Whitney huddled in the women’s bathroom in the lobby of her apartment building, praying the locked door of the bathroom stall she’d wedged herself into would hold against an intruder. She was so shaken she almost slid to the floor and sat down, until she realized how gross that would be. Instead, she stood huddled in the corner of the stall, her back against the wall, clutching her phone and trembling like a terrified fool.

Oh, God. What was going on? Was someone out to get her?

Whoever had broken into her apartment might be trying to kill her… Was the vandal somehow tied to her car? Maybe he’d stolen her car, found her identity, and tracked her back to her apartment.

Her feet hurt, but she would wait until every toe went numb before taking her heels off in this bacteria-infested place.

The door outside creaked open and she cringed against the wall. She didn’t know who her sister was sending, but Melissa had sounded confident in the man’s abilities. Whitney caught traces of a deep, steady voice in the background of their call, but that was it. Hardly enough to gauge the man’s character, but surely her sister wouldn’t send one of her lab assistants to fend off an attacker. She listened for the light click of a woman’s heels on tiled floor, but all she heard was silence.

“Whitney.”

Her stomach rocketed up into her throat. That was most definitely not a woman’s voice. Was it the person who’d broken into her apartment?

All she had was a clutch on her person and her cell phone. How could she defend herself? If only she had a knife. Hell, anything sharp and pointed would do.

Her shoes.

Whitney sucked in a breath and slowly inched her hand down toward her ankle, fumbling with numb fingers for the golden clasp on her stiletto. She eased one foot out and clutched the toe of her shoe, lifting it high over her head as she balanced on one tottering foot.

Whatever this asshole wanted from her, he had another thing coming if he thought she was going to let him take it. She could Lara Croft Tomb Raider his ass straight into the next world, armed with nothing but the six-inch spike heel on her Manolo Blahnik.

The man’s feet appeared in the opening in front of her stall door and she squared off, preparing to confront him. She could sense his physical power through the measly metal frame. Her bravado faltered as a violent tremor worked through her body. She’d never fought anyone or anything—what was she supposed to do?

She hadn’t watched enough action movies or taken any self-defense courses to know how to fend off an attacker.

Think, think.

The door handle jiggled and there was a long sigh on the other side, followed by the man’s deep, silky smooth voice, “Whitney, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Did he know her name? He must’ve broken into her glove box! She bit her lip hard enough to taste the blood on her teeth.

She pulled her shoe back further until the heel bumped into the wall behind her. He could kick open that door and come in guns blazing, but he’d get a spike in his head first.

“Whitney, I can hear you breathing. Your sister sent me over. I was in the room with her when you called.”

It would be easy for anyone equipped with Google to find out she had a sister. “What’s my sister’s name?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“Dr. Melissa Averton. She’s got long, thick, brown hair. Black glasses. And she also doesn’t know when it’s time to stop working and take a break from the lab.”

Whitney’s chest clenched and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears springing to her eyes. Anyone could find out what her sister looked like, but not everyone knew about her tendency to be a workaholic.

“Whitney, unlock the door. I’m here to help you,” his smooth voice urged her to calm down, but fear still had its grip on her system and Whitney kept the shoe raised high just in case. She eased forward one step, flipped the latch and quickly stepped back, ready to spring forward if necessary.

The door creaked open of its own accord and Whitney stood frozen to the spot, staring up at a muscle-stacked man with wavy, chocolate-brown hair and a jaw chiseled from granite. Her sister didn’t know men who looked like this. There was no way Melissa had sent him. She clenched her shoe tighter and sucked in a breath, ready for his attack.

His deep blue gaze raked her from head to toe, but he didn’t move an inch. He didn’t do anything other than stand there in silence.

They were stuck in a standoff of sorts and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first one to make a move.

Dear God, she’d never seen muscles like that, not in real life, only the kind that were airbrushed on skinny male models in Cosmopolitan magazine.

“Whitney, I’m not sure what you think you’re going to do with that shoe, but I promise you it wouldn’t stop anyone who wanted to attack you. As I said, though, I am not here to hurt you. Your sister sent me to help you. She’s working with me and my team for the… for the government.” She heard hesitation in his voice; he was lying.

“Tell me something else about my sister, something that proves you actually know her.”

