Thank God for friends, Riley thought as he shook Zac Tyson’s hand. And for Ian Taggart.

“Not sure how much help I can be,” the burly man with the shaved head and Chicago Cubs T-shirt said as he greeted Riley in the now-deserted reception area. “But if Taggart says you deserve the open door policy, then you got it, my friend.”

“Appreciate it.” Riley had texted Big Tag with a quick and dirty summary of the situation, then asked Tag to reach out to Jared for an intro to The Firehouse’s owners so that he could get access to the security set-up. Instead, Tag had gone one step further and hooked Riley up with the club’s security guru. Apparently Zac had done some surveillance work for Taggart. Which Riley probably should have anticipated. Never underestimate Ian Fucking Taggart, after all.

Riley and Nat had slept until eight, when Pumpkin had decided she was hungry and had taken to batting Riley’s face until he woke up. He and the cat had bonded over tuna and coffee, and then he’d returned to the bedroom where he’d very methodically kissed his Sleeping Beauty awake.

They’d made love in the shower, after which she’d pulled together a breakfast of eggs and toast. The whole morning had felt ridiculously, wonderfully domestic, especially after the heated decadence of the night before. And Riley, who never stayed over at a woman’s house, had sat in the chair watching her cook, all the while thinking that he could get used to that.

The text had come in while they were eating, and since the only time Zac had available that morning was when Nat needed to be on a conference call, they’d decided he’d go by himself.

He saw her safely to the condo office, double-checked to make sure the elevator and door security were working properly, then told her not to go out for any reason.

With her assurance ringing in his ear, he’d headed downtown to The Firehouse and his meeting with Zac.

“We only have security in this area,” Zac said, a sweep of his arm encompassing the reception area, where members checked in before being admitted through to the bar. “And it’s not as if we require them to look straight into a camera before entering,” he says.

“Do you scan membership cards upon entry?”

“No,” Zac said. “Our members appreciate the fact of membership, but once they’re in the club, they don’t want to feel like they’re flashing a bus pass. And, to be honest, some of our members are well-known celebrities. Without an entrance scan, they have deniability.”

“Sure, I joined,” Riley said. “But it was just as a joke. I never actually went there.”

“Exactly,” Zac nodded “And if there’s no entrance scan, who’s to say otherwise?”

“That camera.” Riley pointed to the two high-mounted—but camouflaged—security cameras.

“Good eye, but you see the problem. If a client keeps his head down or wears a mask or sunglasses, any identification will be a problem.”

Riley nodded. The man was right. “Gotta give it a shot.”

“Tag said you’re looking for a stalker.”

“Someone’s been harassing my girlfriend.” And, dammit, she was his girlfriend whether she knew it yet or not. “I intend to put a stop to it.”

“You think she picked up the stalker here.” He nodded, not waiting for Riley’s answer. “I like to think that kind of element isn’t among our membership, but I also can’t deny that it’s possible.” He met Riley’s eyes. “She’s the one who came with Holt on that research walk-through, you said?” He flipped through a calendar open on the main desk. “Let’s take a look at the security feed and see who we see.”

“Appreciate it,” Riley said, though he was feeling significantly less appreciative four hours later after reviewing the tapes from the first night and then comparing it to the previous night, looking for overlap since the stalker seemed to know she’d been at the club last night. Though even that wasn’t certain. It may have simply been coincidence that the stalker had accused her of cheating.

Riley didn’t think so. More likely the stalker saw her with Riley—and was angry for her infidelity.

No one, however, stood out as having come twice. He did clearly see a gray-haired man with a cane on the arm of a masked woman with a mole on her upper lip. Not likely that a man who brought his own sub would be a stalker, but anything was possible, and he asked Zac to find out the man’s name. He saw five other men whom he believed showed up again on the second day, but the images weren’t sufficient to be certain.

“Sorry not to be more help,” Zac said. “But I’ll make you some prints and see what I can find out about our gray-haired friend. And I’ll try to get you some names on those five. I think you’re right. They each came on the second night, too. Especially this one.” He backed up the footage, then focused on a man with broad shoulders and dark hair that curled just past his ears. “See that?” He pointed to a shadow on the back of the man’s neck. “I don’t think it’s a shadow.”

“A tattoo?”

“On his shoulder,” Zac said. “I think the shadow is the edge of the ink work.”

“You may be right,” Riley said. “Good eye.”

“Gives us a little more to go on,” Zac said, and Riley nodded, though he thought Zac’s optimism might be misplaced. And he told as much to Natasha when he arrived at the condo that afternoon.

She greeted him at the door with a bright smile, then slid into his arms the moment he shut the door behind him. He drew her close, then lost himself in a slow, lingering kiss. A simple greeting, maybe, but it meant so much, including revealing just how far Tasha had come.

And, damn, but he could get used to this.

“Did you learn anything?” she asked, but he only shook his head. “A few leads, maybe. I’ll give you the rundown when we get to your house. I dropped a few things off earlier.”

Her brows rose. “Did you? Like what?”

He thought of the items he’d picked up from both the grocery store and the hardware store. But all he did was smile. “That,” he said, “is my little surprise.”