Someone was gunning for her.

“No. No. No,” Alyssa whispered, nearly dropping the folder, panic jagging down her spine. Nausea gripped her stomach as she shoved her coffee aside the next morning. She raced through the file again, certainty growing as she scanned the pictures again. Frantic for it to be a joke—a mistake- Anything to indicate her life wasn’t about to go up in flames. Hand shaking, she sifted through the mail, searching for the envelope. For a clue to the sender. For a reason. But people who dealt in threats didn’t require reasons.

Despite her shock, Alyssa recognized a political time bomb being lobbed. The question was who. Who on the mayor’s staff had turned against him?

And why was she the target?

Scraping back her chair, she rose from the table, her brain on autopilot. Before the arrival of the manila envelope, Alyssa’s main concern had been whether she should ask Maddie and Sean for help with a stalker. After everything she’d endured two years earlier, she’d dreaded the thought of opening old wounds. For the past two weeks, she’d lived in limbo—praying the person following her had nothing to do with the terrible time two years earlier. Praying she was mistaken. Hell- praying she was just being paranoid.

Two years earlier, Madeline had been left to piece together her daughter’s shattered life. First, nursing her daughter’s broken body . . . and then her broken spirit. Alyssa couldn’t bear the thought of putting her mother through that again.

Now, this. Concern over a stalker might actually be forced to the sidelines-- for the worrisome problem of how she’d ended up in a series of compromising photos with the next candidate for governor. Together with Theo-- half naked.

Blackmail. Not exactly a case for Maddie-- the high society detective wannabe. Alyssa rinsed her coffee mug. Everything her mother knew came from binge-watching crime dramas on TV.

“Sean.” She clutched the counter as she tried to quiet her racing brain. This time, they had Sean Mullaney. Former cop. Former marine. Former everything that resembled tough, protective alpha male—all wrapped up in a man who worshipped Madeline. Her mother’s boyfriend was an expert on thieves, thugs-- and with any luck, blackmailers. This time, they'd fight fire . . . with a flame-thrower.

If she left now, she could fill them in on the downward spiral her life had taken in two short weeks. Talking to them might give her the courage she'd need when she called her boss-- the mayor.

"Chicken," she muttered, stomach churning over the thought of telling Theo. A smear campaign was the only logical answer. Theo was innocent. She was innocent. But who would believe their denials when there were pictures speaking for them?

Peeking into the silent living room, the closed bedroom door confirmed Teagan slept on, oblivious to her world crashing down in the kitchen. Thanks to all the other problems in her life, she could avoid thinking about the attractive nuisance he represented. At least temporarily. He'd come to her rescue in the middle of the night . . . an island of hard-bodied comfort in a buffeting, black sea of terror. His solid presence banishing her nightmare-- if only briefly.

Why was he still gorgeous? Why couldn't he look haggard and leathery? Reaching for her keys, she frowned.The flight risk had returned. Stirring up memories she'd smothered for a decade.

* * *

Twelve hours later, Alyssa unlocked the apartment door, heart still revving like a jet engine. She inhaled several shallow breaths. Allowing herself time to decompress, she focused on the ticking of the living room clock, a soothing, monotonous, ritual sound that would help quiet her rioting thoughts. Tonight’s panic attack had been induced by being forced to park three blocks away.

Though she’d vowed not to be affected by the assault two years earlier-- it had changed her. A year of self-defense classes hadn’t erased her fear of dark alleys. The skittish nerves that gathered in her chest each night when darkness fell—threatening to overwhelm her if she wasn’t already safely locked inside. Like tonight.

She’d run the three blocks, high heels and all, unable to shake the sensation of being watched. Her skin prickled with awareness . . . of something. But her anxiety had been running hot this week. First, the stalker forcing her to move into her brother’s unfamiliar rental. Different sounds. Different layout. Compounded by Teagan showing up—messing up her plan . . . demanding answers she didn't have.

She drifted through the darkened living room, soothed by the stillness. O'Brien had either lapsed into a coma or he’d awakened and ventured out on the town. "He could’ve left a few lights on."

