Chapter One

“No!” Andi cried. Too late.

Stray shook, sending suds flying. A fluffy white dollop of doggie shampoo hit her smack in the middle of her forehead. Uttering an exasperated sigh, she swiped it away. “If you don’t stop doing that, we’ll be here all day.”

Dark brown, soulful eyes stared up at her from a soggy face. Andi narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think I don’t see right through your tactics, young lady.” She pointed an admonishing finger. “You know I can’t stay mad at you, and you’re using that against m—”

A muffled thump came from somewhere in the house. She straightened and twisted her neck to look through the glass shower door into the master bedroom. Condensation blocked her view, so she cracked open the door, being careful not to let Stray escape. She held her breath, listening, but the only sounds were from the shower spray and Stray’s occasional disgruntled snort.

She gave a shake of her head. I’m imagining things.

After closing the door, she leaned over and squeezed another bead of shampoo across the dog’s spine. “Now, where were we?”

A shadow fell across the shower stall. Stray stiffened and growled.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked up just as the shower door flew open and whacked against the wall.

For less than a second, she froze. Then, she screamed.

She stumbled backward, flinging out her arms for balance. The bottle of dog shampoo fell from her hand, and her feet nearly skidded out from under her. Somehow, she remained upright and braced her back and palms against the cool tile wall. Beside her, Stray began barking at the top of her lungs.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God. This was like something out of a bad high school movie. A giant black dog with the biggest, longest teeth she’d ever seen, and a huge, hulking man were in her bathroom. And—holy shit—he’s pointing a gun at me.

Her heart hammered so hard against her rib cage, she could actually hear it above the pounding spray and the ferocious barking from the dogs. She sucked in quick breaths.

The hulk said something to his dog. In German? It stopped barking but still looked like it wanted to eat her alive. Stray didn’t understand German and kept barking and snarling.

The black shepherd’s lips curled back, giving her another look at those frighteningly sharp incisors. The man spoke, but with all the noise she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Her mind was too busy spinning with the implications of what was happening.

I’m trapped. He’s going to rape me. Then kill me. Stray, too.

Do something, idiot. Don’t go down without a fight.

She grabbed the bar of soap on the shower shelf.

“Pol—”

She hurled the soap at him. A large hand snapped it from midair and flung it behind him, where it made a thunk as it hit the wall.

Andi grabbed a bottle of shampoo and raised her arm to throw that at him, too.

“Police, dammit,” he shouted in an incredibly smooth, sinfully rich baritone. “Don’t even think of throwing that shampoo at me.”

“What?” She widened her eyes, sucking in deeper breaths while her heart beat madly. For the first time, she took in his clothes. His uniform. Blue with triangular patches on his chest and shoulders. Massachusetts State Police.

Piercing, deep-set, gunmetal gray eyes stared coldly at her from a face so hard it had to have been chiseled from rock. Her gaze traveled the length of him from head to toe, noting he was tall and with shoulders so wide they completely filled the shower door opening. Only then did she notice that, somewhere in the middle of all this, he’d put away his gun, the butt of which now stuck out of the holster on his belt.

The giant black German shepherd glowered up at her with glowing, satanic eyes, still looking as if it wanted to tear every square inch of flesh from her bones.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed between gasps, crouching to wrap her arms around Stray’s neck and chest. The last thing she wanted was a dog fight in her shower, one Stray would undoubtedly lose. “How did you get in? You have no right to be here.”

“Serving a search warrant, through the front door, and yes, I do have a right to be here.”

“Sarge, you okay?” another male voice said.

With his gaze locked on hers, he extended his arm, holding out his hand, palm facing whoever was about to enter the bathroom. “Stop.”

She caught brief glimpses of two other officers just outside the bathroom door, although she was somewhat protected from their view by the mist-covered shower glass and the hulking body standing directly in front of her. The house has to be crawling with cops.

“I’m good,” the state trooper said, still watching her like a hawk. “Get Malloy up here. Now.”

“You got it.” The other men disappeared.

The black dog growled deep in its throat, and she flinched, hauling Stray backward until they were pressed against the tile wall. Between Stray’s incessant barking and the shock, she barely registered the thickly muscled arm that reached into the stall and shut off the water.

