Shelby's chains rattle with her anger. "This man can't take custody of me. I only needed him to let my dog out and give Daisy food and water. This is a travesty of justice, and yours isn't the only American courtroom to practice authoritarian tactics. I refuse to be treated-" The judge cuts her off.

"Detective Street, remove this woman from my courtroom."

I can do nothing but walk forward as Shelby bombards the judge with the evils of the judicial system-how unethical the current laws are for women who choose to sell their bodies, and last but not least, that I'm a dog hater. The judge ignores her with only a slight eyebrow lift when she says 'dog hater.'

I take her by the upper arm and move her in the direction of the guard standing at the doorway that leads back into the jail. County personnel must process her out before she goes home. Shelby tries jerking away, but I have a tight grip. "Calm down, momma bear. You're lucky your ass isn't staying inside for the next thirty days for contempt of court."

"Stop manhandling me, you Mickey Mouse megalomaniac. I can walk unassisted."

Where does she come up with this shit? "Not a chance. I'll see you to the next door and then meet you at the side of the jail where they'll release you."

"Into your custody? What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that I'm responsible for you until the judge releases me from that responsibility. If you break the law, it's on me. If you think for one moment I'm happy about this shit, you're mistaken. I have a job to do and a big case to solve."

She stops walking. "Please tell me you're looking into the madman who's killing the prostitutes."

This surprises me because I've kept a tight lid on the similarities of the two homicides. Now that I've connected the cases, the media needs to step in and help get the word out. It's a tricky situation. I can't give too much away or I could blow my evidence and give every lunatic out there enough information to produce copycat murders. My supervisor will help, and we'll find a middle ground that gives the public a heads-up without giving away key information. I fucking hate talking to the media, but I have a feeling I'll be front and center over the next twenty-four hours. Right now I need to get Shelby home and out of my fucking hair so I can work.

"What's the word on the street with the hookers?" I ask instead of giving away anything.

Her eyes darken. "Refer to them as prostitutes or women. The word hooker is condescending."

The guard in front of us snickers.

For Christ's sake, they sell their bodies. She's a fucking do-gooder. They're worse than criminals in my book. "What's the word on the street with the women?" I ask between clenched teeth.

Shelby shrugs. "Some crazy guy is killing honest working women. He stabs them to death in some ritualistic manner after drugging them," she throws out nonchalantly.

I jerk her in closer because the guard is listening to every word spoken. "Keep your mouth shut until you're in my car," I hiss as quietly as I can before pulling her forward again. I leave her at the door leading into the jail section of the building.

What a mess. I was told there's no word on the street about the killings. Obviously, my street contacts are not in the know or they just aren't helping me. I head back to my car and cool my heels for more than thirty minutes before Shelby walks out. She's wearing a goofy floppy yellow hat with an orange scarf in place of the hat band. Her eyes are downcast and she has a forlorn expression on her face. It remains until I pull my truck out and roll up next to her. I push the button to roll the window down. "Get in."

Her eyes go hot. She storms around and opens the door, throwing herself into the seat with a loud huff. Without looking at me, she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the seat. After several deep breaths, she speaks. "Please tell me Daisy is alive and well." It comes out surprisingly soft.

Don't feel sorry for her, Street. "We both survived. He's rather well-mannered when you know the right commands."

Her lips tip up, but she doesn't open her eyes. "Yes, he is. Does he still have the hots for you?"

At least she isn't watching when my cheeks heat. "We have an understanding now. He doesn't hump my leg, and I don't sell him to the dog food company."

The statement receives a small chuckle. "I've never been so tired in my life," she whispers.

"I'm sure jail will do that to you."

"And a shower. I so need a shower."

That was evident from the moment she closed the door. I put the car in gear and hit the gas. "We call it Eau de jail."

"Eau de toilet bowl is more like it. That was the most unpleasant experience of my life."

I'm impressed. We've spoken more than two words and our happy voices remain in place. "Since you seem to be in such a mellow mood, you want to explain what all of this is about?"

She sighs loudly. "I volunteer for HHW. We had a woman come in two days ago and she told me her friend was murdered and mentioned another stabbing death a couple of months ago. I wanted to give her homies a chance to get off the street by offering our services. During my visit, law enforcement," the first sneer since she sat down appears in her voice, "decided to do a sweep. I was picked up with the women, and now I'm sitting in the car with you, smelling of urine and other things too disgusting to contemplate. My uncle decided to be a smartass, I'm sure at my father's direction, and now I'm under your authority."

