Bryce ran down the beach, his sneakers sinking into the soft sand with every step and making him work harder. His thighs burned and his lungs felt like they were about to collapse, but he kept pushing his body.

After another night of tossing and turning—combined with Kayla’s sudden change in attitude—he’d had energy to burn. In spades.

The damn woman drove him crazy, but what could he expect from a one-night stand? Only, she wasn’t a hook up—at least, not in the traditional sense. Especially not after he spouted off that nonsense about wanting in. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with his ex?

His cell phone rang. Slowing to a walk, he answered it without looking at the screen. “Fitzpatrick.”

“Got your email.”

“Vincent Rodriguez. Thanks for calling.” He squinted up at the bright sun and wiped the sweat off his brow with the side of his hand.

“Any time.” There was a pause. “She must be something special for you to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble emailing you. Besides, this is to assist in an ongoing investigation. They’re short-staffed. Thought I’d help out.”

“Really, you want feed me that bullshit?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Vincent muttered a curse. “Seriously, Saint. Who is she?”

“Kayla Ambrose—the same woman’s name I gave you in the report.”

“Figured.”

“How’s Rosie?” Bryce asked, wanting to avoid further questions about his interest in Kayla.

Though Vincent and he weren’t as close as they used to be due to life and his buddy finally marrying, Bryce knew he could trust him with anything. The two of them had served on the line together. There, they’d formed a bond—two guys from wealthy families who had a driving need to serve and protect.

“Doing great. Anyway, I got the information you wanted. It wasn’t easy.”

“I’ll buy you a drink the next time I’m in Great Neck.”

Vincent laughed. “Make it two.”

“Three and you follow up with any questions I have,” Bryce said. He sat down on a sand dune and stared out at the Atlantic Ocean.

“Deal.”

“Hit me.”

Within minutes, Vincent had painted a picture about Kayla’s ex that made Bryce’s stomach turn. “He’s a con-artist.”

“Yep, and a bigamist. Also known as a Brad Hadley. Brad Smith. Brad Pitt...man.”

Bryce raised a brow over that one. “Please tell me that wasn’t his name while he and Kayla—”

“No.”

“Any leads on his location?”

“Prince George’s County was his last given address, but wife number one lives out in North Dakota. The second wife lives in Illinois.”

“What’s wrong with these guys?” Bryce said more to himself than anyone. Though he’d been schooled on motivation and opportunity, the human reaction to what life dealt them never failed to astound him. Hell, in his line of work, the day everything became one big who-the-fuck-cared was the day he needed to quit.

“Wish Kayla would press charges. At least, we could do something about a warrant.”

“Didn’t you just tell me this was part of an ongoing investigation?”

Busted. “Caught that, did you?”

“Yeah. Anyway, this should cheer you up, lover boy. Brad has warrants. Multiple warrants. Multiple states. Multiple last names.” Vincent exhaled thickly. “However, there looks to be a clerical error in linking these all together.”

There was a brief silence. “Or there was an error.” Vincent laughed. “Got him. Traffic violation in Atlanta.”

“Got any connections down there?”

“Maybe. Let me get back to you, but in the meantime, you keep your ass on vacation and don’t do anything stupid,” Vincent warned.

“Roger that.” Too bad he had already done something majorly stupid, like get involved with the woman.

His phone buzzed.

Kayla: I can’t make tonight’s date.

Hell if he was going to let her wriggle out of their date like this.

Not my problem, he texted back.

Kayla: One of my pipes burst last night and flooded the entire café. That is my problem. I’ll let you know when I’m available.

He groaned, letting his head fall back. Of course that happened. And of course, he was a dumbass for responding to her text that way. Guilt shot through him, but he deserved it.

Growling, he shoved his phone into his pocket, and stood up, not bothering to dust off his shorts before hauling ass back to the beach house.

***  ***  ***

Kayla watched as Tommy carefully patted out the batch of crab cakes she just finished making. “Not too thin, but not too thick.”

“So like I’m making a burger for my sister,” he said.

“Like that,” she agreed as he made a perfectly sized cake. “You’re really good at this.”

He flashed her a smile. “I cook for everyone at home.”

This afternoon, when Tommy had came in, she’d been more than a little surprise to discover that she was shocked to see him. Sure, he’d promised to come, but the lure of the beach on a sunny day like this... Sometimes, it was hard for the locals to ignore.

Okay, so it was hard all the time, and getting a kid Tommy’s age to actually show up on a regular basis was like pulling teeth. The adults around here weren’t much better.

Which meant that a lot of businesses hired employees from the mainland or students from foreign countries.