“Ma’am,” she vaguely heard him say, although everything happening was so surreal she had a difficult time concentrating. “Ma’am.” The voice was infinitely more insistent now and laced with a hint of annoyance.

Stray let loose with a series of ear-splitting barks that echoed in the confines of the shower. “No bark,” she said, resting her hand on the top of the dog’s head.

“Take this.”

“What?” She snapped her gaze back to the trooper, who was holding out a towel to her.

Oh, shit. I’m practically naked. In front of a cop. Double shit.

Stray’s wet body still trembled beneath her arms, but the dog had calmed significantly and seemed content to stay within the safety of the shower stall.

She snatched the towel from his outstretched hand, quickly wrapping it around her bikini-clad body and twisting the top into a knot between her breasts. Until that moment, she’d been so completely and utterly freaked out by the intrusion of the man and his scary-as-hell dog, she hadn’t given a thought to the fact that the only thing she had on was a very old, very skimpy string bikini that barely concealed her ass and breasts. The only reason she’d kept it was for washing dogs. In private, that was.

“Easy girl.” She began stroking the dog’s quivering body, flattening the hair on her spine where it stood straight up. “Easy now.” Stray had stopped barking, settling for an occasional low growl in the back of her throat.

Andi stared up at the trooper. “What the hell is going on? Why do you have a search warrant for my house?” Technically it wasn’t her house. She was only staying there for a couple of nights.

His piercing gaze remained securely focused on her face. “As for the what,” that deep, clear voice resonated, “like I said, we’re serving a warrant. As for the why, all in good time.”

“What in the world are you serving a warrant for?” She dug her fingers into Stray’s thick ruff, massaging the dog’s neck to keep her calm. “This has to be a mistake. You can’t just barge into someone’s home.”

“No mistake.” He glanced at the dog that stood obediently at his side, glaring at her with the same intensity his handler did. The shepherd didn’t pay any heed to Stray. “Are you the only one in the house?”

“Y-yes,” she answered, her body beginning to chill.

“Are you Andromeda Hardt?”

She shivered. “Yes. I’m Andi. Andi Hardt. What’s your name?” The name tag on his chest said Houston but didn’t have his first name.

He ignored her question and clicked the mic on his lapel. “Tell Cox we have a guest up here. Andi Hardt, owner of the Dog Park Café.”

How does he know who I am?

“Copy that,” a voice came back.

Sgt. Houston refocused his attention on her. “Where’s Joe Myer?” he demanded, more than asked.

“Out of town,” she answered truthfully.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” A giant knot of fear and worry began wedging its way solidly into her gut. Joe had been unusually cryptic about his most recent business trip. Now state troopers were serving a warrant at his house. This is so not good.

That knot gnawed more at her belly, burrowing deeper and writhing like a mass of snakes.

“I can call him. In fact, I should tell him what’s going on here.” She glanced down at Stray. “Sit,” she said, and when the dog complied, added, “Stay.” When she made a move to get out of the shower, she nearly slammed into Sgt. Houston’s solid, unmoving chest. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t done anything wrong. Am I under arrest?”

He stared down at her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “No,” he said in a flat tone devoid of emotion. “You can call Myer later.”

“Okay, then. Thank you.” It was obvious she had no control over the situation, and that both frightened and bothered the crap out of her. She might not be under arrest, but she sure felt like a prisoner. “Could I at least have some privacy, so I can get dressed?” It might be eighty-plus outside, but with the air conditioning blasting on her wet hair and skin, her teeth were beginning to chatter.

“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you do that just now.”

“Then when can you do that?” she cried with more force than intended. Now that her initial shock was wearing off, reality was kicking in hard and fast, leaving her confused and scared. “And stop looking at me. What are you, one of those perverted voyeurs? A peeping Tom?”

God, what had made her say that? She was acting like a petulant child, which would only make things worse. And actually, she hadn’t caught him checking her out once. Not that she’d seen, anyway.

“I’m sorry.” She clamped a hand over her forehead. “I just don’t understand why this is happening.”