“She fidgets with her glasses when she’s nervous and she works until she’s ready to drop dead. And she also has no problem with putting pink Band-Aids on soldiers.” He nodded toward the crook of his elbow, where there was evidence of that last statement.

Whitney’s resolve wavered. That did sound an awful lot like her sister. She could so easily see Melissa slapping a pink Band-Aid on this man and the image brought a smile to her lips. “She really did send you, didn’t she?” She said breathlessly, relief robbing her of her strength.

“My name is Hicks. And I really don’t want another Averton to stab me tonight, seeing as how your sister has been busy drawing my blood since noon.” He eased forward, heat radiating off his body in blazing waves. He reached over her head and gently took her hand in his, unwrapping her fingers from around her shoe.

She was surprised she could feel his touch at all since her hand had gone numb several minutes ago. And then he knelt at her feet and looked up at her expectantly. Whitney swallowed the huge lump in her throat, slid her foot into the shoe and stood there trembling as he buckled the strap around her ankle. His big hands made her ankle look so dainty. She could feel every minuscule inch of his warm, callused hand on her leg, and his touch sent heat racing up her thigh. Her trembling turned to something that had nothing to do with fear and she gasped out loud, unprepared for the sensation.

Dark intensity pooled in his eyes.

He’d felt it too.

Hicks rose to a standing position. He was so tall she was forced to tilt her head back to see his face. His raw masculine perfection stole the air from her lungs.

“I’m Whitney,” she said in the silence, immediately regretting the stupid words. Of course, he knew who she was—Melissa had sent him to rescue her.

He probably thought she was a complete idiot.

His deep, velvet voice eased her frayed nerves like aloe vera on sunburn and it was all she could do not to melt on the spot.

“It’s a beautiful name.”

Her libido jumped up and started shaking its booty.

“Hicks is a nice name too.” She licked her lips at a loss as to what to say or how to act. It was a position she had never found herself in before, not even as a teenager. She’d always been confident around men; sure, her hourglass figure would knock their socks off. But something about Hicks had rendered her powerless, as if naked. Not physically, but on the inside, like he could peer right into her soul.

* * *

Why couldn’t he stop staring at her?

He didn’t know what he’d expected. Certainly not this siren wrapped in a body-hugging dress, stealing his breath. Sapphire blue eyes. Long, silky, mahogany hair. He’d always liked women with curves, and sweet Jesus, Whitney had those in abundance. He clenched his hands into a tight fist, resisting the temptation to skim his fingers down her arm. Odds were her skin was as soft as it looked.

If he didn’t get himself under control soon, he’d end up backing her against the wall and claiming her lips with a fierce kiss. As if on autopilot, he took two steps forward without consciously realizing what he was doing. His lips were hovering inches above hers, his breath sawing in and out of his chest in harsh waves.

Whitney licked her lush lips and he clenched his jaw to stifle a groan. Damn, it was taking every ounce of willpower to restrain himself.

Focus, Hicks. Focus.

There was a reason he was here. He had a job to do - to get Dr. Averton’s sister to safety. The sooner he accomplished this mission, the better… for both of them.

“Someone broke into your apartment?” Maybe if he said the words out loud, his torturous body would get the message and stay on task.

“Yes,” she said in a husky whisper that had him leaning forward.

He threaded a hand through his hair, trying to shake the attraction. He’d gone way too long without a woman. Way, way too long. “Okay, let’s get you out of here. As soon as you’re safe, I’ll come back and take care of everything.”

“No!” Whitney bit her lip and Hicks nearly fell to his knees. He wanted to bite that lip—he wanted to suck on it and draw a moan from her.

“It’s okay. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” She’d started trembling again, like her knees would give out any second.

“It’s not that – I just – I need to get my cat. I can’t leave him up there.”

Hicks tamped down on the small surge of frustration her words caused. “Whitney, your cat will be fine. You, on the other hand, will not.”

What was it with women and their animals anyway?

“Hicks, I can’t leave him.” She leaned toward him, her soft curves pressing against his bicep in a way that made his toes curl in his boots. “Please, can you take me up there?”

From the way, she stared up at him with those flushed cheeks, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Even in the bright fluorescent light in the bathroom, her pupils dilated. But he’d be damned if he’d act on his base instincts here in the bathroom.

