Chapter Five

Roman held two dog biscuits in his hand when he rang Jan Solvang’s doorbell. At Bella’s insistence, they’d purchased a box of dog treats meant to help Roman make friends with Elwood. He’d argued with his grandmother about whether or not to bring the whole box to Jan. Bella said, “Hold a couple and keep one or two in your pocket so Elwood likes the way you smell. Take treats to her house every time you visit.”

“What do you mean, every time I visit? I’ve got one appointment with the lady.”

When Bella indicated one visit would never be enough, Roman gave up arguing with her and decided he’d need to adopt a take-charge attitude. No more complaining; forge ahead. He could think of worse things than pocketing dog treats and smelling like stale biscuits all day. If he was going to finish his own projects in a week as well as handle Sidney’s memorial, he’d have to work quickly and efficiently with the funeral planner. No more bickering with the woman. Get down to it.

He was primed for all business when her door opened. Ready with a polite smile, he barely noticed the flash of black at floor level.

Elwood’s teeth clamped down on the heel of his shoe.

“Yeouch!” he yelled, shaking his leg away from the dog and dropping the biscuits on the stoop.

Her eyes wide with surprise, Jan reached for the dog. “Stop! Elwood, no!”

The dog let go of Roman’s shoe and squirmed away from her grasp. Thinking Elwood was diving for his other leg, Roman hopped away, lost his footing, teetered, and fell backward off the corner of the stoop, landing on his butt in the grass.

Jan leaped off the stoop and held out a hand while she repeated, “Oh, my God, I am so sorry.”

So much for getting down to business.

Ignoring her outstretched hand, he quickly stood and brushed off his pants, all the while keeping an eye on the black dog from hell.

Elwood chomped on the biscuits, tail a-wagging.

Jan held her head with her hands as she stared at his ankle, horrified. Next, she gripped his arm, standing close enough to him that he smelled her perfume, something rich and tropical.

“I’m so sorry, Roman. I’m sure he’s never done anything like that. I can’t…God, your ankle is bleeding.”

He smiled awkwardly, feeling more off center by her touch and her concern than the fall. “No big deal,” he said, even though his senses sparked wildly so he had trouble breathing.

“We’d better check it out. Maybe you need a tetanus shot.”

For a nanosecond, Roman imagined making more of his injury, just to keep Jan nearby. He liked having her close, her hand on his skin and calling him by his first name. Even more, he appreciated the chance to look at her pretty face when she stood still like she was doing now. With some regret, he waved his hand to dismiss her concerns and entered the house, Jan right behind him. “Nope,” he assured her. “I’ve been nipped by dogs before. Plus I think he was going for my shoe, not the ankle.”

He stood by her rickety Samsonite table, noticing the Barker file lying open beside her computer, but the letter she’d fainted over was nowhere to be seen. Damn. He hid his disappointment by saying, “Let’s get down to work. I’m on deadline with a project. “

Her eyes on his ankle, she shook her head. “At least go wash off the scratch with soap so I don’t worry about infection. Please?”

The direction she’d pointed in took him past two completely empty bedrooms. Where did she sleep? On the couch?

As he took off his shoe, wet and soaped the corner of a washcloth and scrubbed the scratches, he remembered the feeling of her hands on his arm. The bathroom smelled of her exotic scent, which made him wonder if she’d dabbed her perfume between her breasts. He leered in the mirror, congratulating himself for his lucky glimpse inside her halter.

Roman wiped off the soap to view the damage. The scratches framing his anklebone had bled, all right.

“Band-Aids in the second drawer, middle cabinet,” she called from the hall.

He didn’t need a Band-Aid, but he followed her directions, mainly because he wanted to learn more about the woman. At his core, he was nosy, and bathrooms held a wealth of information about their users.

Quietly opening the top drawer, he saw tubes and bottles of mystery cosmetics. Did she use make-up? He conjured her expressive eyes and her full lips, lips designed for kissing, and forgot the question.

Second drawer. Hmm. A teeth brightening kit. He considered her smile and her even teeth. A big bottle of pain reliever. Where was her pain?

Calcium and vitamin pills. Good girl.

Birth control pills. Middle of the month? Yup. Half gone. Did she live with someone in her Seattle condo? No ring on her finger. Once married?

Bella had said Jan lived alone in this house. Clearly, if she slept here, she’d been using the couch. Why hadn’t she bought a bed? She said she’d soon shut the house and leave town. Wasn’t she coming back?

