“You’re torturing me…”

It was time to take control of the situation. But when Rick turned to face Jessie, he found her standing there unabashedly naked, her slim hands on those curvy hips, and his control slid through his veins in a snapping trail of sparks.

Double damn, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. And with every moment of their last encounter replaying in his mind like a forbidden sex video, he doubted he would get through this night without sinking into her body one more time. Maybe three. “You see, Sheriff, what you’ve been doing is torturing me with that sour mood all day. Now it seems as if I’m going to have to put up with it for another day or two.”

Tossing condoms onto the bed like a little pile of promises, she casually crossed the room and flicked on the light.

“Personally,” she went on, “the only time I happen to like you is when I’ve got my legs wrapped around your waist. So if I’ve got to deal with you all day, the least you can do is pleasure me at night…”

Unleashed

By

Lori Borrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader

What is it about a wounded hero that makes us love him so much? Maybe it’s the nurturer in us that makes us yearn to fix what’s broken. Or maybe we simply love a challenge. Whatever the reason, there’s something inherently intriguing about a man in need of emotional rescue and that one special woman who brings him hope.

When Rick Marshall sets his sights on Jessica Beane, he feels he’s not capable of giving more than a one-night stand. But when circumstances push them together for an extended weekend, she manages to show him he’s got plenty of living still to do.

I hope you have as much fun reading the story as I did writing it. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it. You can contact me through my website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

Happy reading!

Lori Borrill

An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area of San Francisco just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where’s she’s been employed for over twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the Little League baseball fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

For Al and Tommy

Chapter One

“So, SHERIFF, shall I spread ’em?”

Rick Marshall grasped the hips of the fiery redhead who had splayed her hands against the bedroom wall of his San Francisco flat.

“I’m thinking you should probably frisk me,” she added, tossing a sinful wink over her shoulder and wiggling her bottom against his waist. “I could have something dangerous under my skirt.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips close to the silky curls at her nape and whispered, “I’m counting on it.”

She chuckled and he caught a whiff of something sweet. Peaches or strawberries. Or maybe it was the cherry she’d been sucking on back at the bar. The one she’d teased him with from across the room, trailing her tongue around the slick, red orb while sending him a look that said she’d prefer it if the cherry were his cock.

Rick normally wasn’t such an easy mark, but between a crap day on the force and a couple condoms growing dust in his wallet, he decided not to play his usual game of not-interested. He’d found a spicy little Texan with her heart set on partying. Tonight was a night to do something he hadn’t done in a long, long time.

Have some fun.

She brushed her ass against his crotch and his jeans strained against a cock that wanted to take this way too fast.

“Easy, Jess,” he whispered into her ear. “This dick you’re teasing hasn’t seen much action lately.” He slid his hands down her hips and held her steady. “I’d hate for this night to end before it gets started.”

She spun around and pressed her back to the wall, the toying look in her eyes darkening to something serious while her hands went to work on his belt. “Right. I’m supposed to believe a tall, handsome man in uniform doesn’t get any action?” She curved her mouth just short of a smile. “Don’t let the drawl mistake me for stupid.”

Oh, Jessica Beane most definitely wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have brought her home if she was. Despite the turned-up freckled nose and occasional girlish grin, the woman at work on his pants had eyes of experience, though what kind he wasn’t sure. He only knew she wasn’t naive or foolish, and for tonight, that’s all he needed.

“Believe whatever turns you on,” he said before covering her mouth with his.

Cupping her cheek with his hand, he dug in and feasted on the petite little beauty. She tasted like honey, felt like pure heaven and the surge to his pulse told him he needed this encounter more than he’d realized. Too much lately, he’d wrapped himself up in the job, every waking moment, every rampant thought devoted to getting creeps off the street. Since Nat’s death, catching bad guys had gone from a job to an obsession he couldn’t overcome, even though he knew that for every punk he brought in a dozen more were lined up after. It was a never-ending battle—he knew that—but it didn’t stop the gnawing in his gut that kept him going. Working homicide, he’d seen too many of those blank stares, the eyes of the dead, silently begging him to catch one more.

And you caught them all too late, didn’t you, pal?

He sucked in a heavy breath, inhaling the spicy fragrance of Jessie’s hair, breathing deeply to extinguish the haunting voice. Sliding his hands toward her breasts, he needed to touch and absorb something living, something soft, vital and whole. He needed this escape, this heated rush of blood through his veins to remind himself that he was still among the living, that there was still pleasure to be found in this sometimes dark world. And before this night was over, he intended to find lots of it. He hadn’t walked into Scotty’s looking for sex, but he’d found it in this red-hot cowgirl. And as she won the battle with his belt and went to work on his fly, he thanked Jessica Beane and her sinful cherries. A one-night stand was exactly what the doctor ordered.

With increased fury, she unfastened the buttons on his 501’s while their mouths licked and sucked.

Wondering why the rush, he came up for breath. “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

“Yeah. In your pants.”

He kissed a path to her ear. “I mean after that.” Grasping her left hand, he jiggled her ring finger. “You don’t need to get home to someone, do you?”

He could sense the roll of her eyes in her voice. “No ring. No husband.” Then she huffed and added, “No boyfriend, no partner, no significant other. Not even a crush on a movie star.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’d like to keep you for a while.” Tasting the base of her neck, he slipped a hand up under her black, sleeveless T-shirt and grabbed hold of a breast covered in something silky. A hard nipple topped the mound, and when he brushed his thumb over the smooth nub, her soft moan vibrated against his lips.

“This is nice,” he said, sliding his spare hand up her shirt to toy with the other mound. He circled his palms over her nipples where they tickled his skin and sent sparks through his veins.

Her hands tugged at his jeans, the brush of her fingers against his length hardening an already threatening erection. He’d gone too long without the taste of a woman, erroneously thinking that a quick jerk-off in the shower could replace this feeling of flesh against flesh. Her mere touch was enough to send him careening toward the edge. So when she released his goods and took his hard, naked shaft in her hand, he quickly grabbed her forearms and pulled away.

“Babe, I wasn’t joking. You’re playing with a man overdue.” Guiding her hands around his waist instead, he trailed his tongue against her earlobe. “I’d like this evening to last a while.”

She responded by sliding to her knees. “Then we should take the edge off.”

Every nerve in his body went on alert when those soft, wet lips touched his cock and cloaked him in slick warmth. The blood in his brain rushed south, stiffening his shaft until it throbbed.

“Babe, don’t,” he attempted, trying to pull from her mouth, when she relented, grabbing his ass and running her smooth tongue all the way from tip to base.

“Relax and go with it,” she urged, but the anxious beauty didn’t know what she was dealing with. She probably thought she’d come home with a regular guy. Someone who had real, live sex on a regular basis and who could shoot his wad and bounce back sometime before dawn for a few more rounds.

And on another day he would have been that man.

But he’d had too many sleepless nights, and the sensations boiling through him had been too long coming. He was overheating, the climax threatening to hit with such force he’d be spent for sure.

He may have lost most everything in his life, but he still had his pride.

She grabbed his balls and licked, and now he really did try to pull away. Until she opened wide and took him in fully.

Weeks of stress and tension slipped from his neck and shoulders, spilling down his back and sliding over his legs until his knees went weak and he had to brace himself against the wall. He cursed. Her wicked, hardheaded intent that had intrigued him in the bar was about to do him in right here. And as she clasped his hips and began motioning him to thrust his cock inside her, he lost the will to fight.

For the moment he simply obeyed, her moans of pleasure filling his ears and draining his mind of everything but the slick, tight feel of her tongue caressing his shaft. And as he let his body take over, pumping in and out while her fingers toyed with his ass, her groans played like music in the quiet of his room.

Electricity rushed through him, curling his fingers against the smooth, plastered wall, sounding a hum in his chest that erupted in one last warning.