He’d check out her apartment and make sure she was safe and then—then he’d put her against the wall and kiss her till they both were senseless.

He cleared his throat, stepping out of the stall in the hope it would give them both enough time to collect themselves. “Fine, tell me his name. I’ll go get him and bring him to you.”

Whitney adjusted the strap on the tiny purse he hadn’t even noticed she was wearing and eased out of the stall. “I’m going with you. You’ll never catch him, he hates men.”

“You’re not going.” Didn’t she understand how unsafe she would be? “Your sister sent me to protect you, not escort you into danger.”

Her lips firmed and he could practically see the thoughts buzzing around in her head. She wasn’t ready to give up.

“I’m assuming you’re in some kind of securities profession?”

He’d been expecting her to beg but her question caught him off guard. He let out a cautious, “Yes.”

“And you’ve dealt with this sort of situation before?”

“Multiple times, which is why I know better than to allow you back up there.” Hick’s crossed his arms over his chest, exuding as much calm focus as he could muster. He’d witnessed enough devastation in his life to last twenty lifetimes. He had no intention of allowing any person under his watch to fall into harm.

“And you’re pretty good at your job, I’m guessing, or you wouldn’t still be here.” Whitney studied her nails, everything about her tone and gestures nonchalant. But Hicks could feel the waves of energy flowing through her.

“I guess you could say that.”

“My sister seems pretty confident in your abilities to protect me.” She flicked her nails, still avoiding his gaze.

He could toss her over his shoulder and haul her ass to the car right now, effectively ending her charade, but he was too curious to see where her line of questioning was leading. “Yes, she is.”

Whitney looked up, her deep blue eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Then you are confident you could protect me from harm?”

“Of course,” he said. He would protect her with his life if needed.

“Perfect. Come on then.” Whitney brushed past him and pulled open the bathroom door. “I’ve got the key.”

Hick’s caught the door mid swing and followed her out, watching the way her long legs flexed as she sauntered across the lobby in those sexy-ass heels. “Where are you going?”

“To my apartment.” She flung the words over her shoulder.

“Whitney-” Hicks wanted to shout. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her.

She strode across the classy lobby and punched the button to the farthest elevator on the left. The door slid open immediately and she stepped inside.

He jogged to catch up, slapping a hand in front of the elevator door before it slammed in his face. Shit, he hoped the elevator ride was a short one. Being trapped in an enclosed space with her for much longer might make his control slip. Hicks clenched his jaw, fighting the burning desire and frustration. “You will stay with me the whole time, do you understand?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot.”

Sassy and sexy. Damn.

She eased the gold card into the slot and 35 lit up on the number board. So much for it being a short ride. Hicks cleared his throat. “Penthouse?”

“Yes, I probably should’ve told you that. I’m the only one with access to this elevator and it opens directly into my apartment.” She didn’t say that with any snobbery or pride that he could detect. She was letting him know to prepare him, nothing more or less.

“Do what I say when I say it.” He pulled his Beretta from the holster at his hip and her eyes went wide. Shit, women like her probably didn’t see guns very often. And here he was in his full training gear—black shirt, tactical pants, boots, and weapons. He probably looked like some kind of assassin.

But maybe a little dose of fear was a good reminder of just how dangerous the situation could become. “Where do you think the cat will be?”

“I’m not sure. He’s probably hiding.”

The light beeped as they passed the thirty-second floor. “Get behind me. If I tell you to run, you get your ass to this elevator with or without the cat and don’t come back. Understood?”

“Yes.” She moved behind him just as the doors dinged open into a darkened apartment.

Even though the lights were off, he could clearly see the destruction. What must’ve been a very expensive vase lay shattered on the floor just past the large entry table. Other random knickknacks were scattered around, and through the darkness, he could clearly see her living area was in disarray.

She pressed in close to his back, almost touching, and he could feel every inch of her skin as if it were vibrating in the air around him.

“Do you want me to turn on the lights?” she whispered.

“No, dark is better.” The darkness was his friend. It would camouflage them as they moved throughout the apartment. Plus, though he wasn’t about to say so, he could see as well in the night as he could in the day. That little side effect from Project Mayhem would surely freak her out, but he just thought it was cool. The changes in his body gave him certain advantages over his enemy—he could see, hear, and smell better. He was able to detect his targets before they even knew he was within reach.

