Joe couldn’t think of one good reason for Gib to be coming out of Kylie’s place when she wasn’t even home. So he held the gun steady, letting it ask the question for him.

But clearly Kylie had other ideas. “Gib,” she gasped, stepping out from behind Joe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Joe didn’t budge, not his stance or gun, and when Gib didn’t speak, she turned on him next. “And what the hell are you doing?” she asked, pointing to his gun. “Put that away.”

What am I doing? Was she serious? She had some asshole playing with her, toying with her emotions, and she didn’t understand why he’d pull a gun on a guy coming out of her locked apartment? “I’m wondering why your boss is coming out of your place like he owns it,” he said calmly.

“Oh my God.” Kylie shifted from standing at his side to standing in front of him with the gun pointed right in her face as she blocked Gib from him.

Shit.

He immediately lowered the gun but didn’t put it away.

Kylie rolled her eyes.

And maybe in another time and place he might have marveled at her bravery—or stupidity. In his world, he was typically actually respected, even feared, for his shooting abilities. And yet she stood there toe-to-toe with him, protecting his target, eyes flashing with temper.

When he was the one who should be pissed. So it was a damn good thing the good old U S of A had taught him how to handle himself and put his emotions and temper aside.

Real good.

He hadn’t yet gotten around to mentioning to Kylie that he’d put Gib through Archer’s invasive search programs. He knew the guy’s secrets. Such as he’d gotten married at age eighteen and divorced less than a year later. Three years ago he’d gotten a DUI. And he’d just spent way too much money on a new Lexus. And . . . he was also pretty much exactly who he seemed, an okay enough guy if not a little self-centered, who worked in his own style and not Michael Masters’s style and who’d put away a good amount of money—which he’d earned, not stolen.

He wasn’t Kylie’s thief.

Did it piss Joe off that Gib overcharged for his work while underpaying Kylie? Hell, yes. Ditto for the way he was suddenly playing with Kylie’s feelings. Gib being the bad guy would’ve really worked for Joe, selfishly, but his gut told him it wasn’t him. He knew he’d have to tell that to Kylie sooner or later, but later was working for him at the moment.

Kylie stood there staring at him like he was the asshole before turning to face Gib. “What are you doing here?”

“I went back to the shop and saw that you forgot your paycheck,” he said, not taking his gaze off Joe, which earned him a single, solitary point in the respect category.

But only one.

“I knew you’d want it,” Gib said. “I left it for you on your kitchen table.”

Kylie nodded. “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gib didn’t leave. In fact, he crossed his arms and set his feet, still holding Joe’s gaze. “Thought maybe we could catch up on one of our shows. Iron Chef?”

“Cute,” Joe said.

“It’s one of her faves,” Gib said.

Right. And Joe didn’t know her faves because they didn’t watch TV together. They didn’t do anything together because . . . well, because he was an idiot who’d let Kylie think he didn’t want anything serious, that he couldn’t be serious. He turned to go, but Kylie put a hand on his arm.

“Joe.”

He stepped back a step so that her hand fell away. “It’s late,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Joe.”

Resisting a sigh, he met her gaze.

She stepped in to him and said quietly for his ears only, “Look, I’m sorry. He has a key because, as you know, I tend to lose or forget mine and—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Kylie.”

She stared up at him. “Fine,” she said.

“Fine.” He held her gaze, saw the bad temper in it, and thought, fuck it. He didn’t need this. Hell, he didn’t even understand this. So he turned and walked away.

Behind him, her front door slammed shut. With both her and Gib on the other side.

“Fine,” he repeated to the night. Yeah. He was a fucking fine asshole, is what he was.

Kylie turned from her front door, leaned back against it with her arms crossed and stared at Gib. “What was that?”

“I told you, you forgot your check—”

“The truth, Gib.”

He held eye contact before he blew out a breath and looked away. “I hate the way you’re suddenly so into him, okay?”

“Not okay.”

He sighed and stared down at his shoes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things aren’t the same between us anymore. It’s all wrong.” He lifted his head. “And it’s scaring me.”

“What’s wrong is that you’ve confused me,” she said. “You knew I had a crush on you since the fifth grade and yet you never let on that you had any feelings toward me in that way. Not until Joe showed up in the shop. Then suddenly you’re asking me out and trying to get closer.”

“Maybe seeing Joe look at you like you’re lunch opened my eyes to what I’ve felt all along,” he admitted. “But what does that matter?” His eyes warmed as he took a step toward her. “There could definitely be something between us. I know it.”

She stared at him, trying to reconcile her feelings. It wasn’t easy, but there was a big difference between a childhood crush and an adult love. “Just tell me this,” she said quietly. “If you felt something for me all this time, why did you wait so long?”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “I couldn’t go there with you. Not when your grandpa . . .” He shook his head, looking pained. “He gave me everything, Ky. No matter how I felt for you, it never seemed right.”