“Jessica, I mean it. This is—” But a sharp stab of sensation sped up from his cock, trapping the words in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured before taking him in deep, apparently recognizing the signals that he was about to burst.

The waves kept sweeping through him, each one heavier than the last, and quickly his consciousness drained of everything but the feel of that mouth sucking hard on his flesh. His body lurched, his sight fading to black, his ears numbing to silence as the swirling cyclone of sensation began at the base of his spine and moved slowly toward the apex.

He leaned closer, his elbows scraping against the wall as he widened his stance in an attempt to brace himself for the crash, but before he could get a grip, she pressed a finger to the sensitive spot behind his balls and everything in him exploded.

“Oh, sh—” he cried out, bucking and jerking against her. His cock began to slip from her lips and she latched on, holding him in, dragging that tongue across his length and spreading white heat through every cell in his body.

He came hard, then came again, the waves ripping through him in a constant barrage of swell and release. For what seemed like an eternity he simply gave in to the motion, his flesh and her will taking over, holding him captive and sending him to places unknown. He didn’t know how long it went on before the light slowly returned and her sweet sound of satisfaction filled his ears.

She was still on her knees, her tongue still caressing his shaft when he’d finally regained the motor skills to push from the wall and stand erect.

And then mortification swept through him. He hadn’t had the woman in his bedroom for more than ten minutes before he’d humped her like a dog in heat and came in her mouth. What the hell was wrong with him?

Taking quick hold of her arms, he helped her to her feet, those sexy brown eyes expressing nothing but hot, ripe desire. Still, he opened his mouth to utter a lame apology, not knowing what to say or where to start. But before he could try, she whipped her black T-shirt over her head exposing two beautiful, round breasts covered in green silk and lace.

He stood dumbfounded as she wiggled out of her skirt, leaving her clad only in a matching thong and two sharp black stilettos.

A circle of moisture darkened the spot between her legs, underscoring her remark, “That was ridiculously hot.”

It was an understatement.

She stepped from the pooled skirt at her feet and moved toward him, slow and deliberate, stopping for a moment to slide a finger between her legs then touch it to her lips. “Yes,” she said. “That definitely got me going.”

He swallowed.

When she reached him, she trailed the wet finger over his mouth as she stood close and eyed his lips intently. “Want a taste?”

Now her sweet honey scent was laced with sweat and sex, and as she rubbed her body against his, all the spots he’d feared might sleep for the night woke up for another round.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, sucking the slick tip of her finger into his mouth. Though she was a virtual stranger, she managed to know his body better than he knew it himself.

Or did she simply know her own capabilities?

Either way, she’d read him perfectly. He had needed to take the edge off, because now his pulse strummed with a tempered warmth that allowed him to relax and enjoy the seduction.

Straddling one leg, she pressed her sex to his thigh and began rocking against him, moving her hips in a dance, a slick spot growing where her clit met the fabric of his jeans. She moistened her lips and watched as he flicked his tongue against her finger, gliding it back and forth over the tip, demonstrating exactly what he planned to do to more sensitive spots on her body.

“That’s it,” she said. “That’s exactly how I want it.”

And the cock he’d thought was spent hardened as if they’d just gotten started.

He whipped her into his arms and tossed her on the bed, still awash in wonder over how this woman managed to tip him so far so quickly. Before tonight, he’d feared himself too old, tired and ruined for sex like this. But as he pulled the thong down her waist and began feasting, the years and sleepless nights slipped away, leaving him as pumped and virile as he’d been back before his life had fallen apart.

She crooked the heel of her shoe against one shoulder then did the same with the other, leaving her wide and exposed to receive all the gracious pleasure she’d given moments ago. And as he dove in, he thanked Fate for bringing him this momentary respite.

Not a drinker, he rarely went into the bars, much less picked up a playmate for the evening. They were usually more trouble than they were worth, expecting more than he could give.

Which was pretty much nothing.

But something seemed to be propelling him tonight. Like the tide carries a bottle from one shore to another, ever since he left the station he seemed to be succumbing to a force stronger than his will. And as he began the slow climb toward another searing climax, he opted to go with it rather than question it, for once relishing this life that had somehow gone out of his control.

“So WHAT WAS IT you were celebrating again?” Rick asked under the soft glow of the lone lamp that rested on his bedside table. Jessie had snuggled against him, her dimpled chin digging into his chest, sheets draped haphazardly around her waist while she trailed a finger over his abs.

Her eyes lit with a smile and she bolted from the bed. Excitement bounced in her steps as she shot out a quick, “I’ll show you,” before disappearing into the front room.

Where she got the energy, he’d never know. Though he’d discovered far more stamina than he believed he had, three hours of sex had officially drained every muscle in his body. The way he felt right now, brushing lint from his arm would be a stretch. Yet there was Jessica Beane, her perpetual beat leaving him wondering if she had a point of exhaustion.

Settling back next to him, she propped against a pillow and held up a worn and wrinkled copy of People magazine. Pointing to a celebrity photograph, she proudly exclaimed, “That.”

He squinted to find the significance under the dim light.

“Jewel Murray?” he asked, vaguely remembering the name of the blond starlet pictured strolling across a street.

“No, that,” Jessie replied, moving her slim finger to the handbag the actress was carrying. It was bright pink, adorned with shiny black sequins and—were those green feathers?

Jessie beamed, “It’s a Beane Bag. This photo just made me famous.”

A sliver of their bar conversation came back to him, something about the fact that she made designer handbags for a living—or was trying to. She was part of a co-op of struggling artists who owned a boutique on the edge of Union Square.

“Would you believe I was down to my last three hundred dollars when this photo appeared in People?” she went on. “I was actually canvassing the neighborhood looking for another job. That’s how I found Scotty’s. They’d posted an ad for a waitress and I liked the fact that it’s a hangout for cops.” She eyed him with all innocence. “Safer, you know?”

He nearly laughed out loud. Sure, cops typically upheld the law, but put a few together with a couple of cocktails after an especially tough day and any woman intent on keeping her pants on could hardly consider herself safe.

He decided not to burst her bubble.

“I’d just accepted a part-time shift at IHOP when this photo hit the stands,” she said. “It took twenty-four hours before stores all over the country were calling me for inventory. I even got a call from Paris. Paris, can you believe it?”

No, but her excitement was contagious. Those caramel eyes had a way of sucking him in, beaming so brightly with delight he couldn’t help but feel a little thrill for her.

She hopped up to her knees and clutched the magazine to her chest like it was her most prized possession. “I was able to get a loan from the bank. Just enough to cover supplies on order and hire myself an assistant.” Her grin widened. “I’m still in a daze. One minute, I’m going to be a waitress at IHOP and the next I’m hiring assistants to help me make purses I’ll be shipping to Paris.”

With a bounce to every move, she tucked the magazine into her purse and slid back into bed. “So, yeah, I’m celebrating.” She swung a leg over his waist and straddled his lap. Her girlish innocence darkened to pure woman as she traced a finger over his lips, eyeing them as if she were imagining what he might do with them. “And you’re the lucky guy who gets to celebrate with me.”

Unbelievably a wave of heat hardened his cock. Moments ago, with her curled up beside him and every part of his body tucked in for the night, he’d doubted a typhoon could have gotten him to stir. Yet all it had taken was a wiggle of Jessie’s round, little bottom, the crush of her breasts against his chest and that sneaky look of sex in her copper-kettle eyes to get his body buzzing all over again.

Just when he thought he’d broken the record on marathon sex, he found the will to sink into her one more time, to drive his tired, sated body to one last brink and beyond.

And that’s exactly what he did. One more taste of that sweet, supple body. One more sweep of life through his veins. One more climb to the tip of ecstasy and one last crash into the abyss.

And when they were done, he slipped into the longest, deepest sleep he’d enjoyed in as many years as he could remember.