The enhanced senses were, simply put, awesome. It was all the other side effects he didn’t like. Certain shades of light affected him severely, and when he was in thick crowds, his brain would sometimes fritz out, wracking him with pain. Dr. Averton had explained it like a sensory overload, but in truth, she didn’t know why he and his team couldn’t handle certain situations.

And then there was that other side effect…the one that kept him up at night. The trigger that they didn’t understand.

“Stay close,” he said in a low tone and began moving deeper inside, aware of her every move as she followed him.

What once must’ve been a luxury apartment now lay in shambles. The bastard who’d ransacked the place had destroyed everything. Ripped open throw pillows and cushions littered the floor. Her TV screen had been busted and sat at an odd angle inside an enormous floor-to-ceiling cabinet to the right. Hicks paused just inside, listening for any movement.

There was none.

He couldn’t detect a single other human in the place beside Whitney, but he wasn’t going to rely only on his senses in this circumstance. He hadn’t wanted to consider the fact there might be others out there like him, able to detect heart beats through walls, but General Rainier wasn’t a stupid man. The likelihood he’d created more men like Hicks and his team was a real possibility.

And Rainier needed Dr. Melissa Averton badly. Going after her sister would almost guarantee a response from Team Mayhem. But that would also mean Rainier knew Hicks’ team was near enough to respond and was looking to draw them out, a fact that was near impossible.

They’d hid well and barely left base, astutely avoiding public places and people. More than likely, Whitney was the victim of a robbery.

He moved through the large kitchen, noting that the drawers were pulled out and the utensils scattered across the floor. Every inch of the place had been ransacked.

His instincts fired high on alert. Vandals and robbers pilfered houses looking for valuables in cash, but this calculated annihilation was purely intended to deliver ruin. Whitney Averton had an enemy.

He kept his gun high as he crept through the apartment, scanning every possible hiding spot for signs of the intruder. Finally, he moved into her bedroom. The first thing that caught his attention was that the low-profile bed and mattress had been cut open. Her clothes and personal items were flung across the room.

She gasped, and he was struck by the thought of how shocking this must be for her. She started to tremble, and it was all he could do not to turn and take her into his arms and comfort her. Someone with this amount of destructive power could very easily be hiding, intending to bring harm to Whitney, and he would not allow that to happen.

She grabbed the back of his shirt and balled her hands into fists, pulling the fabric tight across his stomach and chest, but he didn’t care. He was glad to be her anchor.

He kept moving into a large, open bathroom. In the darkness, he could see the words “you’re mine” scrawled across the mirror in red lipstick. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.

He cleared the room quickly, and before Whitney could offer to turn on the lights again, he sent out another wave of senses, listening for any sign of her intruder.

But the only sound was Whitney’s frantic pulse thrumming in her veins. He could feel her fear. He’d cleared the whole apartment. They were safe for now.

“He’s not here. You’re safe.” Hicks reached around his back and eased her grip on his shirt, turned and faced her in the process. He tucked his Beretta into his holster and took her into his arms.

She tucked her head under his chin without protest and pleasure detonated in his chest. She wasn’t some dainty thing he had to worry about crushing in his arms—she fit him perfectly.

The slight smell of vodka clung to her, barely there but strong enough for him to detect. The scent of spiced honey was much more powerful. She smelled like a hot summer day.

And he was getting scorched by her heat.

Damn, he’d die if he didn’t kiss her right now. Hicks leaned back and gently tipped up her chin with his finger, giving her enough time to pull away if she wanted to. When he was an inch from her mouth, her eyes slid shut, and her warm breath caressed his skin. With a soft groan, he lowered his head the rest of the way and gently brushed his lips against hers, tasting her satin-soft skin. His lips buzzed with electricity that zipped through his entire body, making it hard, tight, and aching.

Of their own accord, his fingers speared her hair and he took her mouth in a fierce act of primal possession. Her arms went around his neck and her breasts pressed hard against his chest. As their tongues danced, she pulled him closer, her need as strong as his.

She made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t know a thing about her other than that she was Dr. Averton’s sister.

Her nails dug into the back of his neck and he stopped thinking about anything other than how good she felt.