A glance at his cuts and the Band-Aids told him a large one wouldn’t cover both wounds so he took two mediums. Double the sympathy. Maybe he should limp a bit, too.

Roman was beginning to think of the dog as a potential partner.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he followed the noises in the kitchen to find her pouring wine in a goblet, an empty one standing nearby. A guilt plate of cheese and crackers served with a worried look.

“How bad is it, Roman?”

Palm up to signal the bite wasn’t even worth commenting on, he grabbed some cheese and crackers, nestled them in a napkin, and accepted the glass of wine. She pointed to the lighted patio. Deciding not to add to her anguish, he walked normally as he headed outdoors, his eyes scouring the room for the black devil.

“I put Elwood in one of the bedrooms so we can work in peace,” she said, following him to the umbrella table and chairs.

While Roman surveyed the dark golf course, he noted Jan’s getting-down-to-work efforts. She took one sip of wine, flipped open the folder, speed-read a couple pages, then, pen in hand, looked up at him expectantly.

“I’m curious,” he said, easing into the chair opposite her. He set his drink and food on the table and asked, “What did you do before event planning?”

She put down the pen. “Marketing.” Delivered crisply: “HighTech. Stock options. Early retirement.”

“You alluded to personnel problems on your old job. Care to expand?”

“I thought you wanted to get down to business.”

Distracted by the birth control pills and the absence of beds, he fumbled his response. “Business? Uhh. This is business. Think of it as a background check.”

With a lift of her shoulder, she said, “My advancements at HighTech put me in charge of more and more people. Most of them, excellent employees. A few bad apples stole all my time.”

He nodded, but privately wondered how easy she was to work with. It might be hard for others to match her energy level. She hadn’t stopped moving the whole time he’d been there. Even now she was straightening papers and shifting in her chair. Maybe the empty house thing was one example of a string of idiosyncrasies.

When he made eye contact with her, she looked down at the paper in her folder. Okay, she was aware of him, but not interested. He let his ego absorb the blow as she said, “You’re on a tight schedule. Shall we get to work?”

“Fire away.”

She seemed to force herself to relax in her chair. “First, how do you think your grandmother’s doing?”

“She’s antsy. Bella’s in her seventies, but she’s got more energy than I do. In fact, she’s dying for you to ask for an interior design consult, partly to get her mind off Sidney, but also because she likes you so much. What you’re doing for Sid’s memorial is extremely important to her.”

The smile she gave him, so genuine, so pure, filled him with warmth along with a crazy desire to think of more things to please her. Then, like a cloud moving across the sun, her smile dimmed and she said, “Thank you. Your part in eulogizing Sidney is important, too, Roman. These last weeks Bella’s had to watch life eke out of a once brilliant, energetic man. Our job is to replace the memory of those last days, reminding her of Sidney as he was for seventy-some years.”

Roman rubbed his forehead, confused by his need to charm Jan and reluctant to get down to business. “When I saw my grandfather a month ago, we argued. Even bedridden, he was his old cranky self.” He grimaced. “Full of vitriol. He’d seen my documentary on Donald Rumsfeld and hated it. Tore into me like I’d committed murder.”

Jan nodded, clearly waiting for him to address the memorial.

He shook his head. “As much as I hate the thought of my grandfather dying, I feel just as bad about preparing a eulogy about him. How do I praise a man who was so irritating?” He held up his hand when Jan began to speak. “Sure he was kind to Bella and small kids, but to no one else.”

“Including you?”

“Double for me. He accused me of lying about men and women he revered, when all I did was expose the weaknesses that led to their missteps.”

“And that’s what you do best.”

“What?”

“Expose the weaknesses of others.”

“Not really, but—”

“Enough. Your grandfather asked you to write his eulogy. What does that say?”

“Torment. Getting the last laugh.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t a clue.”

“I’m sure he expects you to research his life the way you handle your investigations. He chose you, so he knew the result he’d get.” She pointed to a list of questions. “Your research probes for the true picture of a person’s life. My questions do the same thing.”

Roman peered at the list, skeptical about her approach. When he realized he was close enough to smell her perfume and see the flecks of beige in her brown eyes, he got rattled and sat back. “Read one or two for me, please.”