As a bonus, his presence reawakened old doubts. Teagan had left an indelible smudge on Alyssa's twenty-two year old self. One that had never fully washed away. Had she snored? Drooled? Was she bad in bed? Had he found her ugly? Infuriated that his thoughtless action still stung ten years later, she scowled. He'd managed to hit a nerve that had changed her view of herself. To some degree, it had affected every relationship since.

Good things happened not because of hard work, but despite her flaws. Her fiancé’s abandonment after the vicious attack two years earlier? A reflection on her—instead of him. Part of her still believed Paul would've left her anyway.

Most of the time, Alyssa’s fears were carefully leashed. The residue of her assault-- the flashbacks and nightmares, she kept to herself. Two years later, confessing her lack of progress would only worry her mother. She’d grown weary of concerned glances. Worried smiles. Smothering protectiveness.

Everyone who cared about her wanted her to move beyond it. Shake free of the past. And she’d wanted that, too. But instead of confiding in someone—she’d learned to keep fear locked up. A stressful job and long working hours helped keep the monsters at bay.

Groping for the light switch in the kitchen, she was relieved for the sudden wash of brightness. Filtered light spilled into the living room, revealing Teagan sprawled on the couch. Alyssa startled. Hell-- she hadn't even heard him breathe. A pile of papers scattered over his mid-section as though he'd fallen asleep with them in his hands.

After changing into sweats, she returned to the kitchen, stomach growling. By the time she got home from work, she typically ate dinner around the time others contemplated bed. She’d already grated cheese into the omelet before she remembered Teagan. Should she make enough for him, too?

She crept back into the living room, his cynical, didn’t-miss-a-thing, gray eyes still safely closed. His overgrowth of facial hair left too much to her imagination. Was the hidden face as stunning as it had been a decade earlier? Well-built shoulders crushed the throw pillow. His body had only improved. Still lean, but somehow harder. Sinew and muscle in both body and psyche. Toughness that had likely come at a tremendous price.

Holding her breath, she leaned over, intent on sliding the papers from his grasp. Until she felt the glossy finish. Her pictures? Abandoning subtlety, she jerked the scattered photos from his chest.

Ten seconds later, she was flat on her back in the center of the faded Oriental rug, wind knocked from her chest; hands pinned over her head. Tasting dust as it wheezed from the carpet under her head.

Though her brain knew it was TJ pinning her, her heart raced with terror. The shadowy face above her own was bearded and scraggly, the eyes cloudy and confused. Just like last time-

"Not again. Let me. . ." Wild with panic, she bucked against him, fighting Teagan even as her eyes registered the recognition in his. Just as he released her hands with a muttered curse of realization, she lurched forward to cuff him under the chin.

"Ow-"

When he fell back in surprise, she kicked him rapid-fire in the stomach before he rolled out of reach. It was over in moments. But for Alyssa, the nightmare was as fresh as it had been two years earlier.

Collapsed on the rug, safely out of reach, Teagan sucked in a breath and groaned. "Jesus, I think I’m bleeding internally."

She fought the residue of panic still clogging her mind, dragging in shuddering gulps of air. "D-don’t t-touch me."

* * *

TJ scrambled to his feet, hands raised. "Don’t worry. I’m not especially interested in having my spleen ruptured." He glared at her from the relative safety of the rocking chair where he sat down hard. "First you nearly break my wrist-- now you’re rearranging my intestines." Anger traced over his skin. If this was about their one-night-stand ten years ago, then she seriously needed to get the hell over it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He ran a shaky hand through his too-long hair. "I warned you something like this might happen. You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you before I was fully awake."

She stared through him, her haunted expression sending a chill skating down his spine. It was as though she were somewhere else . . . in the throes of something bigger. Something that maybe had nothing to do with him. The tangled knot of anger dissolved. "Lyss?"