His square jaw clenched, then he took a deep breath that made his massive chest even wider. “You will, ma’am. For the record, my name is Sgt. Houston. I’m with the Massachusetts State Police.”

She rolled her eyes but kept her big mouth shut this time. They were probably around the same age, and if he called her ma’am one more time, she’d be tempted to slug him. Probably a bad idea.

“Step out of the shower. Slowly.” He backed away, as did his dog, although both kept their eyes glued to her, as if any quick movement on her part and she’d find herself in handcuffs, or the main course of that demonic dog’s breakfast.

Only now did it register that the dog wore a protective vest over its torso, as did the cop, she assumed. Normally, she loved dogs and they loved her back. Her mother once told her it was a gift. Dogs inherently sensed when someone liked them, and they returned the sentiment a hundred times over. But this dog was a cop, and one of the largest shepherds she’d ever seen. It had to be over ninety pounds.

Hesitantly, she placed one foot on the bath mat outside the shower door, pausing to glance over her shoulder, gratified that Stray hadn’t budged, although the dog’s ears were laid back, her head lowered. When Andi turned, her gaze quickly took in the rest of the trooper. It was impossible not to. She was around five-seven, and he had to be close to six-three or four. He could easily crush her with one hand tied behind his back.

A muscle in one of his sunken cheeks flexed as he clicked the mic on his lapel. “Malloy, this is Sgt. Houston. I need you upstairs. What’s the delay?”

“A little tied up, Sarge,” a female voice responded, making her realize he was doing his best to get a female officer on scene.

Seriously chiseled jaws clenched again. “Get up here ASAP.”

“Ten-four.”

He made a quick motion with one arm, and his dog trotted out of the bathroom. Next, he surprised her by reaching for the other towel on the rack, extending it to her.

Not understanding, she gave him a questioning look.

He tipped his head to where Stray still sat obediently in the shower. “For the dog.”

Well, huh. His unexpected thoughtfulness momentarily fried her brain synapses, and all she could do was stare at him in disbelief.

“You don’t want her shaking all over this pricey marble tile.” He arched a brow. “Do you?”

“Um, no. Thanks.” She accepted the towel then made quick work of giving Stray a rubdown that made her reasonably dry. Oblivious to the seriousness of what was going on, Stray groaned with pleasure at the body massage, then shook. When Andi turned to hang the towel back on the rack, she glimpsed the smattering of water spots on the trooper’s uniform shirt. His face remained impassive. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t care.

“After you.” He indicated the bedroom, and when she started for the door, Stray began to follow. “Probably wise to keep her in here for now.”

Andi turned and held up her hand. “No, girl. Stay.”

Uttering a low whine, the dog stopped and looked at her with mournful, disappointed eyes.

“Have a seat on the bed,” he said after closing the bathroom door behind them.

She stepped into the bedroom to find the black K-9 sitting in front of the door to the hall. No escape.

A chill crawled up her spine as the enormity and seriousness of what was happening sunk in deeper.

Turning, she planted her hands on her hips but thought better of it when the towel began slipping. Grabbing the edges just in time, she held it tightly to her breasts. “Not before you tell me what’s going on here. I have a right to know. And I’d really like to get dressed. If you don’t mind, that is.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode toward her unpacked suitcase resting on the luggage rack. She reached for the zipper, and the next instant found herself lifted into the air as if she were no heavier than a matchstick.

“What are you doing?” This is unbelievable.

Strong hands grasped her waist, and her legs dangled as Sgt. Houston walked her back to the bed and deposited her ass-first on the mattress.

“Pass auf,” he said to the dog, which came closer, ears pricked high, golden gaze fixated on her every move.

Sgt. Houston pointed at her with a long finger. “Stay.”

“Stay?” She barked out a laugh. “I am not a dog, and I don’t respond on command.”

Chiseled jaws tightened. “Stay. On. The bed.”

“Or you’ll what?” She raised her chin in the hope it would stop her lower lip from trembling. Being so antagonistic to a cop might not be the smartest move, but this was all scary as hell, and it was the only way she knew to conceal her fear. What was supposed to be a relaxing couple of days at Joe’s house while the plumbing at her place was being overhauled was turning into a nightmare.