“He’s been gone a long time.”

He opened his mouth and she held up her hand. “No, wait. I don’t want to do this right now. I’m tired. Please, just go.”

“You want me to leave?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I do.” She opened the front door. “Because at the end of the day, I still want to be your friend and employee. And I’m afraid if you keep talking, that would all be in jeopardy because I might kill you.”

He shook his head. “So we’re seriously not even going to try?”

“I think you missed your shot.”

He looked startled, like that had been the last thing he’d expected her to say, which somehow made her feel even stronger about her decision. “We aren’t each other’s the One, Gib.”

His eyes held sincere affection and equally sincere regret. And also carefully banked lust. All this time she’d yearned to see just that and here it was, and the only thing she felt was . . . unmoved.

“If I could change things,” he said, “If I could go back and kick my younger self in the ass and tell him not to save the best for last, I would.” And then he was gone.

And she was digging into her freezer, soothing her what-ifs and uncertain heart with cookie dough ice cream.

The next afternoon, Joe sat at work, distracted as hell as the team meeting went on without him. He tried to mentally check in before Archer kicked his ass. But it’d already been a rough day. They’d gone after a high bond that had been about to be forfeited if the bondee, Milo Santini, didn’t show up for his court date. Milo had a record, was known to be armed at all times, and wasn’t a nice guy. So it was no surprise when his takedown had gone bad.

He’d been holed up in a basement of a building in the financial district when they caught up with him, and an innocent cleaning crew had nearly burned to death when Milo, cornered and spitting mad, had set fire to a huge laundry bin for a diversion.

As a result of the ensuing takedown, Milo had gotten a little roughed up, which had led to a police inquiry. Everyone at Hunt Investigations had been cleared of misconduct, but Archer was pissed off and had spent the past hour chewing them out and going over protocol.

Thing was, protocol had been followed.

Well, mostly.

Sometimes in the heat of the moment—such as when an asswipe perp had made a break for it, starting a dangerous fire that threatened innocent bystanders—things happened.

Things like the bad guys getting punched in the face.

It hadn’t been Joe. It’d actually been Lucas, who’d lost a brother to an arson fire. Not that any of the guys would spill on Lucas. They’d each take a bullet first. This job wasn’t easy, and they were a team by both necessity and choice, even if they each did it for their own personal reasons. In Joe’s case, he liked that they were fighting the fight for good, and in doing so, maybe he was also cleaning up his karma, even a little bit.

He thought maybe that was Lucas’s reason too, though Lucas carried around a lot more anger than he did. Anger he channeled into doing the job really, really well.

“Let’s review,” Archer said with a deceptively mild tone, taking a hard look around the table at his guys, Joe, Lucas, Trev, Reyes, and Max—along with Max’s Doberman, Carl—all carefully trained by Archer himself. “What steps would you take in the event of a fire?” His gaze landed on Lucas.

Shit, Joe thought. He knew. Not that he was surprised. Archer knew everything.

Lucas shrugged at the question. “Fucking big ones?”

Wrong answer. Archer was still going on and on when Molly came in and dumped a couple of big brown bags on the conference table.

Carl sat straight up and licked his big chops.

So did the guys.

“Grub,” Molly said, shooting Joe a careful once-over.

She was making sure he hadn’t gotten hurt in any way. She was still freaked out about the bat he’d taken to the back of his head a few months back. But hey, he’d recovered. And it irritated him that she tried to be the protector when that was his role. He’d taken care of her his whole life—well, except for that one time he’d failed so spectacularly. His gaze traveled to her right leg as she limped her way around the table.

Her leg and back were bothering her today, and that just about killed him because if it hadn’t been for him, she’d never have gotten hurt.

No one dared touch the bags of food while Archer was still going off, but he’d wound down at the sight of Molly, softening enough to smile and thank her for the food. “Okay,” he said, pushing the bags down the table so everyone could reach. “I promised the cop shop I’d say all that. Now let’s move on.”

Fucking finally. Joe listened with only half an ear as, while they all inhaled the food, Archer went over their upcoming caseload.

When Carl whined in protest, Max tossed him a dog bone. With a longing look at Max’s food, Carl sighed but took the bone.

Joe ate everything he could reach. In his opinion, the best thing for adrenaline letdown was sex. In lieu of that, food would do. It was quiet in the conference room now except for the chowing down and the occasional grunt, and Joe let his mind drift to a woman. Not Ciera, the pub’s newest and sexiest server who’d slipped him her number not too long ago. Nor Danielle, who he’d met a few months back at the gym and had rocked his world three nights running before he’d had to leave town for a job and then hadn’t called again.

Nope. He was thinking about the one woman who could drive him crazy without trying.

Kylie.

He hated the way he’d left things the night before with her.

And Gib.