Jan bent over the paper. “Umm, how about this one? ‘Who are the two or three people who knew Sidney best? What would they say about him?’” She raised her eyes from the paper and smiled. “I assume you aren’t one of the two or three, right? So we find them and talk to them about Sidney.”

Roman nodded, aware he used the same technique in his research. He stared at her arms, firm and tanned, as Bella had described them. Beautiful arms, perfectly exposed in a filmy sleeveless shirt. “Uh, how about another question?”

Brows knit, she gazed at him for a couple seconds before she ran her finger down the paper, stopped mid-page and read: “Based on his life experiences, what were his goals, his mission in life?”

He was drawn to the armholes of her shirt, wishing they were bigger, wider…like the halter top she’d worn this morning. Hell, he’d take the wet T-shirt from this afternoon. He’d—

“Roman?” Her question came with irritation.

He cleared his throat. “You’re asking for a positive spin, aren’t you?”

“Well—”

“What about flaws? Weaknesses? Eulogies never expose those,” Roman said, palms on the table. Damn it, he didn’t want to talk about death and eulogies. Or maybe he could after he ran his hand up her arm and explored a bit around that armhole. He dragged his eyes away from the roundness of her shoulder. “I can’t lie. My grandfather was a bitter, judgmental guy all his life. He drove everyone nuts, especially me. But I’m not supposed to talk about that dominant aspect of his personality, am I?”

She put her hand on her shoulder, and rubbed it, as if his scrutiny had made it itch. “These ceremonies are for the living, Roman. While you want to represent Sidney truthfully, you omit some things in consideration for the audience.”

He rose, too agitated by the topic and too distracted by Jan to sit any longer. “Then Sidney picked the wrong guy.”

Jan narrowed her eyes, seeming ready to disagree until she glanced at his ankle. After an audible sigh, she said, “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your work so I understand how you approach a documentary? Maybe I’ll get some idea about why Sidney picked you.”

Feeling obstinate, he warned, “If I deliver this eulogy, I won’t ‘omit.’”

With an indulgent smile, she leaned forward. “Tell me about the project you have to finish in a week.”

At the thought of his tight schedule, he rubbed his eyes. “Harold M. Johnson. “Harry” Johnson, the Senator—”

“I know all about him,” she interrupted. “My minor was International Studies at the University of Washington so I took lots of courses at the Johnson Institute.” Eyes alight, she said, “I was lucky enough to work with his wife on a HighTech charity thing. Georgette’s an amazing woman.”

Roman nodded.

“Have you heard of “Harry’s Troops?’”

He shook his head.

“I’ve been a member since I graduated from the UW. We still meet once a year, carrying on some of Harry’s pet projects.”

Roman sensed trouble.

“He was a great man, one of the finest politicians who ever served the State. The country, for that matter.”

“No doubt about his influence. But he wasn’t without flaws. I have to disclose them.”

“Of course he wasn’t perfect, but…”

“I look for truth.”

“Fairness?”

“Accuracy. Unbiased,” he said.

She gave him a direct stare. “I admit he wasn’t perfect, but why zero in on his flaws?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It sells.” She leaned toward him, brows furrowed. “Let me guess. You’ll make a huge deal about Johnson voting to send Japanese-Americans to internment camps during World War II.”

“Of course I will. I…” With her face so close to his, he lost his train of thought. Those were gold flecks in her brown eyes. Why did he think they were beige? Did irritation make them glitter?

Squinting, she said, “You know he publicly apologized for his error.”

“Years later. He was one of a mob of politicians who said they were sorry. Too late. Zero impact. The damage had been done.”

He watched Jan’s eyes round along with her mouth, as if she’d read his mind.

“Damn you!” she said, rising from her chair and shoving it so it almost flipped over. “You’re trying to prevent Johnson’s bust from being displayed in front of the Institute, aren’t you? That’s why you’re in a hurry to submit the script.”

Roman shrugged. “His statue’s been virtually hidden in the building for twenty years, for good reasons, I understand.”

She hoisted their empty wineglasses like clubs, her face rosy with anger. “Name them. Name the reasons the newspapers gave. Then dig deeper and find the real reasons.”

“I’m not done researching Johnson’s life. I’ll admit that.” He paused for effect. “Exactly how much digging into my grandfather’s life have you done? Taking Bella’s word Sidney was a great man doesn’t qualify as ‘thorough’ research. And channeling the information through Elwood doesn’t count, by the way.”