Chapter Two

THE RING of her phone stirred Jessie from what had been a light and restless sleep. Not that she was troubled. On the contrary, she felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, excitement and anticipation keeping her too pumped up for anything more than a turbulent doze.

Granna Hawley had been right. Get out of Texas and all the bad luck that had plagued her life would come to an end. And if Jessie had doubted her paternal grandmother before, these last few days proved the woman had been right. Life had definitely been on the upswing since she’d stepped off the plane in San Francisco, the latest in her run of good fortune being an incredible night of sex with the gorgeous cop beside her.

Rolling off the bed, she grabbed her purse and his charcoal-gray T-shirt and headed for the front room, wanting to close the door behind her before the phone woke him. Although, looking over the broad mound, she doubted a hurricane would pull the man from sleep. Every inch of him was crushed against the big bed, those sharp, chiseled features sunk so deeply into his pillow she had to do a double take to see if he was actually breathing. Only when her phone sounded again, prompting the slight twitch of his right index finger, did she turn and step out of the room, satisfied her handsome lover hadn’t slipped into a sex-induced coma.

The thought made her smile, and as she flipped open the phone, the memory of the last few hours brought a layer of steam to her voice.

“Hello?”

“So you are alive.”

It was her friend and roommate, Georgia. “Of course, I’m alive, though when my strong and studly sheriff wakes up from his nap, I might be indisposed.”

Georgia didn’t sound impressed. “You forgot the rule.”

“What rule?”

“I’m serious, Jessie, if you can’t remember the rules, I’m not letting you go home with strangers.”

The giddy smile wilted from Jessie’s face as she recalled the drilling she’d received from Georgia earlier that evening, before the two women stepped out for the bars. “I was supposed to call.”

“Ding-ding-ding-ding! We have a winner.”

Still clutching Rick’s T-shirt in her hand, she pressed it to her forehead and lowered to his couch. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice muffled through fabric that smelled deliciously like musk and man.

“I’ll give you a break this time because it’s your first pickup date, but I’m serious. If you want to play the cosmopolitan woman, you’ve got to think like one, and that includes remembering that you’re not in Tulouse, Texas, anymore.”

And wasn’t Jessie thankful for that? Not that she had a problem with cowboys. She’d heard plenty of favorable stories about the rugged men on the range. It was just that the men in Tulouse were more boy than cowboy, and especially after this evening, she’d take the dangers of the big city over what she’d found back home.

“Tell me where you are so I can forget my miserable evening and go to bed.”

“What happened to the blond, beautiful beat cop you were hanging on to when Rick and I left?”

“Beat cop was right. He beat me to the orgasm then took off before I could even work up a decent flush.” Jessie heard the crunch of a taco chip through the phone—a sure sign Georgia wasn’t exaggerating about her miserable evening. She always drowned a bad day in a bag of Doritos. “Tell me your night went better than mine.”

Jessie smiled as she recalled the events of the evening, starting with the stormy look of intent in Rick’s sizzling blue eyes and ending with her desperate cries of release as she’d dug her fingers through his thick, dark hair and climaxed one last time. Still she tempered her excitement for the sake of her friend. “Marathon Man,” she said. “If I wasn’t so excited about my meetings tomorrow, I’d be dead to the world like he is.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Georgia droned.

Could be, but Jessie knew it was more than that. It was Georgia who had convinced her to take Granna Hawley’s advice—and inheritance—and come out to San Francisco. And once she got here, it was Georgia who taught her how to put herself ahead of everyone else. Lesson one being to stop looking at men as potential husbands and start using them for what they’re good for: sex and vehicle maintenance.

Okay, so maybe Georgia’s ideals were soured by one too many jerks, but Jessie had to admit a certain liberation in having sex with a man she had no intention of getting serious with. For the first time ever, she abandoned concern over making a good impression and decided to go for broke.

And in the process left her dark and sexy companion completely and utterly spent.

Perhaps it was beginner’s luck that she’d found a man who could keep up with her. Or perhaps it was that, away from her hometown roots, she’d had the nerve to step into the driver’s seat and have the kind of sex she’d always wanted. Either way, this newfound freedom was working, giving Jessica Beane yet another reason to be thrilled with the new life she’d been given.

“I’ll take luck however it comes,” she said, prompting Georgia to finally laugh.

“Hon, you deserve a good time after everything you’ve been through.” Another crunch and Georgia added, “Now tell me where you are so I can send you back to Marathon Man and put an end to my own disastrous evening.”

“Hold on a sec,” Jessie said, trying to remember where exactly Rick’s two-story flat was. She recalled turning off Nineteenth Avenue, but that was about it. There’d been an Asian market down the block, but she’d forgotten the name, and with an Asian market on every street in San Francisco, that wouldn’t help her.

Her sexy sheriff had driven all the way from Scotty’s with one hand up her skirt, and by the time they’d turned down his street all she could think about was how many steps to the bedroom door. Street names and house numbers were just a lusty blur. Still, she and Georgia had a pact. If they went home with a new beau, they were to call each other with addresses just to be safe.

Something Jessie had completely forgotten about while she and Rick were testing the limits of sexual acrobatics.

Pulling his shirt over her head, she was pleased to see the hem nearly reach her knees. No surprise since the man had more than a foot on her five-foot-two frame. But it helped that she wouldn’t have to go back to the bedroom in search of her underwear, and after picking up the phone from the couch, she crossed the front room and opened the drapes of the large window that faced the street.

A wall of two-story row houses lined the opposite side of the street, each one painted a bright pastel, some topped with clay tile roofs, others adorned with iron balconies. All had single-car garages on the ground floor next to wide stucco stairways leading to the top-floor entry. Ornate iron gates guarded each doorway, and grand bay windows hung like turrets over the garages, providing an unobstructed view of the public sidewalk below.

It was the picture of just about every street in San Francisco.

She looked one way, then the other. “I can’t see the street name from here. I think I’m in the middle of a block.”

“Missing Persons will probably want more information than that.”

Jessie scowled but relented. She’d gone home with a cop for heaven’s sake, but Georgia had always told her to stay aware of her surroundings and never trust a soul.

Advice she could have used long before she moved to San Francisco.

Making her way to the front door, she unlocked the dead bolt and the latch on the painted white gate and stepped outside, finally locating both the street name and house numbers and relaying them to her friend.

“See how easy that was?” Georgia asked. “Now, if you show up missing, someone knows where you went. Congratulations, you’ve just passed your first course in Casual Sexual Encounters, albeit you’ve barely squeaked by with a C minus.”

Jessie laughed. “I’ll be home earlier than later. Remember, I’ve got interviews with assistants in the morning.”

Just saying the words sent a shiver up her spine. Her Assistants. Her assistants. She was actually going to own a business…with employees.

“Swan will be opening the shop. If one of your candidates gets there before you, I’m sure she’ll keep the girl rapt by showing off her latest in Native American jewelry.”

Chuckling, Jessie said goodbye and tossed the phone in her purse, the conversation a reminder that she really should still try to get some sleep. She’d never interviewed anyone for a job before, and she wanted to be clearheaded enough to make the right choice. So after making a quick stop in the bathroom, she headed back to the bedroom to do that when her phone rang again.

She picked it up and huffed. “Yes, dear?”

“Was he good?”

The low, familiar voice slithered through her veins like ice, trapping the air in her lungs and freezing her feet to the cold wood floor.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a low gurgle.

“Aw, c’mon, Sugar. When a woman cheats on her husband, the least she can do is share the gory details.” She heard the draw of a cigarette before she added, through an exhale, “Is pretty cop-boy good in bed?”

Her heart thumped and her knees buckled causing her to brace a hand to the back of the couch. A hundred questions spun in a flurry of disbelief, blurring her thoughts and reducing her words to a stutter.

Rounding the couch, she slowly lowered to one arm. “Wa-Wade?”