Kylie and Gib . . .

Shit. Logically, he knew she and Gib weren’t a thing because one, she’d told him so and two, he knew Kylie. For a year now he’d watched her. She hadn’t gone out much. She needed to really feel something for a guy.

And yet she’d kissed Joe with her entire heart and soul.

So why had he lost it? Because you’re an asshole. Because you know you’re taking something from her you can’t return.

He knew she still hadn’t told him the entire story about why that carving meant so much to her. He was missing more than a few pieces of that puzzle. It was frustrating that she didn’t trust him, but on the other hand, just as well. He didn’t do trust either and he was real good at keeping people at arm’s length.

But even as he thought it, he knew he was full of shit when it came to her, proven by the fact that she wouldn’t get out of his head. Her and those big see-all eyes. The way she’d looked when she’d told him about her grandpa still haunted him because though she hadn’t said it, she felt alone now that he was gone.

And then there was how she felt in his arms.

Like she belonged there.

He’d tried kissing her again to get him out of his system but that had been an epic mission-fail. Every time he laid eyes on her, she was the most desirable woman in the room. Any room. It was those jeans and boots and tough ‘tude, softened by her smile and the way she looked at the world. And when she worked those big power tools . . . holy shit. Huge turn-on.

Maybe one last time would be the winner. Yeah. Warming up to the idea, he closed his eyes and pictured it, how he’d back her to a wall and—

“He’s completely gone,” Lucas said, sounding amused. “I think he’s dreaming. Probably about that hot chick at O’Riley’s who slipped her number in his pocket last week.”

Joe’s eyes flew open to see Lucas waving a hand in front of his face. He shoved it away. “I’m not dreaming.”

Lucas gave him a rare smile. “I don’t know, man. You were smiling and everything.”

Joe rolled his eyes so hard they nearly came out of his head.

Archer raised a brow. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Most definitely not. But the vultures had the scent of roadkill and were circling now.

“Maybe it’s that new hottie at the coffee shop,” Reyes said. “She always times her morning coffee run with his.”

“I bet it’s Kylie,” Trev said.

Even though he knew better than to react, Joe froze.

Max let out a short laugh. “Nah. Kylie hates him. Thinks he’s a jackass. I know this because every time I go visit Rory when she’s at work at South Bark Pet Shop, she and the girls are talking. Carl’s my cover,” he said, grinning at his dog. “They throw themselves at him and don’t pay me any attention.”

“Kylie thinks I’m a jackass?” Joe asked before he could stop himself and knew when Max grinned that he’d been had. Shit.

“If we’re done discussing our love lives . . .” Archer said with deceptive casualness.

“You say that because you have one,” Reyes said. “Some of us aren’t in a relationship and we take all the scrapes we can get.”

“I don’t know. You might be better off,” Max said. “I mean, I love Rory, but sometimes being in a relationship is about getting a large fry when you really just wanted a small—but you know your girlfriend’s gonna eat ’em all even though she said she didn’t want any.”

Archer snorted but wisely didn’t say anything because they all knew Elle was maybe even more badass than him. “Back to work,” he said and just like that, fun time ended.

Joe was grateful for the intervention, but he knew it wasn’t over. These hyenas were going to drive him crazy wanting details. He could ignore them but what he couldn’t ignore was . . . Kylie thinks I’m a jackass?

That evening, Joe pulled up to his dad’s place. He’d promised to show up early, but the job had kept him longer than he’d planned and then he’d gotten caught in construction traffic.

Grabbing the two grocery bags off the passenger seat of his truck, he headed up the walk to the modest duplex on an equally modest but relatively safe street filled with identically styled homes in the Inner Sunset District.

Joe had bought the place five years ago. Since Alan Malone was too proud and stubborn and mean to allow live-in home care, he was only visited twice a week by a nurse who checked up on him. When and if he opened the door to her, that is.

This meant that Joe had to live on the other side of the duplex, mostly because Molly refused to. He’d tried to give her the place rent-free but she lived in Outer Sunset, “just far enough away,” she always said, “so you two can’t try to run my life.”

They split up the shifts, each checking in on their dad often. Tonight Joe was up. The lights were on, but the front door was locked. This was not a surprise. The retired veteran always kept his windows and doors locked and bolted.

Joe had a key, but letting oneself in without warning was bad for one’s health. He knocked on the door, four hard raps and then a pause, and then one more. This was their code because his dad needed one.

There was no answer so he called his dad’s cell.

“You’re late,” came a surly voice and then a click.

He’d disconnected.

“Son of a bitch,” Joe muttered. He tried texting.

No response.

Joe knocked again, same pattern as before. “Open up, Dad.”

Nothing.

Joe sighed. “Dad. Open up or I’ll just break in.”

To this he got a definitive answer. The unmistakable sound of a shotgun ratcheting.