“Or,” he said, towering over her, “I’ll have to handcuff you, and if I do, I seriously doubt that towel will stay put.” His gaze dipped briefly to where the previously knotted towel now hung practically wide open.

Though she wore a bikini beneath the towel, it didn’t conceal much. She snatched at the parted towel and yanked it together, re-knotting it as best she could.

“Ma’am.” He took a deep breath then let it out. “A female officer is on her way up here to assist. In the meantime, I’d appreciate your cooperation. It would make this a lot easier. On both of us.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed, knowing it was the right thing to do. “But you could have knocked before breaking in. I would have let you in.”

“We did knock. You didn’t answer.”

“Well, duh. I was in the shower washing the dog and didn’t hear you.”

“Clearly, ma’am.”

“Andi. Call me Andi. If you call me ma’am one more time, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he asked, throwing her own words back at her.

Oh hell. He’s right. If he wanted to call her ma’am all day, there was nothing she could do to stop him. It was just so annoying.

He snorted. “That’s what I thought. Look,” he began in a tone that was only slightly less patronizing. “You can’t touch anything until the room’s been searched. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.” He went to the suitcase, pausing to look at her before unzipping it. “Got any weapons in here, anything sharp?”

“An eyebrow plucker? A curling iron?” She couldn’t help grinning when his brows lowered in obvious irritation. “Oh wait, be careful. I have a box of tampons in there somewhere. Those little things can do some damage if you handle them incorrectly. If I were you, I’d treat them like unexploded ordinance.” She smirked, but in reality, her snarky comebacks were a sad effort to mask her growing anxiety.

He gave her a fake smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. If the smile hadn’t been so facetious, and if he wasn’t about to search her personal belongings, she would have said he was somewhat handsome. In a kick-ass, take-no-shit, I-eat-nails-for-breakfast kinda way.

“Cute.” He arched a brow as if to say: right back atcha, babe. Then he began digging through the suitcase. “After you’re dressed, I’ll take you downstairs, and we’ll explain more to you about what’s going on.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might attack you from behind and club you over the head when you’re not looking?”

“No.” He didn’t spare her so much as a glance.

“Why not?” Testing her theory, she pushed from the mattress, watching as he rifled through her suitcase, searching it for weapons, she supposed, and whatever evidence they’d come to Joe’s place for. “See, I’m getting closer.” She continued edging toward his broad back. “I could easily incapacitate you with my hair dryer.”

Again, he didn’t bother to look at her. “Turn around.”

She did and froze. Her only movement was the instantaneous widening of her eyes.

The black shepherd stood closer now, only a few feet away, with its demonic eyes burning into her. “Oh. Right.” This time it was her turn to sit obediently. And she did. Slowly. “If I attack you, your partner will tear me to shreds, won’t he?”

He pulled a pair of khaki shorts and a light-blue tank from the suitcase and tossed them behind him onto the bed. “Pretty much, so I’d strongly advise against it.”

“Ten-four, Sarge.” She wanted to smack her forehead. Joe’s house was being searched by an army of cops, she was being guarded by a cop-dog bigger than any wolf she’d seen in a zoo, and here she was cracking jokes. Not smart.

She gave him a mock salute behind his back. Unfortunately, he turned just in time to catch it and pursed his lips. Her gaze was drawn to his duty belt, and her eyes again went wide, this time for a completely different reason. Her face heated as if someone was blasting a blowtorch at her head.

Looped over the handle of his gun was one of her prettiest pair of undies—pale pink satin with lacy scalloped trim. She clamped a hand over her eyes.

Could this get any more embarrassing?

Don’t answer that.

“Uh, Sergeant?” Might as well meet the situation head-on. “Can you grab me the matching bra, too?”

Clearly not understanding to what she was referring, he frowned, and when she dipped her eyes in the direction of his gun, he figured it out. Again, that seriously chiseled jaw flexed as he reached for the lacy garment, hooking it with two fingers. With a flick of his hand, he tossed it on top of her shorts and shirt as if it was burning his flesh and he couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

She wanted to laugh at the image of her panties dangling from a hand big enough to pound a six-inch spike through a board without a hammer. Maybe it was the stress, or the embarrassment, but she couldn’t hold back a tiny snicker. And was he—

No way.