“Well, since you forgot that I’m your husband, I’m glad you at least remembered my name.”

She blinked and sputtered then finally managed to hiss, “You’re not my husband.” Not that that was the primary thought going through her head right now. She just wanted him to stop saying it.

More importantly, she wondered how he got her cell phone number, why he was calling her and how did he know where she was?

The thought put her feet in motion and she scampered to the front window, peering down to the street below. There were cars parallel parked up and down the quiet avenue, but other than that, it looked deserted in the wee hour of the night.

She heard him blow out another puff of smoke and she darted her eyes back and forth before seeing an old battered pickup parked two doors down in front of a pale yellow stucco. The windows on the truck were fogged and she caught a faint puff of smoke escape from the driver’s side.

“Yeah, well, that’s where you’re wrong, Sugar. You and I are still entirely conjugated.”

“You’re in jail,” she whispered, hoping that saying the words out loud would make it true.

“Not anymore, Sugar Beane. And I’ve come all the way to California to reunite with my loving bride.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your wife. You signed the divorce papers in jail.”

“You know, I should be angry,” he said through another drag of his cigarette. “Coming all this way only to find my woman leaving a bar with another man. You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

Coward was more like it, but she shook the remark from her thoughts. She needed to stay focused.

“Most men would be barging up there with a shotgun.”

She snapped her eyes to the truck. “You—” was all she could utter.

Had Wade ever handled a gun? She didn’t think so, but then again, there’d been a lot of things she hadn’t known about Wade Griggs up until a year ago.

His laugh was raspy and cold. “I’ll forgive you as long as you give me the same favors you gave Officer Hard-On there.” Another suck off his butt and he added, “You always were the best at giving head.”

A wave of nausea stumbled her back a step. The image of her and Wade—

She cupped a hand over her mouth and tried to block it from her thoughts. No way would she let that animal turn something beautiful she’d shared with a deserving man into the dirt and grime he crawled from.

“My cock’s getting hard just thinking about—”

She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the couch as though it were a grenade about to explode. Her desire to run from it underscored the feeling. Her heart raced, her hands went clammy, and as she glanced over the dark shadows of the room, she went dizzy with disgust and confusion.

What was Wade Griggs doing here? Why wasn’t he in jail? And if he was released, why hadn’t anyone called to tell her?

And then the big question: What did he want from her?

She and Wade were through. They were through the moment the cops had shown up at her house and informed her that the body shop she and her husband owned was a front for a car theft ring. That her husband was being indicted for grand theft auto. That she was considered an accessory until proven innocent. And that everything they owned was being seized by the county, the state and the Internal Revenue Service.

He’d lied to her from the start, her trust in him landing her in a pile of trouble so deep it took every last cent she had to get out of it. As such, she was left with nothing more than a quick divorce and a bad credit rating.

He’d drained her of everything, and less than twelve months later he was back—wanting what?

The phone rang again, and she reluctantly picked it up, her fingers trembling and tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.

This can’t be happening. Not now.

She pressed the phone to her ear in time to hear the end of “…used to love it when I talked dirty—”

“What do you want?” she snarled.

“I told you, Sugar Beane. I came to find my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.” How many times did she have to repeat it?

“Now, that’s where you’re mistaken, honey cakes. You see, that divorce you set up never got finished.”

She blinked, her nausea easing into simple confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are still blissfully wed, Sugar Beane. And that means everything that’s yours is mine.”

She stood up and stepped back to the window, this time to find Wade standing casually at the rear bumper of a red Honda Accord parked directly across the street.

“You’re wrong.”

Though he was one story down and across the wide street, she could see the rough-edged smile on his long, narrow face. He was tall and more bulky than she’d remembered. His jeans bagged around his boots and the button-down shirt made him appear more kept than usual, even though his right shirttail hung over his leather belt.

He’d apparently dressed himself up for the reunion.

“Check your papers, darlin’. You don’t have anything signed by me.”

Of course, she did. Though not recalling offhand exactly where the papers were allowed an inkling of panic to creep in.

She remembered specifically having them drawn up, signing them in her lawyer’s office and having them couriered to the county jail. She remembered that day as if it was yesterday. She’d signed them. They’d been notarized. Wade had signed them, too.

Hadn’t he?

“Things got a little hectic back then, what with Old Lady Hawley up and dying like that,” he drawled.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no. This was Wade playing games with her. He signed those papers. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. “The lawyer called and said you’d signed,” she contended, though a tremble in her voice watered down the affirmation.

“You sure about that? Are you sure you aren’t thinking about the call you got from that lawyer telling you old Granna Hawley left you all her money?”

Her eyes shot open and she glared at him through the window.

“Half of which is mine, you realize.”

Shaking her head, Jessie thought about the time, through a fever of distress and ire. The lawyer did call. She’d gotten the package in the mail. She was sure of it.

Wasn’t she?

A slow swell of bile rose up her throat. She’d signed those papers the day before Granna Hawley died. Sure, she’d been devastated by the loss. Gran was the only person Jessie could ever count on. And then there’d been the funeral arrangements and the impending feud between her father’s side of the family and her mother’s—the former insisting the latter had no business anywhere near the cemetery. It had been a mess, with Jessica slammed right in the center.

But in the middle of it, she knew Wade had signed those divorce papers. The lawyers told her so. The package came in the mail.

She was sure that it had…

The bile hit the back of her mouth and she nearly choked. All these doubts, this was Wade and his games. He’d gotten out of jail and come here just to screw with her. He was only feeding his own sick sense of humor, hoping to get her back for dumping him the moment she’d learned the truth about him.

“We’re divorced,” she said again, this time with more velocity than the last.

“My lawyer says you got almost a hundred thousand dollars from the old woman after taxes. Plus half of that ten thousand you just borrowed.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Yeah, as your husband I know all about your finances.”

“Then you know I don’t have any of that money anymore.”

“No. And you don’t have the five hundred dollars you’d stashed in that black velvet box, either.” He patted his back pocket. “Consider it your first installment.”

He’d been in her apartment?

And if he’d rummaged through the place, how much had he found? She had Granna’s jewelry and Grandpa Hawley’s watch.

Georgia had a diamond ring that belonged to her mother. She cherished that thing. Had Wade found that, too?

She nearly doubled over. If her friend lost anything thanks to that snake, she’d never forgive herself.

“I’m disappointed, Sugar Beane. I came all this way looking for my wife and my money only to find you broke and in bed with another man. Now, what do you think a husband should do about that?”

Clutching the phone so hard she thought it might snap, she repeated through clenched teeth. “You’re not my husband.”

“Oh, yes, I am. And as your husband, you owe me somewheres in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars.” He pushed off the fender of the Honda and stood straight, the smile drained from his face and his eyes black as sin. “Get me the money, Sugar Beane, and you can have your divorce.”

“I already have my divorce, and even if I don’t, I don’t have that kind of money. It’s gone. Sunk into my business.”

“Yeah, your momma told me all about that movie star who’s gonna make you famous. I’m looking forward to sharing half your wealth.” Then flashing a grin she could see all the way from the street, he added, “Now, why don’t you come down and share a little of that sweet ass, too? Or am I not as worthy as your fuck buddy?”

She snapped the phone shut then turned it off, not willing to hear anymore.

Wade was wrong. They were divorced. And the moment she got home, she’d find those papers and prove that she had nothing to worry about.

Scattering about the dark space, she went in search of her things. Rick was still sprawled like a stone tablet across his bed, the slow rise of his back the only indication he was still breathing.

Moments ago, she’d been on top of the world, this sexy, chiseled cop sending her to all kinds of heavenly places and leaving her feeling like a queen. And with one phone call, her past had come crashing back, storming through the gates of her new life like an angry mob intent on raping and pillaging everything she’d created.