Jan clinked the empty wineglasses together as she stalked into the kitchen and put them in the sink. “I’ll find all the information I need on Sidney by gathering the facts from reliable sources. Which is what you’re supposed to be doing, too.”

Roman followed her, the cheese plate in hand, fascinated by the way her body moved when she was angry. Muscles taut on her arms, her calves, her buttocks. This woman wasn’t fragile. What would she be like in bed—assuming she had one?

“Hey!” she said.

“What?” he asked, distracted enough not to hear her. Did she even know how beautiful she looked in that moment?

“I said it must be nice to sit in judgment on all the rest of us. Chances are while you pretend to support Bella, you’re investigating my dad and me. I’d say Sidney’s ‘irritating’ genes made the transfer to you.” She turned away from him to rinse the glasses.

Roman and Sidney alike? No way. He was about to point out her error when she turned, eyes ablaze with a passion he desperately wished favored him. “I’ve decided Elwood’s got you pegged just right. I feel an urge to let him bite your other ankle.”

Shit. How had his attempt to mend fences failed so miserably? And why was he turned on by a woman who was hopping mad at him? “I’m sorry, Jan. I—”

She grabbed the dog leash and snapped it on Elwood. “My dog and I will escort you out. You and I are done. I’ll keep my promise to work with Bella, but I’m going to suggest she choose someone else to give the eulogy and organize the memorial. I agree with you that Sidney Keller won’t get a proper send-off with you in charge. Still, if Bella insists on retaining you as MC, I’m handing you off to my father.”

****

Tess Barker knew she was driving too fast but she couldn’t make her foot ease on the accelerator. Punching the brake was as impossible as moving her hands on the steering wheel from their ten and two o’clock position. When she glanced at the fuel gauge, she was surprised to see the red arrow pointing to full. Ironic, because she knew her body was running on empty.

The pressure of being the one Barker offspring left in town out of six kids was too much. Her brothers expected Tess to put a stop to their father’s memorial and the responsibility made her head hurt.

Still, she had enough brain cells functioning to understand she had to wheedle the event planner’s address out of her mother. “Maybe I can help the woman, Mom,” Tess lied as she plucked Jan Solvang’s business card from her mom’s fingers. Pleased looks on the faces of her mother and the mayor’s publicist made Tess want to cry out in despair. How could she stop the monstrous memorial all by herself?

Tess concentrated on her driving while she practiced what she’d say to the event planner.

“A quiet family-only ceremony. That’s what we want, Ms. Solvang,” she said to the stale, old leather-smelling car air, parsing a civil but firm tone. “In her grief, our mother is making poor decisions about a celebration of his life. It must be scaled back, immediately.”

Jan Solvang would ask why a famous man’s offspring wouldn’t want her father publicly eulogized. Maybe Tess should lie and say the family wanted to grieve privately because their religion favored discreet memorials. But Jan Solvang would point out that Madeline Barker was in favor of a spectacular ceremony. And the widow was Ms. Solvang’s client, not Cliff Barker’s children.

Tess hadn’t figured out how to answer the funeral planner’s questions and argue her points. It was all she could do to drive her car to the woman’s address without smashing into something. She repeated her rationale to the car’s interior. “My mother isn’t thinking straight. We must cancel the memorial.”

She touched the pocket of her shorts, tracing the outline of a knife, a four-inch folded thing she used for opening envelopes. Insurance, she called it. Something to remind her of the mission. She’d never take it out of her pocket. Never. Instead, the funeral planner would read the desperation in her face and acquiesce. Small service, quick burial. And that was more than her father deserved.

Tess parked in front of the lady’s house, just in time to see a woman with a dog exit the house. A man followed her.

Wait. Tess’s plan called for a knock on the door and a confrontation with a woman, alone.

Tess heard a “poof” when her strategy and her practiced words went up in smoke. She began to shake, wondering if she could find the damn brake pedal.

****

Jan reached the end of her sidewalk, pleased to have Roman walking behind her on his way to his car. As mad as she was about the man’s stubbornness, a stress-releasing walk made sense. Her empty house was starting to bug her, too, the gaping spaces screaming out her weaknesses. Not that a walk was an antidote. The way Roman interested her at the same time he ticked her off felt juvenile. She didn’t believe in a version of romance with The Man and The Woman at each other’s throats, engaged in a thinly disguised pre-sexual sparring match.