When she finally broke free from the icy web of fear, she began sobbing. "I--I f-forgot-"

"Don’t . . . it’s nothing to cry about." Unsure whether to approach, TJ decided to wait her out. Two wounded animals-- staring each other down, trying to anticipate the next move. His stare sliced through the murky shadows, taking in tear-drenched eyes. Her posture defeated—which didn’t match what had just happened. He replayed the scene in his mind. He’d awakened to being attacked. But by the time he’d pinned her to the floor, he’d recognized her. He’d loosened his hold, his body scorched by the contact with so much softness. "Hell-- I tackled you. Are you hurt?"

"I just wanted m-my pictures." Head in her hands, she was trembling. "I didn't mean to kick y-you."

"Dammit, Lyss, did I hurt you?" When she didn't respond, he sighed. He'd probably pay for it, but he couldn't just sit there . . . doing nothing while she was melting down. He dropped from the rocking chair to the floor, careful to keep his junk out of kicking range as he inched closer.

He flopped down next to her, wincing when his ribs protested the movement. She'd kicked the shit out of him. "Does anything hurt . . . on you?"

"No."

His attempted joke fell flat when she refused to look at him. "I'm fine," he tried again. "Thanks for asking."

When she glanced up, he froze-- the pain in her eyes catapulting him back ten years. He'd fallen asleep . . . awakening to rain pounding the dormer on her second floor window. Voices in the foyer downstairs. He'd awakened to Allie's drugging scent. Her back to him, curvy body spooned to his front. Her sturdy hand swallowed up in his.

A trip to the bathroom. Discovering the picture that shot fear to his stomach. The realization he’d made a huge, terrible mistake. By the time he'd cleared the window ledge . . . searching for footholds in the murky dawn light, something broke his concentration. A sound. A movement. A sensation. He'd made the mistake of turning back. Alyssa sitting up in bed. Watching him. Her slumbering brain coming awake. An arrested expression on her face. Hurt. Embarrassment.

The way she stared at him now.

He swallowed hard, reliving the shame he’d felt the next day. How he’d talked himself out of calling her to attempt an explanation. The pang of regret boarding the plane that carried him to the other side of the world. The crazy sense of relief at not running into her brother downstairs. His friendship with Matt had been preserved. But at one hell of a price.

Alyssa wiped her eyes, a battle of wills being fought across her expressive face. Wherever her mind had retreated to-- she was fighting to return. Hand shaking, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as though biding for time to regain control.

"What were you doing with my pictures? You had no business looking in that envelope."

His brows drew together in a frown. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that." Relieved to set aside his uncomfortable thoughts, he remembered the photos. "Can’t resist anything marked ‘confidential’. Goes against my training." Scratching his itchy beard, he winced. Shaving really needed to move up his list, pronto.

"You shouldn’t leave stuff like that lying around. I may have been on another planet for the last year, but I still recognize the mayor. Does your brother know about this?"

* * *

Alyssa jerked to her feet, anger forking through her. Snatching them up from the floor, she crammed the horrible pictures back into the envelope. This is how it will be, her brain mocked. If those pictures were published-- she could expect humiliation every day, helpless to stop the speculation that would swirl around her. "I don’t answer to Matt."

TJ rolled to his feet. "He wouldn’t be crazy about his kid sister running around with a married man."

"I’m not running around," she said through clenched teeth. An unseen enemy intent on harming her. Two years ago, she’d been too injured to fight back.

The why had driven her crazy. What had been special about that night? There had to be a reason for the attack. For two years, she'd waited for a trigger. A clue to her attacker. A memory forgotten.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

She stuffed the offensive pictures into her purse. Then turned to unleash her mounting fury on Teagan O’Brien. "As long as we’re sharing the same space, I won’t pry into your life and you can stay the hell out of mine."

With as much dignity as she could muster, Alyssa hobbled back to the kitchen. Resisting the urge to hurl her pan across the spotless kitchen, she spent her fury on the unsuspecting omelet, whisking the yellow liquid into a vortex resembling a category 5 hurricane. All while hot tears burned down her cheeks.

Dammit, she wanted her life back.

"You’re limping," he accused from behind her. "Hell, Alyssa-- I hurt you. Why didn’t you say something?"