Clenched fists at her sides, she vowed not to let it happen. She wasn’t sweet, little Sugar Beane anymore, dumb and ignorant and ready to roll over for every con artist who crossed her path. Her tryst with Rick underscored that. Here in California she was an independent, grown woman capable of taking on the world, and no car-stealing felon of an ex-husband was going to topple her now.

For a second, she considered waking up Rick and sending him downstairs to throw Wade back behind bars where he belonged, but she quickly extinguished the thought. It was time she stopped believing anyone would come to her rescue. In her twenty-seven years, Granna Hawley was the only person she’d ever been able to lean on, who’d stood up for her and defended her when she needed someone in her corner. That made one person among a half-dozen family members who should have helped but only disappointed—Wade Griggs being the last in a long line of them.

How she could think a practical stranger would come to her aid only proved she hadn’t yet wised up, so instead of waking him, she quickly threw on her clothes, grabbed her purse and took off out the back alley. She ran up the street, only stopping to call a cab after she was blocks away from Wade and his threats.

She needed to take care of this herself. And as soon as she got home and found the papers she knew were there, she’d succeed in sending Wade Griggs right back to the swill he came from. Doing so would be a message to everyone that Jessica Beane couldn’t be screwed with ever again.

Chapter Three

A SHARP BLADE of sunlight slipped between the drapes in Rick’s bedroom and stretched across his face, drawing him from deep sleep into a groggy morning haze.

He blinked his eyes open and winced. He wasn’t accustomed to being woken by sunlight, his unsteady dreams usually pulling him from bed long before dawn. But last night there were no dreams, just an intoxicating blend of soft woman and hard sleep.

Angling his head away from the deadly light ray, he tried opening his eyes again, curious to know exactly how late he’d slept. The red digital numbers on his clock said seven forty-five. A record. At least, one he hadn’t broken in…he tried to recall…

Exactly two years, eight months and two weeks, give or take a couple days.

He clamped his eyes shut, not interested in letting his thoughts take over and ruin the restful climax to one hell of an evening. Especially when there were better ways to start the day.

Rolling over, he reached for the sexy cowgirl responsible for his divine night of slumber, trying to decide which parting gift he’d like to leave her with. Several came to mind. All of them involving her legs around his neck. But when he slid a hand over the mattress, he came up with nothing but sheet. He felt the pillows, flat and cold, before opening his eyes and propping up on an elbow. The bed was definitely empty, and glancing around the dim room, he noted the rest of the master suite was empty, too.

Was she down the hall making coffee? That would be too blissful to imagine. A smile quirked his mouth as he envisioned the petite, sexy redhead slipping back into bed with two mugs of black coffee and steam in her eyes. But when he rolled on his back and allowed his mind and body to slowly wake, the house felt awfully quiet.

Frowning, he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and scratched his chest, still trying to capture his bearings. His clothes were scattered across the tan carpet, as were a number of foil condom wrappers—little remnants of a night well spent. A pillow had found its way to the foot of his stuffy sofa chair, and he wondered how it got there until the memory made him smile.

Oh, Ms. Beane, you know how to have a good time.

He shoved off the bed and began collecting the wrappers, counting them as he went until it occurred to him everything that belonged to Jessie was gone. The denim skirt she’d wiggled out of as he was still recovering from the first orgasm, the black strappy high heels she’d kicked off with her toes, the lacy green bra, the tight black T-shirt, the funky orange “Beane Bag,” all stripped from the room as if last night had been nothing more than a dream.

He grabbed his pants and pulled them on, then crossed the room and opened the door. Stepping through his front room, down the hall to the kitchen past the bathroom and back, he came to terms with the fact that his spicy Texas lover was gone.

And for a long moment, he stood, trying to understand why that irked him.

Last night she’d been the answer to everything he’d needed just then, a lover that rivaled his every fantasy, fulfilling every horny desire and tossing out two or three more for good measure. Now this morning she’d gone the extra mile by adding one more favor. She’d taken off. No awkward goodbyes, no empty promises to call. She’d simply grabbed her things and left. And for a man already complicated by a hard past and a harder present, it was the sweetest move she could have made.

So why was he so pissed?

Padding back to the kitchen, he lifted the carafe of day-old coffee from the machine. He sniffed the contents and grimaced, but still opted to nuke a cup rather than brew a fresh pot. He was too disturbed by his own annoyance to fret over the quality of his morning’s caffeine, and as he choked down the first bitter sip, he leaned against the counter and tried to talk some sense into himself.

What had he planned to do, ask for her number? Send her flowers and start taking her out for regular Friday-night dates? He’d made it clear before they’d left the bar that if she was looking for more than one fun evening, she’d need to keep trolling. She hadn’t balked, and this morning, she’d proven that her indifference hadn’t been an act. She’d truly meant what she’d said about wanting to keep things casual. There’d been no day-after confessions leading to guilty apologies and the ever-awkward, “Gee, I thought you’d understood…”

She’d wanted exactly what he’d wanted. They’d been a goddamn one-night match made in heaven. So standing here burned, since she’d one-upped him on her race for the door, seemed immature at best.

The rational thought helped only slightly. However, instead of spending the morning in his kitchen trying to analyze his feelings, he decided it was time to forget about it and head for the station.

Until a sharp knock at the entry had him thinking again. Stepping down the hall, he grabbed the knob and whipped open the door, but rather than finding his wily sex-starved bedmate, he found a short Chinese man with a bad haircut and a frown on his face.

“You forget you had a job?” his partner, Kevin Fong, grumbled as he pushed through the door and entered the flat, a cup of Starbucks in one hand. Kevin’s angry look had Rick guessing he hadn’t brought an extra cup for him.

Rick closed the door behind them. “It’s barely eight.”

“And when was the last time you showed up for work later than seven?” It hadn’t been in the year and a half he and Kevin had been partners. “And when did you stop answering your cell phone?” Kevin added.

Rick glanced down at the mahogany side table where he could have sworn he’d tossed his car keys and cell phone the night before. “My phone?” he said absently, patting the pockets of his jeans then moving into the bedroom to look around.

Kevin followed, eyeing him suspiciously as he leaned in the doorway and took in the surroundings. “Captain’s been trying to get hold of you all morning.”

Rick stopped rummaging through the room and glanced at the clock. “It’s seven fifty-five!”

“He’s apparently a vampire like you.” Kevin yawned. “Woke me up at an ungodly hour because he couldn’t reach you. You’ve been my mission for the last hour.”

Rick seriously needed a lesson in expectation management. Barely having a life was one thing. Having his boss call out the posse because he hadn’t shown up for work early brushed the edge of illegal. “What’s the captain doing working on a Saturday anyway?” he grumbled.

“Creed Thornton managed to get his property released from evidence,” Kevin explained. “They’re coming first thing this morning to pick up everything we seized from his condo.”

“That’s why I got to it yesterday.” Rick went back to looking for his cell phone.

“Captain wants to know why you checked out his laptop.” Then with an added layer of annoyance, Kevin added, “And since we’re supposed to be working this case together, it might be nice if you told me, too.”

“If you’d met me at Scotty’s last night like you should have, you’d already know.”

Kevin pulled a pen from his coat jacket, bent over and used it to lift Jessie’s emerald-green thong out from behind his TV stand. “Looks like you ended up better off without me,” he said, holding it up as if it were crime scene evidence.

Rick stepped over and yanked the panties away from his partner. He preferred his personal life stay personal, having had enough of it all over the news when his wife was killed. And the look he flashed Kevin said the man wasn’t going to get the gory details he was looking for.

“Message delivered. Why don’t you let me shower and get dressed and I’ll meet you down at the station?”

“You forgot the part about filling me in on what you’re doing with our murder investigation.” Kevin moved in, kicked away the pillow from Rick’s side chair and took a seat. “Why did you check out the laptop last night? The crime lab said it was clean.”

“I want a second opinion.”

Kevin laughed. “Not that smarmy hacker friend of yours from the Haight.”

