The bass of Hot Child in the City pounded from giant speakers as Beckett Pearson walked onto the stage and straightened his tie. Bright lights, lots of screaming women—ah, yes, he’d missed the days of walking the runway.

Not.

Being a model in college had given him extra cash. A lot of headaches as well. Beautiful, sexy headaches, but damn, tonight’s bachelor auction aside, those days were long over and he was glad.

As Nick Gilder sang about a runaway girl, the room of women watched Beck strut his stuff. The MC—Caroline Foster, a former FBI agent helping out tonight like he was—spoke over the noise, giving the potential donors his curriculum vitae.

Born and raised in Georgia, four brothers and four sisters, helped support himself in college by working as a Vogue model.

A fresh round of cheers erupted. A few catcalls echoed through the room over the heavy bass tempo.

Beck stopped and smiled, giving his fans a wave as he gritted his teeth. Yep, when Taylor got back from her vacation with Matt Stephens, Beck was going to kill her for setting him up like this.

“Hey, Beck,” she’d said with that big ol’ toothy grin of hers. “Wanna help a good cause?”

“Sign me up,” he’d replied without asking for the deets, because Taylor, head of the FBI Missing Persons Unit, and his friend, always had his back.

Big mistake. Like Grammie always said, the devil was in those pesky details.

Which was why he was doing a pseudo-Magic Mike impression tonight to raise money for the St. Agnes Women’s Shelter and Sydney Banfield. Minus removing his clothes.

Not that he didn’t want to support the shelter—he did. One hundred percent. The place offered battered women and their kids sanctuary. Sydney made sure they were safe and helped find them the services they needed. She also lined up educational opportunities and job fairs for them.

Beck just wished Taylor hadn’t volunteered him for this particular task. A bachelor auction? Really?

Suck it up. If he was going to strut his stuff and raise money for the shelter, than he was damn well going to give it everything he had.

As he hit the end of the runway and cocked a hip, Caroline mentioned the fact that along with being lead investigator of a missing persons team with the FBI, he had a genius IQ of 144.

And then the real clincher—his former defensive lineman status from his days with the University of Alabama. At her pause, Beck smiled for real at the women cheering for him. “Roll Tide!” he yelled.

His new fans went crazy.

“Bidding starts at three-hundred dollars,” Caroline said.

Three hundred? That’s it?

He couldn’t help it. He gave her a look. Caroline, being Caroline, was totally unfazed. “Did I mention that Agent Pearson is also a talented Reiki masseur?”

He nearly had to slap his hands over his ears as exuberant cheers nearly drowned out good ol’ Nick. Technically, he didn’t do massages, but whatever. This crowd couldn’t have cared less, so he struck his favorite Vogue pose, crossing his arms and placing a finger to his jaw as he made eye contact with the blonde in the first row of tables.

“Three-fifty!” she shouted.

Yep, he was definitely going to get the highest bid and the biggest donation tonight.

And he was just getting started.

Dropping his hand, he rolled his broad shoulders and unbuttoned his suit jacket, using both hands to pull the sides away from his chest. Hands on hips, he gave them a little roll and shot the brunette next to the first bidder a sexy grin.

“Five hundred!” she shouted. The blonde gave her a look, not believing her friend would bid against her.

And so it went. By the time Caroline called going once, going twice...sold!, Beck had raised three thousand dollars. The only issue now was the fact that the woman who’d bought a date with him was the estranged wife of Byron Lockhart III.

He was about to escort the wife of the freakin’ Director of the FBI to dinner. Oh joy.

Sure they were in the midst of a divorce, but still.

Not much made Beck nervous, but meeting up with Annabelle Lockhart backstage a few minutes later had him sweating like a whore in church.

“Special Agent Beckett Pearson.” She extended a well-manicured hand. Thin and model-height in her stilettos, she could nearly look him in the eye. Impressive, since he was 6’4”. “I believe you owe me dinner.”

He guessed her age around forty, although she might have had some work done. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your generous donation to the shelter.”

Her red lips parted to show perfect white teeth. Either she had amazing genes or enough caps to cost as much as his townhouse. “I’m sure you’re worth every penny,” she purred. Slim fingers snaked out and raked across his chest as she leaned closer, putting her mouth close to his ear. “I can’t wait to experience your magic hands.”

Still smiling like the cat that ate the proverbial canary, she straightened, but left her hand on his shirt, dipping it down to his belt. The way she looked him over from head to toe made him feel like raw meat in front of a starving lion.

