The card felt firm between her fingertips, as though the personality of the name printed on one side could offer comfort.

Nicholas Stone

His agent title, phone number, email address, and the FBI logo made up the rest of the simple print.

Sitting in her living room, she noticed her fingers still shook slightly, as they held the card. She had rushed from her car, up the stairs to her apartment, unlocking the door with speed as she sent furtive glances over her shoulder.

Now, pinching her lips together, she looked at the old telephone hanging next to her kitchen counter. It had originally belonged to her beloved grandmother and, when she died, Bayley could not part with the outdated phone. Her family thought she was nuts to pay for a land-line when she had a cell phone, but to Bayley it represented a different way of life. The long, spiral cord, twisted out of shape from years of her grandmother’s walking around her kitchen while talking to one of her church friends or neighbors, still hung from the wall. Now, she was glad she had the extra way to communicate.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she pressed the buttons on the old phone, dialing Nick’s work number. Hearing his official voice message, she recorded, “Nick—uh, Agent Stone. This is Bayley Hanssen. I had someone, well, a man who I didn’t know, come up to me tonight. Come up and grab me. I was outside my store and he approached. He kinda rushed over before I had a chance to react and grabbed my arms. He kept demanding my phone and wasn’t too happy that I didn’t have it. Um…I thought you’d want to know since it probably has to do with your investigation. Um…I guess you can call me back and I’ll be at work tomorrow.” She rattled off her home number before quickly adding, “Um, goodbye.”

Feeling foolish, she shook her head as she placed the handset back in its cradle. Her fingertips rubbed her forehead in a feeble attempt to still the burgeoning headache. Leaning back against the sofa cushions, she kicked her shoes off as she lifted her feet to the scuffed coffee table, a deep sigh leaving her lips as a tendril of hair escaped her ponytail.

Now that the shock was wearing off and the adrenaline rush had passed, she rolled the event over in her mind. Not wanting to forget any details, she opened her laptop and settled into a stool at her counter. Clicking onto her notes page, she began typing what she could remember. The man’s height, features, voice. Closing her eyes, she wondered if she would be able to pick him out of a lineup. Solidifying the image into her mind, she reviewed what she had written. Blowing out a deep breath that puffed her hair away from her forehead, she hoped it would be enough for Nick to use.

As she slid off the stool, she eyed the open blinds on her third-floor window. Never one to worry about someone peeking in, she felt a rush of chills over her body. Nervous, she approached the window cautiously, sliding to the side to hide from sight if anyone should happen to be in the street below. Grasping the pull-cord in her hand, she jerked the blinds down, cutting off all views into her apartment. As her eyes moved back to her front door, she threw up a thankful prayer that even though she was shaken when she entered, she had locked and bolted the door.

After she finished in the bathroom, she lay in bed, her tumultuous thoughts running, with Nick Stone still firmly in the mix. Heat infused her cheeks as she remembered BOB doing the work last night as her thoughts ran rampant with the image of the enigmatic FBI agent. And tonight? She rolled over and punched her pillow as thoughts of her assailant interrupted any thoughts of Nick.

Flopping to her back, Bayley began clearing her mind using the technique her grandmother taught her as a child. Imagining her brain as a tub, overfilled with thoughts, she pulled the imaginary plug and allowed the thoughts to run out. Her eyes grew heavy as her concerns slipped away and soon sleep overtook her.

Plopping heavily into the seat behind his desk, Nick watched his coffee slosh to the edge of his cup, thankfully not splashing over. His papers and files were neatly stacked from the evening before and he placed his cup squarely next to his laptop. Firing up his computer, he pressed the button on his phone to listen to his messages as he waited for his computer to come to life. Lifting the steaming cup to his lips, he startled at the voice.

“Nick—uh, Agent Stone. This is Bayley Hanssen. I had someone, well a man who I didn’t know, come up to me tonight. Come up and grab me—”

Jerking as Bayley’s message sank in, the hot coffee hit his chin. “Shit!” he cursed, grabbing a tissue from his desk, dabbing at both his face and the desk as he placed the cup back on the desk.

“—Um, goodbye.”

Hitting the playback, he listened carefully again, inwardly cursing this time. “Mike!” he barked, seeing the young agent just sitting down to his desk.

“Yeah?”

“Get me the home address of Bayley Hanssen. Now.”

Eyes wide, Mike asked, “The bookstore owner?” His fingers were already flying over his keyboard, as though anticipating Nick’s response. “What’s up?”

“She left a message—said she was approached and a man grabbed her last night wanting her cell phone.”

“Damn,” Mike cursed before pointing to the printer. “It’s coming off now.”