“He’s not a friend.”

“You aren’t denying the smarmy part.”

“He’s better than the geek squad downtown.”

Kevin conceded, knowing Rick was right. The crime lab was good at sniffing deleted files out of PCs and laptops. And on occasion they’d worked wonders tracing lines through the Internet and drumming up long-lost e-mails. But they weren’t the be all and end all in computer hacking, and his “smarmy friend” in the Haight was.

“You realize nothing this guy finds will stand up in court. Any lead you get from it will get tossed out the minute a sharp lawyer discovers how you got it.”

“Thank you for the lesson in criminal justice.”

“I’m just sayin’…” He shrugged before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, and like you said, they’re coming to pick up his evidence this morning. I’ve got a better chance with it in the hands of my hacker than back with a murderer.” He stared hard at his partner before adding, “That laptop’s the only chance we’ve got. This case is going cold, about to turn Arctic the minute Thornton’s lawyers collect that computer this morning.” He turned back to the bathroom and tossed over his shoulder, “Besides, you know as well as I do we can get around explaining how we come up with tips. We need to look again at what’s on there, then worry about what to do with it.”

“They’re gonna be pissed when the laptop’s not there. I get the feeling the captain’s willing to cover your ass, but he needs an explanation before they show up looking for it.”

That was the easy part. The laptop was their first break in nailing Creed Thornton for the murder of Anna Mendoza. And Rick had no doubt the man was responsible.

A hotshot software developer with rich parents and even richer in-laws, Creed’s pampered life hit a snag when his maid turned up dead and pregnant with his child. Their explanation had been suicide, the poor girl so distraught that he refused to divorce his wife, she’d hanged herself in her own bathroom. But too many sides to that scenario weren’t sitting well, most notably the smug composure of a man certain he was about to get away with murder.

Rick and Kevin had been chasing dead ends for months, every lead extinguished, every road ending up nowhere. In recent weeks, even Rick had come close to admitting that Paolo and Lucy Mendoza might never get justice for their daughter.

However, Creed had made the one mistake that could cost him his freedom. He wanted his evidence back. And he wanted it so badly that he’d sent his team of lawyers on an expensive and politically charged rampage to get every item they’d seized from his condo before week’s end.

On news of that, Rick had taken inventory and come up with the item that seemed to be garnering too much attention—Creed’s laptop. The urgency didn’t make sense. The man was a software engineer with a dozen computers at his disposal. So why the sudden need to have this one—and fast? The crime lab found it clean, but Creed’s company specialized in security encryption. He would be just cocky enough to test his programs in the most ultimate way—with his life.

And now, suddenly it was critical he get his hands back on the computer. Could it be second thoughts? Did he have newfound reservations that with an expert, his secrets might not be as safe as he’d presumed?

Rick wasn’t sure, but he intended to find out.

“We’d all like to know what you’re up to,” Kevin said.

“Easy. Creed wants his laptop back and I want to know why the sudden interest.”

Kevin rubbed his chin like he always did when he was thinking, taking the look in Rick’s eyes and coming up with the same conclusion. It was one reason Rick appreciated Kevin more than he had any other partner during his fifteen years on the force.

Though only two years in homicide and still learning the ropes, Kevin caught on fast. He was sharp and meticulous, sniffing out facts while Rick shot from the cuff and followed hunches. Their opposing styles seemed to strike a balance that worked well for both Rick and the force. Now they just needed it to work well for this murder case, too.

“Has Smarmy Friend found anything yet?” Kevin asked.

“He doesn’t have the laptop yet. I’m meeting him this morning at ten to drop it off.” Then Rick continued the search for his cell phone. Scratching his head, he said, “Call my number,” and when Kevin did they heard only the ring from his receiver.

“I must have left it in the car,” he murmured before heading downstairs to the garage.

And when he reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the side door, he found himself standing in an empty room.

Kevin came up behind him and stated the obvious. “Your car’s not here.”

That explained where his keys were, and since he was now sure he’d tossed them on the coffee table next to his cell phone, he knew it was gone, too.

“I take it you didn’t lend it to your lady friend,” Kevin said.

“Not voluntarily.”

A sour taste hit Rick’s tongue and it wasn’t the bad coffee. Upstairs they began searching his house, looking for anything else missing and checking the doors and windows for signs of entry.

“You always leave your back door unlocked?” Kevin called from the kitchen.

“Never.”

“Well, someone did.” Kevin stepped into the living room, his face grim and sympathetic. “What about everything else? Your wallet, any valuables?”

“My wallet’s in the bedroom. It wasn’t touched.”

“So someone just wanted your car and your phone.”

“Looks like it,” Rick said, easing down on the couch and rubbing his face in his hands. He tried to consider an explanation, one that didn’t involve him being screwed over by a cunning redhead.

It wasn’t looking good.

As if Kevin had read his thoughts, he asked, “How well do you know your lady friend?”

Rick snorted. There were a number of things he knew intimately about Jessica Beane—if that was her real name. He knew about the freckle southwest of her navel, that she shuddered when he kissed the backs of her knees, and that when she came, her cheeks flushed into pale pink circles. He knew she had a talented tongue and even more talented fingers, and that when he hit a sensitive spot, she purred like a kitten.

But did he know if she was a car thief? Whether their entire evening together wasn’t just a long, drawn-out plot to rob him while he slept? That was anyone’s guess.

He dug his fingers through his hair. “Apparently not well enough. I’m not sure she stole the car, but she was gone by the time I woke up.”

He felt like an idiot just saying it out loud, and as his situation began to sink in, a coil of anger curled in his gut.

Kevin sighed. “Let me go get my pad and we’ll start making notes.”

“We’ve got bigger problems than a stolen car.”

That stopped Kevin in his tracks, and when he spotted the look in Rick’s eyes, his shoulders slumped. “No. Tell me the laptop wasn’t in the car.”

“The trunk.”

“Thornton’s lawyers will have a field day with this. It was gonna be bad enough telling them we’re still holding the laptop after they got the judge to release it.” Leaning a hand against the wall, he shook his head. “You’re in for one hell of an ass chewing.”

Rick really didn’t give a squat about Thornton’s lawyers or the raking he’d get from their department. That laptop had been his one hope at finding something on Creed. Hell, it was more than hope. Rick had been certain that his computer friend would get something off that machine, which would finally get them a solid lead.

And now it was gone.

A cold curtain of fury came over him, tightening his lip and clenching his fists at his sides. “I need to get it back,” he stated. “It’s as simple as that.”

“I’ll call in an APB on the vehicle. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Rising from the couch, Rick took determined steps to his bedroom and flipped on the shower. “While you’re doing that, get what you can on a Jessica Beane. That’s Beane with an E.” He tried to remember the name of her store and only recalled she’d said it was on Powell. Had that been a lie? Was there truth in anything she’d said last night?

The thought that he’d been duped stung in more ways than he cared to analyze, and as he tossed off his jeans and headed for the bathroom, he chose to stay focused on the task at hand instead.

“Give me a minute. I’ll need a ride to the station,” he called out.

“You’ll need more than a ride to the station.”

Kevin had said it as a joke, but it was true. Today he’d need something he hadn’t had in a long time—a lucky break. And without a doubt, the place to start was by finding one brassy Texas redhead.

The only question was, what would he do when he found her?

Chapter Four

“GEORGIA, I’m so sorry.”

It was the umpteenth time Jessie had made the statement since running home that morning and confirming her worst fears.

It was true. Wade had been in their apartment. And though barely a sock had been upturned in their dresser drawers, everything she and Georgia had of value was gone.

Granna Hawley’s jewelry, Grandpa Hawley’s watch. Her ruby-studded class ring from Tulouse High and the diamond-chip necklace she’d gotten for Christmas from Treat Wayans, her first boyfriend from the eighth grade.