She hurt all right. But the pain lancing her chest was the frozen terror of her life spinning out of control. It was the desperate knowledge that just like last time-- no one would be able to help her. "I’m fine," she sniffed.

"You’re crying? God-- where did I hurt you?" Crossing the room in three strides, Teagan gently turned her to face him. "Lyss . . . just tell me where it hurts."

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Alyssa succeeded in sloshing the cheesy egg mixture on his shirt. "I’ve got a bruise on my butt where I landed on the floor." Relief flared in worried gray eyes before being replaced by a glint of humor that never seemed far away. "Before you offer . . . the answer is no. You can’t examine it for me."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm tired. I just want to eat and go to bed."

"If you think I’m that easily diverted, you’re mistaken." Examining her, Teagan took a step back, crossing his arms.

Her deflated sigh sounded like a tired balloon. What little energy remained, disappeared. "I was crying because I’ll be hearing a hundred comments like yours once those pictures are published."

"Who found out about you and the mayor?"

Teagan ripped a paper towel from the roll and calmly began blotting the stain from his shirt. For the first time, Alyssa noticed his make-shift splint had been replaced with a brace.

She nodded to his wrist. "When did you get that?"

"I went to a doc-in-the-box between naps. There’s no sense re-injuring it. I like my mobility." Balling up the paper towel, Teagan arced it into the trashcan on the opposite side of the kitchen. "How’d you plan to keep the two of you secret?"

"There's no ‘two of us’," she snapped. "I work for Theo. That’s it." But the pictures painted a different story. Anyone who didn’t know the Honorable Mayor Theodore Robbins would assume he was having a red-hot affair with his legislative aide. Anyone who didn’t know Alyssa would believe her a professional home wrecker.

"You're not sleeping with him?"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone." Shoulders sagging, she sighed, too worried about her future to summon any anger. "Theo's contemplating a run for—another office. Those pictures are obviously someone's attempt to get him to reconsider." She cringed at the thought of her career imploding in a public fireball. Until she thought of the mayor. Theo had far more to lose. Only months earlier there'd been heady whispers of a bid for governor.

"Poor Theo." Lord, what would Maggie Robbins believe? And their kids? What humiliation would Bridget and Michael face at school if those photos were made public?

Teagan removed the whisk from her grip and set it on the counter. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What can I-" She stared at him. "Wait . . . you believe me?"

He appeared to consider it for several seconds. "Matt never lies. And your mother-" Teagan grimaced. "Maddie gives me her honest opinion even when I beg her not to."

Her anger evaporating, Alyssa smiled over the telling statement.

"I’ll assume the integrity thing is a family trait."

"Thanks." Wearily, she opened the glass-fronted cabinet and pulled down two plates.

"What’ll you do about the pictures?" Shifting the skillet from the counter to the burner, Teagan nodded to the fridge. "Is there any butter?"

"What can I do?" Alyssa had spent nearly an hour being harangued by Maddie and Sean over her plan. Thankfully, they’d been interrupted by Baby TJ’s angry howls for dinner. Her plan? Duck and run.

Rummaging through the refrigerator, she handed him a stick. "Besides denying it and being pressured to resign, what can I do?"

"Who’s behind them?"

"Someone who doesn’t want Theo to run. Those pictures-- the backgrounds anyway, are in rooms off-limits to the general public."

"Not much skill to doctoring photos," Teagan admitted. "Pretty much anyone can do it." He concentrated on the melting butter, his large hand twisting the pan to coat it. “You think it’s a blackmail attempt?”

She admired his work. Teagan wasted no effort. Every motion had a specific purpose. He wouldn’t be one for flailing arms when something didn’t go right. He’d just dig in and fix it. "All I've received is the pictures."

"What about the running for something else theory?"

“Nothing has been decided.” For her, either. The thought of another race . . . another four years . . . left her unenthusiastic. She was tired. Of everything. Thoughts of her mother’s cabin floated before her. How many years had it been since she’d spent more than a weekend there? To get away. Rest her mind. Read a book instead of a briefing memo. And just be . . . quiet.