Cougar is more like it.

Even if he hadn’t been an expert in nonverbal social cues, her bold, suggestive gaze told him everything he needed to know—she expected the night of her life with a side of hot, unabashed sex for dessert. The cherry on top for Annabelle was the fact Byron would find out one of his investigators had played slap and tickle with her. The fact she’d kept the Director’s last name so far spoke volumes—she still had a thing for the man.

Can anyone say awkward?

Although Beck found her attractive, he wasn’t into casual hookups. He was thirty-two and ready for a meaningful, long-lasting relationship. Marriage, kids. The whole shebang. He wanted magic and love and all that shit. He didn’t mind being admired and lusted after—hell, he loved it—but he had no intention of being bought, and he’d hang up his cleats before he let anyone use him to get back at their almost-ex.

Make the best of it. Wining and dining Annabelle might be fun and he’d make it his mission to leave things on a good note. No sex, but she was still going to have the time of her life after shelling out three thousand dollars.

“Let me take care of everything,” he said, offering his arm. He liked taking care of people, and outside of Taylor and the other team members, he rarely got to flex his instinct to do so. Now that Taylor had Matt, he had one less person to play big brother around.

At least there’s Tink. His cat still needed him, at least as much as any feline ever needed an owner. He winked at Annabelle. “I have the perfect evening planned for us.”

The cougar licked her lips. Her arm slid through his. “Let’s stop at my place first, okay?”

It wasn’t a question. She was going in for the kill, no holds barred.

Good thing he loved a challenge. This one was going to rate right up there with the game of ’07 against LSU. Nasty one, that, but the Tide had prevailed, thanks to him.

But damn it, he was definitely going to ring Taylor’s neck come Monday.

“It’s your night, Annabelle,” he said, already strategizing how he was going to get out of sleeping with her.

---

Under a pitch-black sky, Jackie stood on the steps of the U.S. District Court in DC waiting for the cameramen to assemble themselves for the defense’s impromptu press conference. She didn’t need a podium for this show, just the hungry batch of reporters awaiting her post-verdict statement. And they’d get it, despite the late hour and her thoroughly trashed mind and body.

Every inch of her ached, but the long days – and nights – had been worth it.

A spotlight flashed and she dropped her gaze from the harsh glare to her previously unwrinkled suit. Damnit. The navy Chanel number her mother bought her for her very first case looked like an army had marched over it. And not because it was nearly ten years old. Fifteen hours she’d been in this suit. Now, after six hours of deliberations in a case that had monopolized not only her time, but just about every emotion she possessed, she was...numb. Completely pulverized by waves of self-doubt regarding her performance.

“Ms. DelRay,” the reporter from DC’s ABC affiliate called. “What are your thoughts on the verdict?”

Her thoughts? Oh, she had plenty of those. The reporters closed in, shoving microphones at her, intensifying the already thick air of an unusually warm fall evening. She pushed her shoulders back, taking it all in. The five-deep crowd, the cameras, the reporters jockeying for the best vantage point.

Her moment. Right here. Right now. Her mother had better be watching.

“Obviously,” she said, “we’re pleased. We’ve said from the beginning the evidence in this case was suspect, at best. Clearly, the jury agreed.”

Beside her, Josh, the young lawyer she’d snatched from the D.A.’s office six months earlier, stood a little taller. As hard as he’d worked, he deserved this moment as much as she did.

“What about the DNA evidence?” a blonde from CBS shouted. “How big of a factor do you think that was?”

Um, how about the biggest? “Critical. There was no smoking gun here, people. The entire case was strung together based on detectives’ hypothesizing. Yes, they had my client’s blood in the bathroom, but – hello – the man lived there. For God’s sake, he shaved every morning in that bathroom. Of course his blood would be there. The question to ask is why the criminologist felt it wise to package together and ship multiple pieces of evidence to the lab. They obliterated the control sample. When you co-mingle evidence, it’s contaminated. Useless.”

If Josh wasn’t her employee, she’d have kissed him right on the mouth for discovering the shipping info. Hell, she’d have even slipped him the tongue.

From there, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out the evidence could be tainted. In a case involving a United States senator and his murdered wife, the whole thing screamed reasonable doubt.

And they’d gotten a not-guilty verdict on the biggest case DC had seen since that four-star general got busted sharing top-secret intel with his mistress.

We did it.

“Ms. DelRay,” a CNN reporter called, “what if the government appeals? Will you stay on?”