Jessie’s black velvet stash box had been emptied, Georgia’s kitschy pink piggy bank drained. But worst of all was the fate of her and Georgia’s most cherished possessions. Georgia’s was her mother’s diamond ring and Jessie’s was the army commendation medal that belonged to the father she barely remembered.

Her granna Hawley had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, handed over with words Jessie would never forget. “This is the stock you came from,” Granna said, gripping the medal tightly in Jessie’s hand. “Your mother may have changed your name, but you’re still a Hawley through and through. And Hawleys are winners.”

She’d handed Jessie the medal, telling her to think of her dead father, to take it as a reminder of what she was capable of and to never lose sight of the proud blood that ran through her veins.

Jessie had taken it, then turned around and married Wade Griggs, criminal extraordinaire.

How was that for a Hawley winner?

“It’s not your fault,” Georgia replied, also for the umpteenth time. And though Jessie tried to believe it, she couldn’t reconcile Georgia’s words with the solemn look of pain in her eyes. Just like Jessie’s medal, that diamond ring meant everything to Georgia. It was one of the few things left from Georgia’s mother who had died when Georgia was a teen. It had been that common ground, the loss of a parent, that brought Jessie and Georgia together as friends back in high school. And no one knew better than Jessie how much the ring meant.

“I’ll get it back,” Jessie promised. “If I have to scour every pawnshop in the country, I’m getting it back.”

Georgia’s smile was shrouded in doubt, and the truth made Jessie’s heart bleed. Though neither wanted to say it, they both knew the rotten odds of ever seeing their possessions again. It would take a miracle, and miracles didn’t come by Jessie often—if ever at all.

“Did you call your lawyer back home?” Georgia asked, opting to focus on something that still held a ray of promise.

“He’s closed for the weekend. I left a message.”

She tried to hide the sense of doom from her voice, but feared she was doing a sorry job of it. As if losing their valuables wasn’t bad enough, Jessie had found the manila envelope she’d remembered so vividly. The one she’d been certain contained the signed copies of her divorce papers. And breathing a long sigh of relief, she’d opened the metal clip and pulled out the contents, gratified there was at least one thing she could stop worrying about.

But the envelope didn’t contain any divorce papers. It contained her granna’s will.

Jessie had torn apart her black plastic file box and everything else in their apartment, searching through every last shred of paper she’d saved over the years. She’d found the divorce papers, all right. But they hadn’t been signed by her or Wade. It had only been the copy she’d made before the documents were signed.

How she could have made such a mistake astounded her to the point of disbelief. And now, her only hope rested on the lawyer she’d retained. Surely his office would have a signed copy, and at least the matter of her divorce would end up no more than a temporary scare.

Georgia sprayed cleaner over a glass display case in their shop, Hidden Gems, and wiped the surface clean. Jessie and Georgia were among six artists who owned and operated the store, each offering their personal specialty in apparel and accessories.

Jessie sold her Beane Bags and Georgia made hand-painted silk scarves. Swan was an artisan in Native American, Aztec and Mexican jewelry, and Sonora had an eye for the latest trend in antique baubles. Candace made hats and Vickey constructed all kinds of wraps and jackets with her panels of exotic faux fur.

Among the six, Hidden Gems had recently gained notoriety in upscale fashion accessories, Jessie’s latest nod by Hollywood bringing them all a welcomed slice of attention. And though today wasn’t Jessie and Georgia’s day to mind the shop, the recent influx in business brought them down to help keep things clean and in order.

“I’m sure Roger will have a copy of those divorce papers for you when he gets in on Monday,” Georgia said, carefully placing a collection of Sonora’s antique Bakelite jewelry back on the shelf.

“I hope you’re right,” Jessie said, the thought throwing another pit into the rocky bowels of her stomach.

She took a breath and tried to squelch it like she always did.

A magnet for misfortune, Jessie had learned years ago that busy hands made for clear minds. It was how she’d stumbled into the craft of making beaded purses in the first place. When her stepbrothers caught her up in their mischief or her stepfather’s schemes landed the family back in poverty, Jessie would hole up in her room, stringing beads and sewing sequins. For hours on end, she’d ignore the screaming matches going on outside her door by losing herself in the ornate patterns she’d create.

She’d use beads when she had the money, any material she could find when she didn’t. With as little as a roll of fishing line and a bag of screw-top soda caps, she’d learned to string bags and accessories out of anything she could tap a hole through. She’d loved the peace the tedious task brought to her often chaotic childhood. And to this day, when the world seemed to swallow her up, she strung beads to see it through.

Georgia sighed. “They’ll have those papers. Don’t you worry.”

But worry was all Jessie had left. As she looked around the store, she wondered how she’d be able to keep her partnership here if Wade had a right to half her income. None of this was cheap, and she was plum out of credit. She’d already extended herself to the hilt to pay rent in the city, and she knew as well as anyone that Hollywood trends left as fast as they came. She’d needed this windfall to get ahead and create a nest egg so she could reinvent herself once Beane Bags became yesterday’s news.

If Wade was entitled to half of it—

She gritted her teeth and shoved away the thought. Brushing a black felt hat with an added dose of swiftness, she considered all the things she’d do before she let that happen.

She’d burn her inventory and declare bankruptcy before she let Wade Griggs take another dime from her. And come Monday, she’d get in touch with the lawyer who would confirm her divorce and put all her worries at ease.

That would leave her only with the insurmountable task of trying to recover her and Georgia’s most sacred keepsake.

That familiar nausea broke through the anger and settled back in her stomach. They’d filled out a police report this morning, but even the patrolman who answered the call told them the chance of recovering their things was all but none. Wade had come in from out of state, and only if he were stupid enough to try to pawn the items anywhere near San Francisco would they have the slimmest opportunity to getting anything back.

She needed to know where he’d gone. She needed to somehow trace his steps since yesterday evening. In short, she needed one of those elusive miracles she never seemed to come across.

Or maybe a hero.

And as if that thought had been a summons, she looked up to catch the ring of the door and the sight of the one man who might qualify for the job.

Inspector Rick Marshall.

Straightening her stance, she felt a little flip in her chest at the vision of the only good thing that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours. And oh, had he been good. Right now, she’d give anything to be in his bed, his hard body and her soft moves creating a symphony of orgasmic delight. It jumped her pulse just thinking about it as he snaked through the displays toward her.

Silhouetted against the sharp sunlight, he looked broader and more muscular than he had the night before, his calm, measured steps expressing that familiar, cool confidence that had attracted her at the bar. He wore a dark suit jacket in spite of the August heat. Coupled with the polarized Ray-Bans, he looked like Secret Service, or maybe FBI, that slick, dark hair, sharp, pointed nose and rigid jaw polishing off what should be the poster child for sexy, steel-bodied law enforcement.

She wondered if he had a weapon holstered under one arm. Something big and dangerous, like a shiny .44 Magnum or a dark, steely Glock.

The thought ramped up her heartbeat. She’d always had a thing for a man in uniform, and though her gut still hung heavy with worry, her mouth curved in a hopeful smile. Maybe Rick had caught wind of the police report they’d filed and had come to see if she was okay. Or maybe their encounter last night had him coming back for seconds. Either option would be a ray of sunshine on this bleary day.

“Well, if it isn’t SFPD’s finest,” she quipped, marveling over those firm set lips and the perpetual furrow in his brow. He looked so serious, like a man on a mission, and she wondered which playful move might soften those hard lines into a smile.

She had a few in her arsenal—a couple already proven successful.

But as he drew closer and pulled off his shades, she saw the ire in his eyes. He wasn’t as pleased to see her as she was him, and she quickly surmised that in her panic last night, she probably should have stopped to leave a quick note. He clearly wasn’t happy, and when he stopped to loom ominously over her, she flattened her smile and cleared her throat.

“Look, Sheriff, about last night—”

“I’m not a sheriff,” he said, hardly moving his lips.