“Let’s fry one,” she said. “Normally, if I’m slammed, the cakes are cooked in the basket. But, if it’s slow, I prefer to fry them in a cast-iron skillet. Gives that extra bit of flavoring and crispness people seem to love.”

“I got this,” he said in typical male fashion, brushing her aside. “Used to work at Shack and Shake until they closed for winter.”

She gave him a mock glare. “Café Blue and White is not the Shack and Shake.”

“Laws of physics still apply,” he said.

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor,” she said, giving him a cursory look. Tommy’s normally sullen face was smiling and his wild, multi-colored hair was mostly tamed.

“Got laid last night,” he said, and she nearly choked on her saliva.

Shaking her head, she said, “Good for you, but that’s not something you share with your employer.”

“I felt like you were looking for a reason,” he said with a grin. “Between getting—that—and our rent being taken care of...it’s like someone’s watching over me.”

The patron saint of getting some. She was sure that one wasn’t listed in the Bible. Or anywhere else for that matter.

“Good. Now all you have to do is keep it up.” Teens were moody. She’d been one and remembered how everything was so important and life changing, even down to what shoes she picked to wear for the day.

“Pretty sure that’s up to my girlfriend.”

“Tommy Boone!” Grabbing a towel from behind her, she snapped him in the leg. “Hush your mouth.”

Following her admonishment, he didn’t say a word. Just grinned at her before turning his attention back to cooking her precious crab cakes.

Those crab cakes were her café’s lifeblood. She didn’t take a dime from her parents. Only the local branch of the Savings & Loan along with the grand prize money she’d won in the Tri-State Blue Crab Cook-Off.

“While you’re cooking those, I want you to use whatever’s in the pantry to create a side dish and serve it to me.” She wanted to test his skill. He seemed to have a natural aptitude and when summer came, she’d need an additional line cook.

Okay, so she would need more than just herself and Lenny for her first year open during the busy season.

“Sweet. It’s like Chopped up in here.”

She laughed. “Yep, and I’ll be judging on taste, creativity, and presentation.”

Taking her iPad from her purse, she began to work on orders and paying bills. The café was prepped for tomorrow, so she had enough down time to catch a movie. And, since she was only open Wednesdays through Fridays during the off-season, she could spend the rest of the weekend forgetting all about Bryce Fitzpatrick and his wicked mouth.

And hands.

And other parts.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she refused to answer it. Besides, if it were an emergency, her landline would be ringing off the hook.

She didn’t have time to talk, and not because she was avoiding him, or had texted him a lie about her water pipes bursting—God forbid—just because she had second thoughts about seeing him again.

Or because she felt guilty about sexing him up after one date. She’d never done that before. Ever. It wasn’t her. Well, it hadn’t been her.

She preferred sweet-talking, commitment kind of guys. Not a pushy, overbearing detective from out of town, who’d given her an orgasm that made her see starbursts from behind her eyelids.

Certainly not one who’d put himself in potential danger to protect another human being

“Here you go.” Tommy slipped a plate in front of her and added a glass of iced tea.

Of course, Tommy’s presence would also remind her of the fact that Bryce had talked him down. That Bryce had paid for his family’s rent without knowing anything but that they needed help.

Maybe she’d been too hard on him. And herself. Last night, she tossed and turned every five seconds as she tried to wrap her mind around what happened between them. As she tried to figure out why he bothered to give her a good night kiss or demand to be let inside her head.

Their entire situation was incomprehensible. Her lie was inexcusable.

“I’ll clean up while you put on your judgey eyes, nose, and palate,” he added.

“The comparisons to Mrs. Potato Head are duly noted.”

“Points in my favor?”

“Go clean up.” She waved him on and began to eat. The kid was good, she mused to herself. The cake wasn’t burned, and she adored the little sweet potato fries he’d roasted. Though they were slightly too sweet, she thought that Tommy had a raw talent.

“We have a winner,” she announced giddily. “Next time, use less sugar and more cinnamon.”

“Next time, tell the truth instead of lying to me,” Bryce said.

Eye nearly bugging out her head, she turned to the face him. “What are you doing here?”

His sexy jaw clenched. “I thought I’d do the right thing and offer to help. But, when you didn’t take my calls, I thought I’d swallow my pride and actually drive here. You know, help mop up all the water I don’t see.”

She held up her hands, fork still clutched in one. “Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “Message received, loud and clear. Last night was a one-time thing for you, and now you’re done with me. No problem. Except, it’s a big damn problem.”

He ran a hand though his dark hair. “And I sure as fuck can’t figure out why it’s a problem, much less why I’m admitting it to you.”