His free hand skimmed down her waist to her hip and then around to her generous ass, which he cupped and squeezed, and as if reading his mind, she lifted for him and wrapped her legs around his waist. That move put her core in direct contact with his hardness through his pants, sending an intense spike of pleasure through him that almost bordered on pain.

He needed more of her. He needed to rip that dress off her and feel her skin pressed against his. He needed to be inside her.

He lifted her higher with that one hand, easily holding her in place as he tore his mouth from hers. He went to the nearest empty wall and propped her against it, pinning her in place just like he’d imagined doing in the bathroom downstairs. “Tell me to stop,” he growled.

She tugged on his hair and arched her back, lifting her chin up so that her lips parted and her eyelashes lowered. “No, please don’t stop.”

Sweet Jesus, he wasn’t a man who could turn down an offer twice. Not when he wanted her so bad. He fumbled for the zipper on the back of her dress and couldn’t find it. When he let out a soft curse, she chuckled. “It’s on the left side.”

“Why does it have to be so complicated?” he bit out, sliding his hand around underneath her left arm until he found the zipper.

She arched, pressing herself tighter against his hardness. “Because anything worth having is worth working for.”

“Damn right.” He grabbed the zipper between his thumb and finger and slid it down, then slipped his hand into her dress and around her waist, her skin like smooth silk beneath his callused palm.

Her every hitch, every gasping breath made him that much harder.

He trailed gentle kisses along her jawline and down the smooth curve of her neck, eased the strap of her dress down her arm, and then kissed his way across her collarbone. When he reached the other side, he did the same.

Whitney pulled her arms free without him asking, her beautiful breasts straining against the cups of her midnight lace bra.

Trembling like he was opening his first Christmas present, he set her on her feet and slipped the dress off. She was a goddess bathed in the dim glow of moonlight spilling in from the open curtains in the bedroom behind her. He yanked his tucked in shirt from his pants and slowly lifted it over his head.

Her fingers skimmed over his chest and his abdomen before circling around his shoulders and arms. She trailed gentle kisses across his torso, went to her knees, and unbuckled his pants.

Imagining her mouth wrapped around his cock, how her hot little tongue would slide over him, had his knees going weak.

She snapped the button free, zippered down, and his heart nearly beat out of his chest. If he let her take him in her mouth, he’d come like a teenager in thirty seconds. Game over. Shit, he might lose it as soon as she touched him with those soft hands.

He needed to take control before he lost it completely.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, but before she could yank them down, he reached underneath her arms and picked her up. Her chest brushed against his, her beautiful breasts pressed against his flesh, and he allowed his mouth to claim hers once more. Then, without planning it, he found himself carrying her into her bedroom, their mouths sealed together as one.

But when they reached the doorway, he just stood there, still holding her against him, staring down at her as raw desire carved into his chest.

She grabbed his hand and placed it over her breast, encouraging him to keep going. That small gesture was all the permission he needed. His fingers tightened, squeezing her breast, and she arched into his touch, moaning out her pleasure. “Kiss me.”

He hooked a finger in the corner of her bra and yanked it down, exposing her large dusky nipple. It begged for his mouth, tightening under his gaze. He lifted her against him so that her breasts were level with his face as he drew her into his mouth, sucking harder and harder. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she made little moaning sounds that made his cock twitch.

He reached around behind her back and unclasped the bra, yanking it roughly from her body and tossing it aside. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he held her up so he could devour her.

“Hicks, I want to touch you,” she said breathlessly. But he didn’t want to let go of her nipple—it felt too fucking good in his mouth. She pulled away and he was forced to release her. He tossed her on the bed and she let out a squeal of delight, landing on the mattress with a bounce.

Only to immediately sink into the long cut in her mattress.

“Hicks! I’m stuck?”

She was most definitely stuck. Her butt and torso had sunk into the cut, leaving her arms and legs splayed out. Damn if she wasn’t sexy even like that.

“So you are,” he said and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

She struggled, attempting to buck out of the hole with no success. He enjoyed seeing her struggle, not because he liked to see her restrained like that but because every time she moved those beautiful breasts swayed and jiggled.

“Hicks?” Her desperate plea drew him to the bed. He reached down and pulled her out with one easy tug, regretfully standing her on her feet. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to make much use of that thing.”