For two years, she’d been maniacally running. Trying to stay one step ahead of her demons. Exhausting herself with the quest for answers. When there were none to be found. Her shoulders slumped. "Theo and Maggie have a few family issues to work through-" Her voice trailed off. "Besides, he still has two years left as mayor."

He gently pushed her two steps back when she would have taken over at the stove. "I'm in the mood to cook." He pried the bowl from her grip.

"I don’t know what to do," she admitted, her legs suddenly weary as she sank into the kitchen chair. "I can resign, but that won’t stop their publication. I was contemplating meeting with the Commonwealth’s Attorney for advice. Maybe get the state police involved-- but Theo wants to wait."

"You need to find out who’s behind it-- neutralize your enemy and move forward."

“This isn’t a mission.” Anger heated her cheeks. "I’m not dropping behind enemy lines."

He stilled, whisk frozen in his grip. "Where’d you hear that?"

"I was speaking figuratively." She met his suspicious gaze over the spitting pan. "But that means you must be hiding something.”

“Aren’t we all hiding something?” When he added another handful of cheese to the eggy mixture, her stomach growled.

O’Brien was correct about one thing. She needed a plan. “Unless you’re interested in volunteering your mysterious talents, you can stay out of it."

"Suit yourself."

“Mom thinks Sean should handle it for me.” In seventy-two hours, she’d face an unknown enemy in her own camp. Someone on Theo’s staff had turned against him. Against her. Frowning, she rose from her chair. There was rye bread in the fridge.

"You told your mother? Jeez-- why didn’t you take out an ad in The Globe?" Spatula in hand, he turned. "Hell—I’m supposed to have dinner with her tomorrow."

She did a double-take. “You’ve been back five minutes.”

"We have a standing date for Sunday dinner whenever I’m in town. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it when you saw her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m staying here.” Alyssa hesitated, peering over the fridge door. This is where her minefield of lies could catch up with her. “I didn’t mention my-- floors being sanded.” New door was more like it. It had been left hanging on its hinges after the last break-in. Whoever was after her didn’t have a problem making their presence known. “And we’re not supposed to know each other,” she added.

“Do you avoid me when I’m home?”

She stiffened at his question. She’d often wondered the same thing. “I don’t have to avoid someone I don’t actually know.”

Teagan poured the eggs into the pan. “We could get to know each other.”

“Unfortunately, I’m a little busy with this blackmail mess.” She feigned interest in the sparse contents of the fridge. “And you’re only back for twenty-six days.” She didn’t need to waste another ten years wondering about him after he left this time.

He stirred fluffy looking eggs. “If you’d like, I can get you invited.”

“Madeline doesn’t invite. She issues orders.” Even she didn’t get invited to Madeline’s every Sunday. “What a suck-up.”

“If they already know about the blackmail, it would be a good opportunity to hash out your M.O. I could offer a few suggestions.”

“I have plenty of people offering suggestions.” She needed actual help. Determined to block further discussion of her impending doom, she sniffed a crusty-rimmed jar of marmalade. Monday would arrive soon enough. "Are you okay with rye toast?"

"I can’t get involved. Period."

Interesting how his eyes sparked with his disinterest. "I wholeheartedly agree," she baited, knowing the bland statement would likely set him off.

"I’m back in Boston to figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life,” he announced. “I’ve got three weeks, tops-- to make a major life decision before I go back to goat country-" Eyes narrowing, he turned back to the stove.

"I won't allow my crumbling life to interfere with your career planning."

Frustration washing over her, her reasonable voice came at a cost. "Are they promoting

you to Super Spy?" Alyssa glared at his back. "Matt will be home in ten days. Hopefully,

my . . . carpets will be installed before then."

He glanced up, pinning her with predator eyes. “I thought you said the floors were being sanded?”

Crossing her fingers, she was grateful for the refrigerator door between them. “They're sanding the floors, then installing carpet . . .” Who remembered stupid details?

He turned down the burner, his wrist brace a snowy white contrast to his tanned bicep. "Why would anyone sand floors-- then lay carpet over them?"

Leave it to TJ to pick apart a perfectly good lie. "My point is . . . you’ll be left in peace to make your life-altering plans."