Blushing?

Beside her, the black shepherd huffed and took a step closer, cutting short the full-on laughter about to escape her throat. She scrambled to the center of the bed. Her heart began hammering, and she half expected the dog to leap onto the bed and clamp its jaws around her leg.

“Platz,” Sgt. Houston ordered the dog, who lay down next to the bed, still eyeing her with an intensity that was unnerving.

“Easy, Saxon.” He knelt by the dog, laying one of those massive hands on its neck. Almost instantly, the tension in the animal’s body seemed to ease. “He won’t hurt y—”

She followed Sgt. Houston’s gaze and looked down to see that in her mad dash to the center of the bed, her towel had slipped again. Her nipples jutted against the thin blue bikini fabric, reminding her of two blueberries. She gasped and clutched the towel to her chest.

“Malloy,” he shouted into his mic. “Where the hell are you?”

“Right here, Sarge.” A female officer in uniform stood at the bedroom doorway. “Sorry, I got tied up with—”

“There’s another dog in the bathroom, and she”—he nodded to Andi—“needs to get dressed,” he growled. “Bring her downstairs ASAP. Aside from the suitcase, this room hasn’t been searched.” Without waiting for a response, he yanked a leash from his belt and clipped it to the dog’s harness. “Fuss.”

The dog—Saxon—trotted to his side, and both of them went out the door.

She stared at the open doorway, then looked at Officer Malloy, who was also staring after him, a curious expression on her face.

“What’s his problem?” Andi grabbed her clothes from the bed and began to dress. “I’m the one whose privacy just got trashed.” She yanked on her panties and shorts, then tossed the towel on the bed and began putting on her bra.

“I understand completely, ma’am.” Malloy nodded.

She tugged the blue tank over her head. “Please don’t you start in with the ma’am thing, too.”

“No, ma’am.” She grinned. “I’d better get you downstairs before Nick—Sgt. Houston—pops a blood vessel.”

Andi fished a brush from her suitcase, then paused before running it through her damp hair. Nick. Sgt. Nicholas Houston. She didn’t know why, but the name suited him. A manly name that implied he could conquer an entire city. Single-handed, since he was obviously accustomed to people jumping at his command. Then again, she supposed he was only doing his job.

The army of cops she could now hear rummaging around downstairs had complete control of the house, which just punched all her control-freak buttons—a throwback to her days as a financial planner. And after what had happened in her old job, calling the shots on everything in her life was more important now than ever.

She sat heavily on the bed, staring at the brush in her hand. Whatever was happening was serious but had nothing to do with her. This wasn’t even her house. She happened to be in the wrong place at a really, really bad time.

The worry that had been brewing inside her now stung her gut like a swarm of bees. Clearly Joe—one of her best friends—was in deep, deep trouble. The only question was how deep.

…

While Nick waited for Ms. Andi Hardt and her dog to make guest appearances, he removed Saxon’s body armor and stowed it by the front door. His dog’s coat was matted down with sweat, and as he ruffled the damp fur, Saxon uttered an appreciative groan.

They went into the kitchen, the only room downstairs yet to be searched. He gave his dog ample leash to search the cupboards and storage bins for drugs, firearms, ammo, and any other black powder items.

Saxon’s tail waved back and forth as he sniffed and processed scents on the floor, in the air, and near the cupboards, then circled twice to be sure he didn’t miss anything. The place was as neat as a pin. Aside from a sparkling clean coffee maker, the gleaming black granite counters and island were bare.

When Saxon had completed his search, Nick began opening upper cabinet doors. Next to an expensive-looking cream-colored china bowl, he discovered a box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts. Sure enough, when he looked down, Saxon was eyeing the box intently. Nick gave a low chuckle. Two years ago, he’d caught his ten-year-old twin nephews feeding Saxon an entire box of that same flavor of Pop-Tart. Since then, his dog craved them.

The refrigerator contained only milk, condiments, and salad fixings. The last, he’d guess, had been put there by the woman upstairs. With such an athletic body, he figured her for one of those strict fruit, nut, and salad-eating women who stayed as far away from meat as she could possibly get. Yeah, he’d tried not to look, but when he’d whipped open the shower door, it had been impossible not to notice.

