"Sweetheart, don't play me for a fool." His eyes narrow. "I recognize your virus. Never seen anything else like it - no one at the Bureau has. Whether you want it or not, it's your trademark."

I bite down on my lip. "So, what, you're going to arrest me?"

"No." He rises to his feet. "Though I'd like to talk to you about a job."

A laugh bursts from my lips. "You're kidding."

He shakes his head, deadly serious.

"You want to offer me a job? At the FBI?"

He nods slowly.

I throw my head back at laugh. And laugh. And then I laugh some more.

"This is not the reaction I was expecting," he mutters lowly.

"I'm sorry," I say, wiping the corner of my eye. "What were you expecting?"

"Maybe 'Oh, thank you Conor, for agreeing not to arrest me and offering me a stable job with a 401k and benefits.' Something along those lines."

I try to contain my mirth, but it escapes again.

Nate's voice interrupts. "Don't tell me he's trying to recruit you."

Still giggling, I glance at him. "Totally."

Nate grins at Conor. "Hate to break it to you, but if she's working for anyone, it's going to be me."

My laughter dries up as I stare at him. "Wait... are you serious?"

Nate nods.

"You want me to work here?" I ask incredulously, glancing around the immaculate office. "At Knox Investigations?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Is this like... a pity thing?" I dart a glance at Parker, who I find is watching this entire exchange with alert eyes. "Did Phoebe or Parker force you to offer me a job?"

Nate's already dark irises seem to get even darker. "Let's get something straight. You're trouble. Knew it the first time I saw you. And I don't like trouble. Not around me, not around my best friend, not around the woman I love."

"Gee, thanks," I mutter.

"Turns out, doesn't matter what I like," he continues. "Phoebe and Parker both claimed you. They want you around. That means I'm claiming you, too." His eyes narrow a fraction. "Sure as shit doesn't mean I have to offer you a job, though, even if they begged me. This place, the work we do here it's not something I'd risk fucking up for a friend who wanted a favor."

I blink.

"So, no, Zoe it's not a pity thing. You're better with computers than anyone on the East Coast. If you worked here, you'd be doing me a favor. Not the other way around." His voice goes soft. "Why do you think Gallagher here is so eager to add you to the FBI ranks? The government doesn't have half your skill nor do they have the same employee benefits I can offer, for the record."

Conor glares at Nate. "We have dental."

Nate grins wider. "We have actual salaries." His eyes cut to me. "Six figures, to start. Think about it."

I swallow hard, all laughter replaced by shock, and force myself to nod. "I will definitely think about it."

"Good." Nate turns to Conor. "So, let's talk logistics. I imagine you have an idea how you want this to go down."

The agent nods. "Give me a few days. I'll set things in motion on my end, then touch base. We don't want to spook Lancaster or have him send more cronies to attack Zoe." He looks at me with those piercing blue eyes and I see the hint of something almost warm in their depths, if only for a sliver of an instant. "Nice meeting you, Clover. You ever change your mind about that job, want to make an actual difference in the world... you give me a call."

"I'd be more inclined to consider it if you'd stop calling me Clover in the official FBI database."

His lips twitch. "You don't like the nickname?"

"Something slightly more badass would be preferable."

"Sorry." Conor shrugs. "Too late to change it now. You're already branded."

"Don't worry, darling." Parker wraps an arm around my waist. "I'll call you all the badass nicknames you want." He pauses. "So long as the nickname you want to be called is snookums, of course."

I elbow him in the side. "Ignore him," I tell Conor a little desperately.

"Snookums?" Conor smirks. "Definitely badass."

I glare up at Parker. "See what you did? You're ruining my street cred."

He leans down and kisses me. "Uh huh."

"I'm serious, playboy."

"I can see that, darling."

I plant my hands on my hips and glare at every man in the room, my gaze sweeping from Parker to Conor to Nate to Luca to Owen to Theo. Infuriatingly, they're all grinning at me.

"I hate you all," I inform them, turning and stomping for the doors. "And I will not be accepting any job offers if it means my bad-assery is called into question on a regular basis."

The sound of muffled laughter chases me all the way to the doors.

Parker's in an annoyingly good mood all the way back to my loft. He gropes me playfully in the elevator, whispering scandalous things in my ear to make me laugh the entire ride up to my floor.

His joking, happy mood disintegrates as soon the doors slide open and we see the disaster site that used to be my apartment.

My laptop is cracked in two, lying in pieces on the cold concrete floor. Someone's smashed every one of my computer monitors with what looks like a baseball bat - there's no way they can be salvaged. My coffee table has been flipped on its side, scattering documents everywhere. Even from my spot by the door, I can see the hard copies from the Lancaster investigation are missing. The folders I painstakingly organized with printed copies of all the evidence I've spent weeks gathering are gone.