"I don’t have time to mess with your blackmail problem," His determined expression indicated he would explain whether she liked it or not. "Those things get out of control if they’re not handled right. It could drag out for weeks."

"Great news." She slammed the refrigerator door, grimacing at the sound of condiments rattling into one another.

"If I were you-- I’d apply my energy to solutions." He slid portions of scrambled eggs onto the plates she’d left on the counter. "Now-- who is Sean?"

"Mullaney," she ground out, her head beginning to pound. "He’s Madeline’s . . . boyfriend. Partner." Lover? She winced. Not something she cared to spend any time thinking about. "Whatever. They’ve been living together for nearly a year."

That stopped him cold. "Living together? Your mother is living with a guy? But-- she’s old. She’s-- Catholic."

"Yeah, and she’s outlived three husbands." Alyssa was feeling downright defiant at this point. Who the hell was he to judge her family? "Sean’s asked her to marry him a hundred times."

"And?"

"She's afraid-"

He snorted. "The Maddie I know fears nothing."

"She believes she's cursed." A smile played around her lips. "Mom believes if she accepts Sean's proposal, as soon as they tie the knot, he’ll go toes up like the other three."

Teagan carried their plates to the table. "She was with your dad for twenty years before he passed away. And the second one-" He paused, doing the math. "Four years?"

"Five," she corrected as she pulled out a chair.

"And the last one?"

"He lasted eight." She took a bite and closed her eyes. "Either I'm starving or these are really good."

"I’d go with starving." His dry comment made her smile.

"Anyway, Maddie's worried about developing a reputation as a black widow-"

His chuckle surprised her. Maybe because he didn't look like someone who laughed much. "After three husbands, I think she’s got the reputation locked down." He shook his head in disbelief. "I can’t believe-- Maddie living with a guy."

"Frankly, at her age a little sin can’t hurt. Plus, it keeps her off my back."

"So-- what’s Mullaney’s skill set?"

"He’s retired military, retired state police," she recited. "Works with Boston PD and runs a detective agency with his daughter."

"Let me guess-- their business consists of divorces and workers comp fraud cases." Wincing, he joined her at the table. "Great. What else you got?"

"Actually, I think you’re wrong," Alyssa corrected. "Mom says he has some pretty big companies on retainer. Mullaney knows just about everyone in Boston. His daughter MaryJo is a computer wizard. She can hack into practically any system, government or otherwise. And now Mom’s helping out."

"Madeline is helping—in a detective agency?" Teagan cracked up. "I have been away too long," he admitted, gray eyes heating with amusement. "The Boston socialite with the perfect manicure—investigating crimes?" Laughter still brimming in suddenly warm eyes, he stared at her in disbelief. "What-- the case of the misplaced tea service?"

Alyssa had to fight not to dissolve in hysterical laughter that would end in tears. Come Monday, her career would crash in a death spiral. Hell, she might find herself working for Sean, too. "Look at it this way . . . all those years of Murder She Wrote are finally being put to good use."

"You’re kidding."

"She’s already learned how to pick locks and break into buildings. Sean’s teaching her to shoot-"

"Guns?" His chair scraped back in surprise.

"I believe she already knew how to shoot pool."

Teagan sputtered. "Your mother-- is shooting guns?"

Cocking her head sideways, Alyssa studied his horrified expression. "That’s the same expression Matt gets when she starts talking business."

"Matt is going along with this?"

"Has anyone ever had a say in what my mother does?"

He studied her across the table, calmly assessing the situation yet revealing nothing. "I’ll call him."

She frowned. "We’re not calling unless there’s an emergency."

"You don’t think this qualifies?" Ignoring the jelly, he took a noisy bite of dry toast.

"An emergency with the baby," she clarified. "Matt didn't get a real honeymoon the first time. He and Julie spent a week at the lake and then the agency called him back for a big case."

"You mom still has the lake house?"

"You've been there?" Though she still couldn't see his face due to the overgrowth of whiskers, the expression in his eyes grew wistful.