She had long, supple runner’s legs up to her neck, and every inch of damp, toned skin he could see was sun-kissed in a light golden hue. But the most striking thing about her was her eyes—the prettiest cornflower-blue ones he’d ever seen. Looks aside, there was more to the woman than what that little bikini covered.

Despite being scared by what was happening, she’d exhibited spunk in spades, doing her best to hide her fear behind the verbal lashing she’d given him. Most women would have experienced a total meltdown at finding a cop and his K-9 in her bathroom. Her reaction had taken a one-eighty from that. After belting out a skull-splitting scream, she’d actually thrown stuff at him.

The memory had him chuckling, and it took a few seconds for him to realize Saxon was waiting for his next command, canting his head as if thinking: get yours out of your ass and back in the game.

“Sorry, buddy.” He’d seen plenty of bikini-clad women before, and it pissed him off that this one was messing with his professionalism and his concentration.

Leaning over, he gave Saxon a few hearty pats on the back. “Good boy.” Even though Saxon had come up empty, he’d done his job. Myer definitely wasn’t housing any firearms and ammo in the house.

“Got anything?” Eric Miller, an ATF agent—and one of Nick’s best friends—had stuck his head through the kitchen door leading to the backyard.

A brown snout appeared as Eric’s Dutch shepherd, Tiger, pushed his muzzle through the partially open door. The dog’s black nostrils flared as he scented Saxon close by. In response, Saxon gave a snort of acknowledgment.

“Negative.” Nick shook his head. “Tiger find anything outside?”

“Nada. Place is as clean as a newly smelted baby Glock. I’ve gotta put Tiger up in the cruiser before he melts into a puddle of hair.” He shut the door and led Tiger into the yard.

Nick and Saxon headed into the dining room that now served as a makeshift command center for the search warrant team. Along the way, he caught sight of two officers already searching a roll-top desk in the office, while the locksmith was busy cracking into a wall safe. Troopers and agents were searching the hallway closet and the many other pieces of furniture on the main floor. From what he could see in the practically empty cardboard evidence boxes, they weren’t finding much to seize, except for the pink cell phone he’d taken from the master bedroom.

Normally he’d have left it for the evidence team to photograph in place, but cell phones were too important for establishing critical links between people, and he hadn’t wanted to take a chance that the woman would squirrel it away before it could be seized and searched for recent phone calls, contacts, and text messages.

Sitting around the dining room table were FBI Special Agent Randy Cox and several other feds clicking away at laptops.

“Stick around, would ya, Nick?” Cox paused in the middle of placing a call on his cell phone.

Cox placed the call on speakerphone and Nick immediately recognized the voice of AUSA Ted Bennett, lead federal prosecutor for the Western Massachusetts Federal Gang Task Force. Bennett wasn’t happy about Myer being MIA and that the most critical piece of evidence was missing.

“No computers at all?” Bennett asked.

“Nothing.” Cox shook his head. “Not even a single storage device. No CDs, DVDs, thumb drives, or external drives.”

“What about Myer’s office in town?” he asked, referring to the other search team.

“Two desktop computers and a few thumb drives.” Cox was frowning. “Our guys took a quick look at the hard copy docs, and so far, they’re all associated with what look like legitimate accounts. We found some old bills indicating there was a six-month stretch during which Myer couldn’t make payments on his mortgage, his Mercedes, and two credit cards. Then he suddenly paid off all his outstanding debts. And before you ask, we called in Myer’s secretary, who confirmed that he does have a laptop but takes it home every day.”

Bennett swore. “Myer’s smart enough to keep the tainted account files on his laptop so he can take them with him wherever he goes. Was anyone else at the house when you got there?”

“Andi Hardt,” Cox said. “We’re about to interview her.”

“What’s she doing there?” Bennett asked. “You guys said she and Myer didn’t have a relationship.”

Cox caught Nick’s eye, indicating he should respond.