Bet your sweet ass.

“We’ll decide that later. Right now, we’re going to get Senator Watkins settled and give him time to grieve for his wife.” Jackie held up her hand. “Thanks, all. That’s it for now.”

Josh stepped in front, making himself a human bulldozer, shredding the crowd as reporters screamed questions Jackie wouldn’t answer.

Now she needed her bed and sleep. Peaceful sleep that wouldn’t be interrupted by anxiety and the ever-present mind-racing that came with a case of this magnitude.

At thirty-four years old, she’d just defended a United States senator.

And won.

Go, Jackie.

A black stretch limo pulled to the curb, catching Jackie’s attention. The rear window slid open and the glow of the streetlight illuminated a man’s face. Familiar craggy lines registered and a burst of energy expanded Jackie’s chest. He came. He waved her over and the window slid closed.

She clutched the sleeve of Josh’s cheap suit, reminding herself to give the kid a raise. After this win, she could afford it.

Yep. DelRay and Associates just catapulted itself to the top of the hot-shot lawyers list.

Josh glanced at the limo, then to Jackie. She jerked her head. “Our ride is here.”

The limo door flew open, revealing her father in dark dress pants and a gray blazer. He slid across the seat and Jackie piled in to find her mother and brother on the adjacent seat. Mom wore her usual pantsuit, blue this time, with a white shell under the jacket. Her ash blond hair fell to her chin, the ends curling up a bit from the humidity. Even with the stray curls, her mother pulled off ‘poised and polished’. She’d built a career on that look.

And she’d come to celebrate with her daughter.

A huge win and now Jackie had her family. How good was life? She let out a squeal.

Before the mob of reporters could flash photos, Josh shoved her over and slammed the door behind him. Jackie launched herself at her father, squeezing him tight as the limo lurched from the curb leaving the shouting reporters behind.

“I can’t believe you came.”

Her mother held her arms out. “A little bird told me the verdict was in. We wanted to be here.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

Her mother gave her a bored look. “Darling, I’m the Mayor of Philadelphia. I have a helicopter.”

“Holy crap,” Josh blurted. “That’s cool!”

Calvin, her PITA of a brother, held up his hand. “Hey, sis. Don’t mind me. I’m just along for the ride.”

Always a smartass. That’s what coming from a family with three lawyers got her. “Hey, Cal.” She plopped on the seat between Cal and Mom, then gave him a squeeze and a smack on the cheek. “I can’t believe you guys are here.”

“What?” Cal asked, “You think we’re gonna let you celebrate the biggest case of your career alone?”

“At ten at night? Yes, besides, if my estimate is right, when you left Philly, you didn’t know I’d won.”

“True,” Mom said. “But I had no doubt. My girl destroyed the prosecution.”

Being a career prosecutor, her mother would know. Her family. Unbelievable. A bunch of hard-noses, all of them, but this impromptu visit? Crazy devotion. Jackie tucked her hair behind her ears and let out a breath.

“Lord, I feel ninety years old.”

Mom’s gaze moved to Jackie’s mangled suit. “Sorry, honey, but you look it, too.”

Yep, same old Mom. “It’s been a long day.” She elbowed her brother. “And, silly me, I forgot to check my lipstick before I went into court.”

Mom would have. Even as a lowly prosecutor on a tight budget, she’d amped up her beauty queen appearance. Now that she had money and the title of mayor, she didn’t leave the house without designer duds and perfect makeup. Elegant and strong. That was her mother.

Jackie may have inherited Mom’s legal prowess, but when it came to her appearance, she just hoped her blouse matched her suit. One of the main reasons she stuck to solid, easily matched colors. The family joke had long been Jackie’s need for adult Garanimals.

“Jon and Will wanted to be here,” Dad said. “They couldn’t swing it. Will is on call and Jon has court in the morning.”

Will, the next oldest from Jackie – yes, she’d dealt with three older brothers – was a heart surgeon. Mom liked to joke that with three out of her four children being lawyers, she’d somehow gone astray with Will.

“Where to?” Dad asked. “Have you two eaten?”

Jackie pondered the question, then looked at Josh. “Did we eat?”

“Yesterday, I think.”

“We’ll fix that.” Mom hit the button to lower the glass screen separating them from the driver. “Take us to Charlie Palmer’s. We have celebrating to do.”

Jackie, still wedged between her brother and Mom, gripped both their hands and rested her head back. So much for sleep. Who cared? She had her family and the biggest win of her career. What more did she need?