"Four summers in a row-- Matt and I got jobs at Tilly's Diner and we lived at the lake."

His voice had changed. The defensiveness disappearing for a moment. "I never knew that."

Where had she been during those years? Growing up, she and Matt had been close. But high school had changed that. Their age difference was enough to keep them mostly apart. There'd always been a gang of Matt's friends in and out of the house. Probably an O'Brien or two in the mix, but she'd been absorbed in her own friends. The insular bubble of teenaged angst had left her too busy to notice what her brother had been up to.

Then their father died. A brief moment of brother-sister closeness-- united in grief and vulnerability before Matt returned to college. Probably, they would have drifted apart anyway. But those years had somehow sealed it.

"Those were the best summers of my life." His quiet statement broke the comfortable stillness.

"I haven't been out there in years."

"Why?" His expression was one of trying to comprehend a language he didn’t speak.

"I was thinking if it all goes south at work-- maybe I'll head out there for a while. Clear my head."

“Did you plan this?" With surgical precision, Teagan forked up the eggs on his plate. "You know-- so I’d get stuck helping you?"

Alyssa froze at the accusation. Where the hell had that come from? "Yeah, I planned to be blackmailed by some unknown staffer because I knew you’d be returning home after a year spent God-knows-where."

He smirked. "Never mind."

"I spent one night with you ten years ago." She shot him a withering glance. "Before you dove out my window and disappeared forever?"

"The question was more rhetorical-"

"No-- you don't get to make stupid accusations and then back away from them." She settled in, content to allow hurt feelings speak on her behalf. "Let’s see-- I planned to be in Matt’s rental . . . when you broke in." She stabbed her eggs. "I deliberately break your wrist."

"Sprain," he corrected, voice just lazy enough to suggest he wouldn't rise to the bait. For some reason, that pricked her even more. "But please continue."

"I leave my sexy photo shoot lying on the table so know-it-all Teagan O'Brien can make me feel like a moron." When she came up for air, his gaze had finally turned wintry. Leaving chips of bleak, gray ice where eyes should have been. Despite the shiver whispering down her spine, she continued. "I planned all this so you could give me your lame reasons why you won't help."

"Listen, sweet-- I’m not participating in some poorly planned, bordering on farcical idea to catch a blackmailer who may or may not be running loose on the mayor’s staff."

"Then don’t," she shouted, her voice reverberating off the cabinets. How could this lazy, selfish jerk be her brother’s best friend? Startled, she lowered her voice.

"I don’t want or need your help. Is that clear?" She swallowed around the lump of fury wedged in her throat. How much more would she be made to endure? "I don’t know where you get off-- thinking you’re so valuable. For all I know you’ve spent the last year polishing the Admiral’s boots."

"Admirals are Navy," he muttered, ignoring her deliberate insult.

"Stop the presses. I finally learn something about the legendary superhero." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "I suppose in the interest of national security, you’ll have to kill me?"

"What sort of half-assed plan did you come up with?”

"This discussion is over." If she were lying in the road bleeding, he would likely step over her body and keep going. "You must be pretty special if Matt sees something in you, because frankly-- I don’t get it."

Teagan pushed his chair back. “You and everyone else,” he muttered, his words so quiet, she barely heard them. He glared down at her, eyes the color of storm clouds as he mentally weighed his options. His brooding expression suggested his choice was between bad and worse.

"You’ll be sorry you asked."

"I’m already sorry."

Despite his annoyance, her remark made him smile. "That’s good. You’ll need to keep your shields up. This thing’ll probably get ugly before it’s over."

"Does that mean you’ll help?" She maintained eye contact, ignoring the barely contained energy vibrating from him. Like a rock thrown into still waters, his tension rippled in ever widening circles until it encompassed her.

Placing his dishes in the sink, he strode across the room, not looking back. "Yes, dammit."

In the last three minutes Alyssa finally discovered what everyone else instinctively knew. Teagan O’Brien was dangerous. "Thank you."

At her begrudging words, he paused in the doorway. "Sweet-- I’m accepting an offer of employment. You’ll pay for my services."