“None that we knew of.” He moved closer to the cell phone in Cox’s hand. “Sitz. Blieb,” he said to Saxon. After Saxon sat, Nick dropped the leash on the carpet. “Apparently we were wrong. There’s a framed photo of the two of them in Myer’s bedroom.” One in which they looked mighty cozy. He’d instantly recognized Andi Hardt from her driver license photo and from surveillance he’d done outside the Dog Park Café.

“Assuming they’re involved,” Bennett continued, “she’ll be less likely to cooperate than we originally thought. Find out exactly what her personal connection is to Myer.”

“Will do.” Nick shot a look at the stairs. Ms. Hardt should have had more than enough time to dress and get downstairs by now.

Saxon leaned over to sniff the table, leaving a condensation mark on the edge of the gleaming surface. Mahogany? No, something even more exotic, he guessed. He’d once seen an imported rosewood table at some snooty-falooty furniture store, and the price tag had been in the thousands.

Looks like it cost more than two of my paychecks. As did everything else in the house. Money laundering for a gun dealer evidently paid well.

Saxon cracked his jaws, panting as his long pink tongue fell from the side of his mouth. He’d have to get his dog water soon. Even with the AC cranked on high and blasting through the two vents in the dining room, the house was getting stuffy.

Cox ended the call. “I rechecked, and the lady has no criminal history, not even a parking ticket. Been a long time since I ran someone with such a squeaky-clean record.”

Nick nodded. Seemed like everyone had a history of doing something wrong. Even me. But that hadn’t been illegal. Just something he wished for a do-over on every freaking day of his life.

“Where’s her file?” he asked Cox, wanting to review her background and the bank documents before they interviewed her.

“O’Reilly? Get Sgt. Houston the file.” Cox tipped his head to a young FBI agent.

The baby-faced Feeb quickly produced a manila folder. “Yes, sir. Here you go, Sergeant. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, kid.” He sat and flipped open the folder. “First task-force assignment?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid nodded overemphatically.

He’d been a newbie once, too. Twice, actually. First in the Marines with Force Recon, later with the Mass State Police.

A soft huff had him glancing at Saxon, who still sat obediently a few feet away. The dog’s haunches bunched as he resisted the urge to come closer to Nick.

Before he could finish saying, “Hier,” Saxon bolted closer to the table and lay down at Nick’s feet.

“Good boy.” He gave the dog a quick pat on the head and began reading.

The first document was a DMV printout and photo. A smiling Andi Hardt stared back at him. Thick blond hair framed her face, but again it was her eyes that drew his attention. Not even a lousy DMV photo could hide her spirit that practically jumped off the page.

The next document was a Springfield Ledger article. The Ledger had interviewed Ms. Hardt over a year ago when she’d first opened the Dog Park Café in Wilbraham. The article had said it was risky opening up a restaurant so far from any big city.

Other documents filled the folder, but the most important ones were her bank records. Those, he couldn’t wait to grill her about.

His cell vibrated, and he pulled it from his shirt pocket. It was an incoming text message from Kade Sampson, a Department of Homeland Security K-9 officer stationed at JFK Airport in New York, and another of his best friends. They’d gone through K-9 training school together in Texas, along with Eric and a few other stand-up guys. Since then, their small group had been as tight as blood brothers.

Nick read Kade’s text and frowned.

“Bad news?” Cox asked.

“Myer hasn’t crossed any borders. Wherever he is, he hasn’t left the country. Legally that is.” They all knew it was entirely possible that he’d escaped through an unmonitored section of the border.

“Speaking of missing persons”—Cox canted his head toward the staircase—“where is she?”

“Still getting dressed, I assume.” And taking her sweet time doing it.

“We made entry nearly an hour ago.” Cox tapped a pen on the table. “How long does it take to get dressed?”

“Good question.” By his count, she should have been down already. Then again, he hadn’t lived with a woman in years. Five to be exact. Since his wife put a bullet in her brain. A painful, brutal reminder of his biggest failure—letting down the person he’d loved most.

He swallowed and stared at the phone in his hand, no longer seeing what was on the screen. It had taken years for him to stop grieving every single damned day of the week. He’d finally managed, but no way could he go through that again. Giving his heart away only to have it shatter into a million fucking pieces… Not gonna happen.

“Was she awake when you found her?”