Jan was proud of her twelve years with Frank, absent major conflict. No fights over money, sex, or space. Sure, she knew he’d grown weary of being a lobbyist for energy corporations, and he was well aware her job in Seattle had become more stress than challenge. Still, because of their complicated history, they’d agreed to leave their jobs at their offices. No issues in the bedroom, either. They’d settled on separate bedrooms since Frank was such a restless sleeper. Sex once a month, his bed.

No fights, not even a tiny spar, until Frank decided they should marry. “We’re a couple, Janny. Let’s make it official with the paperwork, the rings, and a nice little party. We’d protect each other legally, that way. If I die, I want to make sure you’re my beneficiary.”

He’d blown up when she’d asked for more time to decide. One big fight in twelve years. And now the big apology and incentive in the form of co-ownership of the condo.

While she was thinking about how not to fight with Roman, she realized a woman had emerged from a car parked behind Roman’s and was walking toward her. Odd. The woman had left her car running, its engine noise obscuring whatever the woman seemed to be saying.

Jan didn’t recognize her and the look on her face was hard to read. Was she angry or agonized? Maybe she was lost or sick and needed help.

What is she saying and why is she barreling toward me?

Jan backed up, tugging a cowering Elwood with her. She pegged the woman as thirty-something. Slim in shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. Short brown hair, mussed. Now that she could see her face up close and hear her growling, Jan realized the woman was enraged.

“You’re Jan Solvang,” the woman spat, demanding rather than questioning.

“Uff,” Roman said when Jan’s heel crushed his toe in her effort to back away from the woman. He grasped her shoulders and held her against his chest.

“Who are you?” he asked the lady. Jan felt the vibration of his words against her spine.

The woman kept coming.

Roman stepped in front of Jan. “Stop,” he ordered.

She did.

Jan shifted to Roman’s side, keeping Elwood behind them. “Who are you?”

The woman seemed too distraught to form words. “T…Tess Barker,” she finally managed, scowling. “Oh, yeah. You know the name. We talked on the phone.” Raking both hands through her hair, she said, “I want to burn my shitty father and forget about him. You and my mother are determined to hire a brass band and a bunch of politicians to praise him.” Tears dropped to her cheeks. “I won’t let you.”

Clearly struggling to find the words, the woman grabbed something from her pocket and jabbed it in Jan’s direction, twisting it like she wanted to skewer Jan. “I give you fair warning. Stop the ceremony.”

Tess Barker looked down at her hand, seeming surprised to see the metal thing. She used both hands to unfold it, then jabbed the knife at them. “I mean it,” she said, staring at the weapon as if it conveyed her purpose instead of her words.

At that, the woman turned and raced to her car, so agitated that she apparently forgot she’d left the motor running. She hopped in the car and must have turned the key, the engine protesting with a screech at being restarted. She pulled away from the curb so fast the tires spun madly, smoking rubber.

Jan felt Roman’s hand grasping hers, squeezing it to get her attention. “I got the license number so I can double check who she says she is. For the police.”

When she sagged, feeling overwhelmed, he grabbed her waist. “You okay?” he asked. “You feeling faint?”

Straightening, she gulped air. “I’m fine. The police?”

He tightened his hold on her and raised an eyebrow. “She threatened you, Jan. Of course we call the police.”

Weakly, she said, “Of course.”

Roman glanced at the house as he took out his cell phone. “How good are your locks?”

“Deadbolts, all,” she said, wondering how events had slipped so ridiculously out of her control. Even when she attempted to pull away from Roman and walk on her own, he shook his head, grabbed her around the waist and walked with her into the house.

While Jan let the dog out in the yard, Roman shut the front door and locked it. “Even so, you better bunk with your father until the cops find the woman.”

Jan tried to convince herself that Tess Barker was grief stricken, at the stage when a person raged at the deceased. Maybe she’d picked out Jan as a tangible target for her anger. Her awkward thrust of the tiny knife and her difficulty speaking made Jan think the woman was a mess of emotions. Jan leaned against the kitchen island, feeling dizzy. “Forget it. Besides, my dad moved into a studio apartment after Mom died. He has no room for me. Add to that we aren’t exactly pals.”

“Then you’ll stay with my grandmother. I’ll arrange it—”

“You will not, thank you very much,” Jan interrupted. “She’s got enough on her mind and her sister’s staying with her.”

