportunity to admire his backside. He’s got a tight, high ass and just the thought of it bare has heat rising up my chest.

Later, Bri, later.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin, discarding it into the Styrofoam container when I finish, then I stand, taking everything to the trash. Shoving it down into the can, I pack the garbage so I don’t have to take it out until tomorrow morning. I’m tired and all I want to do is be lazy.

I wash my hands, drying them with the hand towel I have laying next to the sink, then notice the envelope I forgot I placed on the ledge when I got home. I pick it up, flipping it over, making sure I didn’t miss any marking that would tell me who left it. After not seeing anything, I rip the flap open, pulling the contents out.

It looks to be several letter-size photographs with a yellow sticky note on the top that reads: D doesn’t know I gave these to you. Keep it that way.

Luca? His brother is my first thought. He’s the only other person besides myself that I know calls Drago by his first initial, but then I squash that thought remembering my neighbor said the man was black.

I take the sticky note off, sticking it to the discarded envelope lying on the kitchen counter.

The first photo is of Brandon Marino, carrying what I recognize as the thick envelope from the photo Chasity Carlisle presented to me. Tucking that photo to the back of the stack, I look at the next one. It’s almost the same, only this time Drago is in the picture, and from what I can tell Marino is walking toward him.

I hear the toilet flush, so I quickly scan the rest. They’re in order of the events happening, playing out like an old-school cartoon. Marino stops in front of Drago. Then he raises his hand, stretching it out in front of Drago as if he is handing that package over.

Drago does place his hand on it, but in this photo, Marino is still holding it too. In the next photo, it looks like Drago has taken a step away from Marino—who still has the package. Both men have scowling expressions on their faces. The last three are of Drago walking away from Marino, who remains holding the thick envelope, crushing it in his hands.

Without thinking too long, I stuff the photos back in the container I took them out of, opening a drawer in my kitchen and stuffing it there.

Whoever left these for me didn’t want Drago to know. I wonder why? Until I do, I decide not to share this with Drago even though it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like going against my gut, and I know somewhere deep down, I’m probably making a mistake. But then again, jumping on this until I know more could also prove a misjudgment. At least being silent buys me some time to figure out who sent them.

It can’t be Luca, his brother, so who was here? Could Drago have been the one that had him leave it, thinking it would clear his name?

Too many questions are swirling around in my head and I want answers to them right now.

“You didn’t have to clean up, babe.” I look up, seeing Drago stepping into the kitchen. “I would have done it.”

“No big deal,” I tell him, turning and leaning my hip against the drawer I stashed the photos inside of, feeling a pang of guilt by keeping this from him.

He’s watching me again, and it feels the same as how I watch him at times when I’m waiting to see if he’s going to reveal something. Maybe he does know I have those pictures and he’s waiting for me to tell him.

I turn, my butt pressed against the counter to face him when he nears. He lifts me off the ground, planting me on the edge so that I’m almost eye level with him. He steps between my legs as his hands softly cup my face.

“I like you.”

“You’ve already told me that.”

He breathes out hard, air from his nose fanning my face with a quick laugh escaping his lips in the process.

“I like you a lot.”

“Good,” I say, leaning forward and placing my hands on his sides. “I like you a lot, too.”

He smirks, liking my declaration and there is something mischievous in the depths of his eyes.

“Well, I came for a booty call, so can I take you to bed now?”

“Fuck you!” I half laugh, showing him a surprised expression. Shaking my head, I say, “I didn’t call you to come over here. You just showed up.”

“Yeah, to fuck you.” His eyes light up playfully, making my chest swoon. I pinch the flesh on his side through his T-shirt. “Ow.” He bends, moving away from my hand.

“Take me to bed then.” I smile, not able to contain the Cheshire Cat grin I’m sure is on my face.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He scoops me off the countertop and does just what he says—only I wouldn’t call the hour he spent slowly working me up only to move at an agonizing, hellish pace in and out of me for longer than I’ve ever had a man inside me, fucking. No, if I thought about it long enough, I’d call that something else. Something I’m not ready to do just yet.