Oh, yeah. He was angry, all right, and the cause of her quick pulse shifted from lust to annoyance.

For criminy sakes, he’d made it clear right from the start. Last night was a one-time thing. Two ships passing in the night. No expectations, no hard feelings. So the fact that he’d tracked her down simply because she hadn’t kissed him goodbye seemed pretty absurd.

“Fine, Inspector Marshall, then,” she said, gripping a hand to her hip and jutting up her chin.

She silently huffed. Oh, she so did not need this, nor did she feel obligated to explain. But having her fill of problems for one day, she offered an apology anyway.

“Look, I’m sorry for ducking out on you like that. I—”

“I just want my car back.”

His teeth were clenched tight. Those damning blue eyes bore holes through her thoughts and his words tripped her back a step.

“What?”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Tell me where I can find my car and we’ll forget the whole thing happened, Ms. Beane.” Then glancing sideways toward Georgia, he added, “Or should I say, Mrs. Griggs.”

Jessie’s jaw dropped and Georgia stepped up to her side.

“She’s not Mrs. Griggs,” Georgia defended.

He flashed her friend a cool stare. “No? I’ve got a number of aliases to choose from. How about Sugar Jessica Hawley? Jessica Griggs? Or my favorite, Sugar Beane?”

Jessie gaped. “You looked me up?”

“I pulled your prints from my bedpost.”

Heat ran up her cheeks, only half of it from the memory of how those prints ended up on his bedpost. But as this scene began to sink in, she chose to focus on the half that came from being royally ticked off.

“How dare you!”

Georgia wedged a shoulder between Jessie and Rick, stepping in as Jessie’s protector as she’d been doing for the past decade. “Do you run rap sheets on all the women you sleep with?”

“Only the ones who steal my car.”

Jessie pushed in front of Georgia, nearly toppling over Candace’s display of felt and feather hats, to press her nose close to Rick’s chest.

He was taller than she’d recalled, too, but she hadn’t let things like that intimidate her yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me refresh your memory.” His frown deepened and those stormy eyes turned dark as rain clouds. “My car was stolen, and the last woman I saw it with has a long list of criminal charges starting with grand theft auto and conspiracy to commit fraud.”

“Every one of those charges against me was dropped.”

“Maybe the Colbrook County police need to reopen their files.”

Jessie gasped, not knowing whether to spit or cry. Ever since she rolled out of this man’s bed twelve hours ago her life had gone from top of the hill to bottomless hell, and it seemed to be sinking farther. It was bad enough she was about to lose everything she’d worked hard for over the last year, now she was being accused of a crime?

Then a dark sense of familiarity washed through her, shoving her from a state of shock into the reality of the situation.

Oh, she’d been here before. She’d stood right in front of the law and had the same accusations thrown at her almost two years ago. Back then, she’d been ignorant and stupid, her innocence working against her and costing her everything she had.

She was smarter now.

This whole scene had Wade Griggs written all over it, and having charted these waters before, she knew exactly which mistakes she would not repeat.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she threw her shoulders back and stood firm. “If you’re accusing me of a crime, I demand to see a lawyer.”

“Yeah,” Georgia echoed, but their partner, Swan, didn’t seem to be thrilled with the idea of a fight.

She stepped out from the main counter, rushing over to the three of them while a dozen bangle bracelets sounded like wind chimes around her wrists. Flashing a forced and nervous smile, she cocked her head toward a small group of customers perusing Georgia’s scarves.

“Excuse me,” Swan said in her most pleasant and patronizing tone. “This sounds like a conversation that needs to be taken in the back.” Then lowering her voice to below a whisper, she added, “Our customers are getting curious.”

Rick placed a hand on Jessie’s arm and replied, “I have a better idea. We’ll take this down to the station.”

Every part of Jessie wanted to kick him in the shins and scream bloody murder. This was just like last time. Accuse first, ask questions later. But in this case, it was worse. This time, she’d opened a soft spot for her accuser. She’d shared a blissful and passionate evening with a man she’d thought was gentle and kind.

Sure, they hadn’t gone through old scrapbooks and swapped schoolyard memories, but they’d connected on a level more intuitive than that. Maybe it had only been a one-night stand, but the fact that her lover could be so warm and intimate one minute then turn on her the next stung deep and hard, and the fighter in her wanted to open a wound in return.

But Swan was right. Even the look in Georgia’s eyes echoed that. This was their business, the livelihood that supported them all, and creating a scene in the middle of it wouldn’t do anyone any good. Jessie had enough troubles. She didn’t need to add five angry partners wanting to throw her out of the co-op. So swallowing her hurt and pride, she jerked her hand from his grasp and stepped toward the counter where she’d left her purse.

“Of course,” she said, using a haughty tone that came out sounding like Miss Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies. Raising her voice so the customers could hear clearly, she added, “I’m sure Mr. Marshall and I can straighten out this matter over coffee.”

Grabbing the orange Beane Bag that she only now remembered still held her green lacy bra from the night before, she took clipped steps to the double glass doors. Holding her head high and her mouth shut, they’d moved down the street well past the eyes and ears of Hidden Gems.

Then she turned on her heels and jabbed a finger into his chest. “If you ever come into my place of business and embarrass me like that again, I promise you’ll rue the day you met me.”

He clasped her forearm and steered her across the street. “I already do.”

Now that was just cruel, and a mix of hurt, frustration and anger erupted in a sting of tears at the backs of her eyes. Was she a magnet for jerks? Back home, she’d blamed youth and ignorance for the mistakes she’d made. That and the fact that her stepbrothers usually chased the good guys away. But she was in California now, away from the influence of her family and wiser than her years. So why was it the first man she’d opened herself up to could be as bad as all the rest?

“Then I’ll find a way to make it worse,” she muttered, part in frustration, part in vengeance. How many more knocks could she take today before she finally split in two?

“You do that,” he said. “But in the meantime, you’re going to tell me where the hell I can find my car.”

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He led her up to a silver sedan then stopped at the passenger side door. She noted it wasn’t a typical squad car. There were no lights, no caged backseat with the interior door handles missing and bulletproof glass to protect the driver from hardened criminals like herself who might come at them with an emery board.

Jerking her arm from his grasp, she stepped close to his chest, trying to ignore that familiar rugged scent that had her hot and bothered the night before. Her forehead just reached the tip of his chin and the memory of her lips closing over that smoothly shaven throat left her mouth dry.

She stiffened her bottom lip and spat out, “Aren’t you going to cuff me?”

The slight quirk of his brow said more than he’d ever admit. Maybe he wasn’t completely immune to the night they’d shared. But as quickly as it flashed by, the set jaw returned and the stony cop was back.

“Do I need to?” he asked.

She tried not to be sarcastic and sour, her smarter side recognizing that honey went a lot further than spite.

The smarter side lost. She was too mad.

“According to you? Probably. You seem to think I’m capable of all kinds of heinous acts.”

He opened the door and offered a hand. “I’ll take my chances.”

She slapped it off and climbed into the passenger seat, wincing when he slammed the door and rounded the car to take the seat next to her.

This was officially her second escorted trip downtown in as many years. Her first ride had been to the Colbrook County jail and was the opening scene to a nightmare that became twelve of the most rotten months of her life.

Would this trip end up any better?

Glancing over at the ice block of a man sitting next to her, she couldn’t help but fear the worst.

Chapter Five

RICK PULLED AWAY from the curb and headed south on Powell toward his office at the Hall of Justice. There was an extra edge to his already agitated state thanks to his unexpected reaction to seeing Jessie again. He thought he’d worked up enough fury over what had happened to erase all the lusty remnants of the night they’d shared. But the moment he saw her standing there cute and casual, those strawberry curls haphazardly framing her face and those wet, rosy lips curved in a smile, every second of their sexual encounter sped through his mind on a course straight for his cock.

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