He looked at Cox. “What?”

“I asked if she was awake when you found her?”

The agent wore an expression that told Nick he needed to pull his shit together and pay attention.

“Yeah. In the shower. Washing her dog,” he added as a quasi-plausible explanation as to what could be taking her so long.

Several agents and other officers looked his way and snickered. Word traveled fast during a search warrant, so he assumed everyone else knew exactly where he’d located Ms. Hardt.

“I see.” Cox grinned. “Not as much as you did, I’m guessing.”

He glared at Cox, making no effort to disguise his irritation. “She was wearing a bathing suit.” Granted, a little one.

For a Feeb, Cox was okay, but the implication that Nick really was a voyeur pissed him off. Not only had he done his best to minimize the woman’s embarrassment by keeping the other uniforms from entering the bathroom, but he’d tried to get the only female officer on site upstairs ASAP to deal with the situation.

Ignoring the jibe, he returned his gaze to the Accurint report in the folder. “Andi Hardt received her master’s from Columbia School of Business, then became a financial planner at an investment firm in New York City. After ten years with the firm, she picked up stakes, moved to Massachusetts, and opened the Dog Park Café.” Attached to the Accurint report was a printout from the restaurant’s website dated yesterday. He noted the ad in the upper right corner of the page. Bartender Wanted. Call Andi. A phone number was included, and he guessed it was either the number for the pink cell he’d grabbed upstairs, or another phone associated with the café.

“Interesting.” Cox made a few notes on a pad. “She and Myer both graduated from the Columbia School of Business, and they’re into financial planning. I’d say there’s a history there. With what we got from her bank, it looks like she’s buried at least up to her ass in Myer’s mess.”

“Looks like.” Nick tapped the keyboard idly with his fingers. “Photo upstairs aside, we’ve been surveilling him for six months and until now, never caught her once at the house. The only people we saw coming and going besides him were the cash mules dropping off envelopes in the mailbox. Could be something changed between them.”

Cox made another note. “Let’s get a subpoena for his and Andi Hardt’s cell phone records. Eventually we’ll get the laptop, and maybe we’ll see a pattern of calls between the two of them right before he makes a dirty financial transaction.”

“Possibly.” Nick closed the folder. “But the subpoena requested records going back five years, and there was only one transaction between Myer’s tainted account and one of Andi’s accounts. If she’s his accomplice, I would have expected to see more than one.”

“Agreed.” Cox nodded. “We’ll have to ask her about that. No matter her answer, she won’t be happy when she finds out what we did to her account. The court order was served on her bank yesterday just before closing.”

“That oughta get her attention.” Of that, he had no doubt.

It sure looked like she was Myer’s accomplice, but he’d learned long ago that not everything was what it seemed, and people weren’t always who you thought they were. Some kept their personal torment carefully hidden beneath a veneer of happiness.

Until it’s too late to help them. He knew that firsthand.

He tossed the folder on the table then stood, preparing to storm upstairs and throw Ms. Hardt over his shoulder, regardless of whether she was dressed or not.

Calm your ass down.

Just because she triggered all his switches was no reason to behave like a total dick and make a fool of himself. He clicked his mic. “Malloy. Where is she?”

Malloy came back instantly, only not over the radio. “Right here, Sarge.”

His—and every other man’s—eyes were riveted to the stairs. The room went totally silent as Andi Hardt glided down the staircase with what Nick could only describe as a combination of athletic grace and royal bearing. On anyone else, the khaki shorts and blue tank he’d grabbed for her would have looked drab. On her it was alluring. With her blond hair braided and a few wispy strands escaping around her high cheekbones, Daisy Duke had nothing on her.

Again, get your head out of your ass.

She was a suspect and most likely a player in a major money laundering scheme. On top of that, she was sleeping in Myer’s house and was probably his girlfriend, his accomplice, or both. Whichever one it was, he’d get the truth out of her, including finding out where Myer was holing up.

A few steps from the bottom, she paused. Cornflower-blue eyes looked straight at him. When she quickly averted her gaze, he detected a faint blush on her high cheekbones, and he understood why.

Unlike the other men in the room, he was the only one who’d seen her practically naked.