Snagging the address off the printer as he grabbed his jacket, he made sure he had her cell phone in his pocket before hustling out of the building. “Call Harlan and tell him I’m going to her house. I’ll check in as soon as I know anything.”

Calling the phone number she left as her land-line, he growled as it went to an answering machine. “Bayley, it’s Nick…uh, Agent Stone. I’m on my way. Don’t leave the house and don’t let anyone in.”

Rattled, he cursed the traffic as he made his way across town. Hitting every red light, the underarms of his shirt were wet by the time he finally pulled into a parking space in front of her building. Jogging up the three flights of stairs, he rounded the corner and pounded on her door. When she did not answer, he looked at his watch. Only seven-thirty. Where can she be? Pounding on the door once more, he ran his hand through his hair, causing the ends to stand up.

Considering breaking down her door, his breath left him in a rush as he heard someone fiddling with the locks from the inside. Suddenly the door was thrown open and his gaze landed on her dripping wet form, water droplets sliding down her legs and pooling onto the floor. A short robe was haphazardly tied around her waist and her hair was wrapped in a towel, still allowing more water droplets to drip into her face. Blinking her blue eyes, she looked at him in surprise.

“Wow, Agent Stone, I didn’t expect you so early. What time do you get into your office?”

“I came as soon as I got the message,” he said, forcing his eyes to stay on hers, fighting the desire to allow his gaze to roam down her body, sure to be naked underneath the robe. “Are you all right?”

Smiling, she stepped back, motioning for him to come in. “I’m fine, but admit I was scared last night.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Shaking her head slightly, she replied, “No, not really—”

“What do you mean? You said he grabbed your arms.” Nick knew he was losing objectivity, so he fisted his hands to keep from reaching out to hold her. To make sure she was not injured.

“My upper arms are bruised,” Bayley admitted, “but honestly, I bruise easily. Sometimes I just run into a table and will end up with a big, ol’ bruise the next day.” Holding the front of her robe closed to maintain modesty, she slipped one sleeve down, exposing her shoulder and upper arm, covered in faint, blue bruises matching finger marks.

Nick stepped closer, the lemony scent wafting off her sending his senses reeling, as his gaze dropped to the bruised skin. Reaching up, he touched her gently, his finger barely tracing the bruise.

“Bayley, I’m so sorry—”

“What the hell?” a man yelled from the doorway.

Nick’s hand jerked away from Bayley as she twisted quickly, her feet slipping on the wet floor. Her arm swung out to keep her balance as Nick grabbed her around her waist, pulling her tightly to his body as her robe slid open exposing the tops of her creamy breasts.

“Blaise?” Bayley and Nick said at the same time, each looking at the tall, muscular blond stalking closer before jerking their gazes back to each other in surprise.

“Nick? Sis? What the hell is going on here?”

Nick, steadying Bayley’s feet as she tried to pull the gaping edges of her robe tighter around her body, shot his gaze between her and his friend. Blaise was one of the Saints and he had worked with him on several cases. Sis? He called her sis?

“Nick? What the hell are you doing with my bruised sister, half-dressed in your arms?” Blaise growled.

“Blaise! How dare you come in here yelling!” Bayley argued.

Swinging his face toward Blaise, Nick said, “I had no idea she was your sister—”

“So that makes this all right?” Blaise glared, his eyes landing on Bayley’s arms.

“This? No, this is not what it looks like,” Nick began.

“You’ve got no say—” Bayley began.

Ignoring her protestations, Blaise stepped toward the couple, his anger palpable. Bayley inserted herself between the two, much-taller men, shouting, “Blaise! Look at me!”

Fists planted on his hips, Blaise dropped his glare down to his sister before lifting his eyes back up to Nick. “You want to tell me why I find you here, early in the morning, with my sister almost naked, bruises on her arm—”

“You seriously think I put those bruises there?” Nick bit back, his hands resting on Bayley’s shoulders.

“Stop! Once and for all, shut up and listen to me!” Bayley shouted, chest heaving in frustration. Gaining Blaise’s attention, she pointed to the sofa. “Go sit down and I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’ve got to make a statement to Nick anyway, so you might as well hear it at the same time.”

“Are you all right?” Blaise asked, his voice now flush with concern.

Throwing her hands to the side, she quipped, “Oh, now you’re ready to find out what’s going on instead of just making assumptions?” Looking over her shoulder at Nick, she said, “Go get some coffee while I run and throw some clothes on—I take mine with lots of cream and sweetener.” With a last glance at Blaise, she added, “And you can just sit on the sofa and stew!”