The manway cover creaked as Larkin heaved. Never had she struggled to open the hatch. Tonight, she used every bit of muscle and grit to pry it only a few inches wide. She drew a breath and pressed harder still. A grunt wrestled its way through her teeth. The sound of something scraping the top of the metal doorway. Two thunks followed. From the force of her hands, the door flew wide and smacked against the hinge stops.

Larkin peeked out at the tar top. Steam rose from stacks in the far corner. Behind her, massive water tanks huddled together. Danger wasn’t apparent. Then again, it hadn’t been last time. Last time, though, she hadn’t been looking for it. She hadn’t sought it out. Not like she was tonight.

She climbed onto the roof and examined the lid. Two solid cinderblocks lay in a heap. Fresh scrapes marred the manhole’s ugly metal cover.

“That shit.”

He’d been up here since their encounter, and he’d tried to keep her from her sanctuary.

Larkin scanned the area. Nothing apart from the usual bird poop and cobwebs occupied the space. She walked slowly to the edge of the roof, to the very spot Beckett stood when he yanked her from the ledge. Hope welled with the insane notion that he would appear as he’d done that first night and wrap his arms around her. Only tonight, fear wouldn’t consume her. Contentment counterbalanced by unstable desire would.

Atlantic winds battered her face. Cold seeped through her thin layers, chiding her for being up here without a coat. Below, unending lines of cars jockeyed for first place in a race no one could win. The sounds of their horns melded into a symphony with the whooshing gusts of wind, punctuated by the occasional shriek of a car alarm or the roar of an obnoxious engine. While her hope dwindled at seeing Beckett tonight or ever again, she embraced the city, the home she’d known her entire life. It beat within her as much as her heart beat within it.

She spread her fingers on the concrete. Warmth from the day’s sun still radiated from the man-formed stone. The large diamond glittered in the lights from the building across the street. Her thumb glided over the smooth top and fierce edges. Throwing the ring would have been a mistake. Inadvertently, it had changed from a reminder of horror to a symbol of strength and kindness to a reminder of him.

“Damn.” Larkin had never had a crush. It whipped her insides into a frothy mess. Sticky and sweet. She hugged herself to ward off the cold and propped her elbows on the ledge.

Her gaze found the two rows of windows on the part of the building she saw every day and never really examined. What did the people do there? Did they design great buildings or water filtration systems for rivers to bring fresh drinking water to drought-ravaged villages in Africa? Were they lawyers fighting for the little guy or backing big business? Did they wheel and deal corporate BS for ten hours every day? How many of them were married? Why did she have to be?

Lights flicked on in an office about twenty feet to the right and maybe one story down from the spot where she stood. It was as though someone had heard her questions and wanted to offer answers. It drew her over, despite the sharper bite of the wind in the center of the building’s roof.

A man crouched low with his back to her. Three filing cabinet drawers stood open, plus one more that he hunched over. Filing. Larkin couldn’t think of anything more boring. It brought starving children food or closed amazing deals. It wasn’t exciting in any way, yet it was so necessary. If done properly, it changed the world. He closed the drawers and reached for the light. She blinked to bring him into focus, but then everything plunged back into darkness.

Answers weren’t always as exciting as they promised to be. The same was probably true for Beckett. It was time to let go of the idea of him and grasp the reality. She knew nothing about him. He didn’t want to be known. End of story.

Several feet back to her left, another light turned on, and her feet moved without thought. The man stood in the doorway, almost assessing the room. He walked into the room, closed the door, and stepped forward. His wide frame and menacingly handsome face came into view.

Half of Larkin’s heart jumped up and down and waved frantically. The other smarter half scraped its tiny heart jaw up from the bottom of her stomach and shoved it back into place. Did he work there? Had he been spying on her for the last year and known she’d be on the roof that night? What was he doing?

Beckett removed his jacket, the same one that’d been soaked through the night before, and placed it in front of the door, covering the crack at the threshold. He moved from drawer to drawer, pulling them wide, riffling through, and then closing them. Occasionally he’d read a page or parts of a file, but he never lingered for more than twenty seconds. Finally, he moved to another office. Larkin followed, entranced by the oddity. There, he pulled back the Ferrari of office chairs and sat in front of a computer. The screen lit the familiar scar and dark eyes that had examined every inch of her hours before. Now they were cold and unfeeling. She couldn’t really see his eyes, but there was no life in his face, not like she’d witnessed when he’d been inside her.

A light from the opposite end of the building caught her attention. It was about twenty feet past the first office she’d seen him inside. The brightness remained for only a couple of seconds before going off again. A moment later, the light to the office one closer to her turned on for a second, and then off again. Seconds passed and the light to another closer office burned away the dark.

Larkin’s gaze jumped back to Beckett. He sat in the chair with his right hand on the mouse, clicking, shifting, clicking. With every passing second, the lights turned off and then on, gaining precious feet on the man she’d let in her bed last night, the man who clearly wasn’t meant to be in that pricey office, meddling with who knew what.

She hugged the edge of the building close and yelled his name, but her voice was carried away on a gust of winter air. Her arms flailed, wide and wild. Every cell in her body begged him to look up.

The lights drew closer and closer with the passing of seconds.

Still he clicked and scrolled.

Sweat broke out on Larkin’s chest despite the plummeting temperatures. Her heart pounded against her sternum, sounding the alarm. She should go inside. No way in hell did she need to be an accessory to a crime or even a witness. There were enough problems on her doorstep. She pushed away from the ledge but couldn’t make herself turn away.

His head lifted from the screen, and she’d swear his gaze zeroed in on her. Maybe it was the lightheadedness from breathing so hard, but he did. He stood, his gaze unwavering. That all-too-familiar mix of excitement and dread whirred within.

She flailed her arms and pointed toward the office, and then motioned for him to get down.

He didn’t move. For several beats, he stood and stared.

The light was only two offices away from Beckett.

She started the crazy motions again, but before she could finish, he lunged at the light. Her heart resounded in her ears, a gong. Breaths heaved in and out of her lungs. The cold burned her throat. For minutes that turned into an hour, she waited. And waited more. Her gaze searched floors for him, then the street, which was useless. She could hardly make out the difference between a cab and a cop car at this height. Most useless still, she waited, expecting him to show up on the roof disgruntled but grateful for her help.

When she could no longer feel her toes and her fingers burned, Larkin risked her life shimmying down the ladder and hobbled to her apartment more confused than ever before.