My bed is in tatters, gutted with some kind of sharp blade, as are my sofa cushions. Most disturbingly, though, are the photographs taped my my refrigerator.

Whoever is trailing me has been busy. There are pictures from the day I visited the Lynn factory, from my walk home in the snow, from my lunch with the girls at Crumble. There are even stills from the surveillance tape at Lancaster Consolidated, the night I dressed as Cindy the cater-waiter.

I suppose it was only a matter of time, before they put that together.

Each photo was taken from a careful distance, but it's clear they're the work of a professional. Especially given the photoshopping treatment they've received: every frame contains the bright red crosshairs of a sniper rifle over my profile.

As threats go, it's not a subtle one.

Keep this up and we'll kill you.

Parker shoves me behind him as his eyes move around the space, searching for intruders.

"They're long gone," I say quietly.

"Fuck," he curses lowly, running a hand through his hair. "At least you weren't here when they did this. If you'd been here..." His eyes move to the monitors, destroyed with brute force by someone with a significant amount of strength. "I don't even want to think about that."

I step up to his side and lace my fingers with his. "Don't think about it."

His furious hazel eyes lock on the photographs of me taped to the fridge and I see whatever sense of calm he was hanging onto slip from his grasp like a handful of sand.

"I'm going to fucking kill them."

"Parker." I squeeze his hand. "They wouldn't be going through all this trouble to scare us if we hadn't rattled them. Don't you see? In a sick, weird, twisted way... this is a good thing. It means we're getting close to nailing them."

My words seem to soothe him - fractionally. His jaw unclenches a bit as he surveys the damage, but he still looks about ready to blow a gasket.

"There's no way they got in through the elevator without a key." He looks at me. "Who else has access? Your landlord? An ex? A previous tenant?"

I shake my head. "No. Luca has one, I have one. That's it. Whoever did this must've climbed the fire escape."

Parker strides to the opposite side of the loft, tugging me after him. Sure enough, when we reach the windows by the fire escape we find two of the panes are bashed in. The flimsy brass lock is snapped like plastic.

I suck in a breath.

Abruptly, Parker drops my hand and paces away, leaving me by the window. I don't follow him. My eyes are stuck on that broken lock, and I can't seem to look away. All at once, my careful sense of calm evaporates as reality sets in.

Someone was in my home. In my private space.

Sure, the loft leaves much to be desired. But it's always been mine. And now, someone's invaded that space. Taken my sanctuary and dirtied it, violated it, until I no longer feel secure in the only place I've ever been able to call home.

That fucking sucks, if I'm being honest.

I look around for Parker, assuming he's on the phone with Nate, and instead find him by my dresser, indiscriminately jamming clothes into a bag.

"What are you doing?" I screech, watching as three of my sweaters and a faded pair of jeans are shoved inside the duffle.

"I'm fucking packing," he snaps, never pausing. "Someone was in your home. Someone destroyed everything you've built here. Your work. Your life." His voice is a growl. "You're not spending another night in this place until this shit is handled."

"But-"

"In fact, even after it's handled you're not coming back here," he mutters. "If you never spend another night in this place again it'll be too soon, the way I see it."

"No one asked how you see it!" I exclaim, walking toward him and trying to pull the bag from his grip. He just lifts his arm so I can't reach and, damn it, I'm too proud to jump like a kid playing keep-away.

"Parker-"

"Hush."

"Don't tell me to hush, playboy!" I hiss. "Just where exactly do you expect me to stay? This is my home. We don't all own property on three different private islands."

"You're staying with me," he says succinctly.

I scoff. "I am not staying with you."

He drops the bag to the bed and turns chilly hazel eyes to mine. "Remember last night, when I fucked you until you couldn't move and you fell asleep in my arms? That moment - you became mine. I protect what's mine, darling. I protect it with every breath. Bottom line, I care about you... And I don't really give a shit whether you want me to or not."

I suck in a breath. "I'll stay with Luca."

His eyes narrow. "Like hell you will. That man has no concept of boundaries when it comes to you."

"He's my friend!"

"And I'm your-"

"My what?" I cut him off. "What exactly are you to me, Parker West? Boyfriend? Bossy asshole? Annoying man-child who refuses to listen to reason?"

"You need a word or a definition for what I am to you, that's your problem. I'm not your fill-in-the-blank bullshit label. I'm just yours. And you're mine." He leans down and presses a hard, angry kiss against my lips. "That means you don't get to run off to some other guy's arms or bed."

"You're being outrageous!"

"This is me being reasonable, darling. You'd better fucking get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere." With that, he slings the packed duffle over one shoulder, grabs my hand, and hits a button on his phone to make a call, all while tugging me across the loft in long-legged strides. We're not even at the elevator when his voice cracks over the line.

"Nate? It's me. Change of plans..."