He was about to argue with her when she held up her palm to stop him. “We talk to the police, then you go home to dig dirt for your project while I figure out what’s going on with the Barkers. If worse comes to worst, the General can stay with me.”

Roman’s knit brows signaled he didn’t believe her. True, she didn’t have a bed for the General. He’d have to bivouac in a tent in the front yard and talk to her by two-way radio. The idea made her smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Let’s call the police. We’ll argue later about what comes next.”

While Roman dialed information on his cell phone, she watched him, liking the way he set his shoulders to a thing. His voice was clear and assertive, demanding action, something a writer of documentaries must learn to do well. It was a habit, having nothing to do with her, with what he thought of her.

Yet even while the mad-as-hell woman came at her, Jan registered the feel of her back against his chest and stomach. Nestled, cradled. He’d stepped in front of her after that, then took up her hand to offer support. A man instinctively protecting a woman. She wanted to believe he’d been especially protective for her. Silly.

“So…” he said, after he ended his call, his voice loud and his eyes dark green and intense. “Tess is Cliff Barker’s daughter.”

Confused by his change of focus, Jan said, “Yes. Tess’s mother is our client. The memorial for Cliff Barker is slated for Saturday.”

“Really?” he said, watching her face as if she were the most interesting person on the planet.

“Yes. Really. Since he died so suddenly, in the middle of running for State Senator, I’ve got my hands full. Everyone wants to speak and—”

He shook his head so vigorously, she stopped talking. Apparently, he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Barker. Anti-porn, anti-abortion. Mr. Born-Again Right Wing ‘Family is Everything.’ With a kid calling him a ‘shitty father.’”

“I don’t know the politics, Roman. Madeline Barker became a friend of my mother’s after Frank introduced the couple to both my parents. Sans politics. Madeline asked for our help because my mother was an event planner. Now that I’ve learned more about this family, I wish we hadn’t taken—”

He held up his hand to stop her, clearly working out the situation in his mind. “Mr. Perfect’s daughter tells you her father’s a bad man and doesn’t deserve a memorial. Threatens you if you go ahead with the thing.” Wagging his head, he said, “Damn. What a story.”

She wasn’t prepared when he grabbed her around the waist and tugged her close. Instead of pushing him away, like she should have, she gave into the comfort his embrace offered, shutting her eyes to block out Tess’s angry face and awkward threat. If Roman hadn’t been with her, would Tess have been more aggressive, more dangerous? Would Jan have fainted, leaving her vulnerable to a knife-wielding woman? She rested her forehead on Roman’s chest, dizzy at the prospect.

Oh God, soon the police would arrive and she’d have to answer their questions calmly and thoroughly. Get ready, Jan.

Just as she began to move away from his embrace, he dipped his head to kiss her.

Branding. Hard and insistent. The message clear: I’m a charged-up male, and this is my territory. You and the story are mine.

His grip on her head was so strong, all she could do was adjust her mouth against his for comfort. Big mistake. She found they fit, too well, too right. The feel counteracted the mad woman, a stiff father, a missing mother, and frightening faint-dreams. She’d curved into his protective body when Tess came at her. Meshed this way, he promised warmth and better days. A bed.

She didn’t mean to let the hum of pleasure emerge from the back of her throat, but it escaped like a bird finally freed. He must have heard it because he dropped the phone in his pocket, framed her neck with his hands, edged her up against the kitchen wall and settled in to kissing her.

His lips captured hers completely, giving her the sense of being absorbed and enveloped, the promise of safety, warmth, and reverence so comforting, that she groaned, the sound vibrating in his mouth. When his fingers traced inside her sleeveless shirt, shivers of need raced through her limbs.

The doorbell rang, accompanied by Elwood’s whining. Roman gazed at Jan, his eyes telling her he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Branding complete; adrenaline rush attended to. He took her hand, drew her to the door and peered through the peephole.

She exhaled, prepared to protest the fact she hadn’t had a say in anything the last fifteen minutes, when he turned his eyes from the peephole to hers.

“It’s the police,” he said, squeezing her hand, his eyes bright. The story, Jan reminded herself. He’s got a hard-on about the story, not her; she’d given in to him because Tess scared her, nothing more.

Trying not to be disappointed, she released her hand from his and told herself in no uncertain terms: Roman Keller might be on fire, but he did not burn for her.