Her dark blue eyes flashed with fire. “Obviously not.”

Sensing her irritation, he yanked her against his chest and kissed her until she melted in his arms. “Why don’t we get some clothes on you and I’ll take you back to my place?” Because he had no intention of stopping tonight, but there was a minute chance that her stalker could come back. It was enough of a risk that they didn’t need to stay here.

He’d lost his mind for a second there, so completely overcome with need.

“I like that plan.” She slid her arm around his neck, rubbing her body suggestively against his.

Hicks growled, grabbed her hips and pushed himself hard against her core. “Get some clothes on before I change my mind.” And take her right here.

“Lights on,” she said. Bright golden light flooded the room, and her face went slack as she took in the destruction around her. “Oh my God.”

She hadn’t been able to see the extent of the destruction in the darkness, something he’d forgotten. He sure as hell didn’t like the look of fear returning to her features. Hicks gently nudged her chin back around, forcing her to face him. “It’s okay, the place is clear. Gather what you need. I’ve got you.”

Her lip trembled and he steeled himself, waiting on the tears, but her strength surprised him. She firmed up her chin and nodded. She stepped away, planting her fists on her hips, and said, “Whoever did this is going to pay.”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to tear his eyes off the way her nipples jetted out when she threw her shoulders back like that. If he didn’t get something covering her body soon, there was no way he’d make it out of this apartment without tossing her onto the floor and finishing the job. He managed to bite out one strangled word. “Clothes.”

She faced him, her fingers landing on the hollow just beneath his sternum. Her touch branding him like a hot flame. “You don’t like seeing me naked?”

The way she was looking up at him from beneath her lashes was beyond devastating to his senses. “I like seeing you naked so much that if you don’t cover up, I don’t think I’ll make it out of this apartment tonight.”

“Oh?” She traced tiny circles down to his navel.

His gut tightened reflexively and he grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop. “Yes, clothes, now.”

It was Whitney who sighed this time. “Fine, let me grab my overnight bag from the bathroom.”

He didn’t take another breath until she sauntered away from him. Dear God, he’d never reacted so instantly to a woman before. Something about her just drew him. Hicks somehow managed to zip up his pants, but he was about to rip his zipper open if he didn’t get it under control. “What’s the cat's name?”

“Prince Tiger,” she called out.

Searching for a damn cat would be better than standing here touching himself. Hicks dropped to the floor and looked under the bed, then behind the curtains and in the closet. Finally, he crossed to the only closed door left in the room and yanked it open, only to stand in mute shock as he stared at the leather corsets and whips and crops.

Almost in a trance, he touched a pair of metal handcuffs carefully hung on the wall. Hackles on the back of his neck rose as thoughts of his childhood reared their ugly heads.

He’d been handcuffed in his room…unable to escape the man.

Sweat popped on his brow and he dropped the crop as if burned. Why did she have this? “Whitney?”

She didn’t respond. Hicks forced his thoughts from the past and drew his gun. Lifting it high, he eased around the open closet door toward the bathroom. “Whitney?”

There was no way he’d failed to sense another presence in the room—he would have known if the intruder was still there. Even so, his throat tightened up with worry. Peeking around the opening to her bathroom, he prepared for a fight.

His adrenaline rush deflated the moment he saw her standing in front of the mirror, a hand pressed to her lips, her face pale as she stared at the message on the mirror. Shit. She hadn’t been able to see that earlier in the dark. He holstered his weapon and turned her away. “Don’t worry, as soon as I get you out of here and safe; I’ll call the police and have them come comb the place for evidence.”

“Police?” she stuttered.

He drew her into his arms, trying to offer what comfort he could. He’d seen destruction much, much worse than what had been done to her apartment, so this wasn’t shocking or alarming to him. But to a young, beautiful woman living alone in the penthouse, it must be terrifying.

“Yes, I’ll call the police, and then you can give your statement at the station tomorrow.”

“No.” She jerked free of his arms and crossed her arms over her chest. “No cops.”

“What do you mean no cops?” His neck tingled and he narrowed his gaze. The only people who didn’t want to get the cops involved were people who had something to hide. His mind flashed back to that secret closet…

What was Whitney Averton hiding?