I know that HHW is Help for Homeless Women, and I followed everything else until her last sentence. "Uncle?"

"Uncle Pat. You know him as Judge Rictor. I'm his youngest half-brother's daughter, and he's also my godfather. He and my father have different biological fathers but grew up together and are best friends."

I almost slam the break. "Jesus fucking Christ, you're serious?"

"As rain. I called Daddy last night for my one phone call. By the way, it was two hours before I was given a chance to make that one phone call. This is not the way it happens in the movies. That call should be in the first fifteen minutes. My bitching did no good."

The judge is her uncle, and he duped me. They both did. I've been brought into a family squabble that I don't have the patience or time for.

"Why me?" I mutter.

"That's easy," she says and runs her fingers through her tangled hair. "My uncle likes you and he's mentioned several times that I'm lucky with the area I live in that you're my neighbor. It's the only thing that pacifies my dildo dictator dad."

I can barely wrap my head around this information, and I refuse to acknowledge the dildo comment. "You said you volunteered at HHW. What exactly is your profession?" I maneuver through traffic, wondering if I've gone down the rabbit hole.

"I'm a secretary for JFCR."

Fuck me. Justice for Citizen Rights. Alleged police brutality cases are their claim to fame. I should dump her ass right here on the street.

"It's okay, hotshot," she volunteers. "So far, you're on their clean list."

4.

I park at the curb in front of our unit. "You might not like it, but I need your schedule."

Shelby opens her eyes and her head snaps in my direction. "You're right, I don't like it," she grumbles.

"Look, I'm working to stop this guy from killing someone else, and now I'm saddled with you. You're a grown woman and you should be able to monitor yourself. But your uncle sees things differently. We'll make it easy. Take my cell number and text me your whereabouts throughout the day. I couldn't care less what you do, as long as you stay out of trouble, but it's that, or I put handcuffs on you and attach one end to something in your bathroom."

Her laugh tells me she doesn't believe a word of my threat. "Does that line work on the bad guys you deal with?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. "What the hell do you want from me, Shelby?" I say wearily. "Please. Meet me halfway."

Her expression changes and my anger dissipates. "Was that so hard? Be nice and I'm more likely to follow your lead. I need you doing your job. I'll text you when I leave for my office."

"Deal," I say. "But as soon as you have your plea hearing, I'm taking you up on the promise you made that I won't hear from you again."

She says nothing, types my number in her cell, and opens her car door. Not even a backward glance as she makes her way to the front door. The sway of her sexy hips makes me watch her until the door closes. Attorneys for JFCR are a cop's worst nightmare. Shelby Ryan should be mine. I can't help having respect for her, though. Respect and a mighty dose of longing. It's been way too long since I've had a woman in my bed. This job does it to you. I could take advantage of a badge bunny for a quick hookup, but I decided months ago that I want more than one night. I'm older now, and hopefully wiser than I was in my twenties. Maybe I need to make an exception with a bunny and get some relief for my blue balls instead of thinking about my crazy neighbor.

Hell, Shelby's with the JFCR, and I need to keep it in mind. My second year on the job as a street cop, I was kicked in the nuts by a man while placing him under arrest. I lost my shit and broke his arm trying to restrain him. I'm not proud of it, and yes, I could have handled things differently. Backed off and called for backup, tased his ass even. But no, I was young and testosterone-laden, so I went hands-on. The pain to my male anatomy did the talking. The only saving grace was that no cameras were rolling when the incident happened. The guy didn't press charges and I wasn't put under JFCR scrutiny. I almost quit my job and most likely would have if my dad hadn't talked some sense into me.

"Your police badge is a symbol of right versus wrong. It carries power, and that power destroys cops every day. The reason... they don't question their actions like you're doing. Take this as a lesson and become a better officer."

Dad retired after thirty-two years on the job. I admire him, and I know that certain cases still haunt him. He's notified when people he sent to prison are released, and he lives every day of his life on guard because of his service to the community. He never leaves the house without his gun. My mother is trained in self-protection and every outside door of their home is kept locked tight against the people who want my father dead. He and my mother moved an hour's drive from Albuquerque. Not far enough to stay completely away from the danger of his life's profession, but running isn't in his blood, and he and Mom would never leave their sons.

My youngest brother, Andrew, is buried here in Albuquerque. He died working border patrol and it almost destroyed our family. My thoughts travel to my lone-wolf brother, Rutherford. I try not to dwell on him. He chose a different path, and it has broken our parents' hearts and angers me to no end. No, I have a killer to catch, and first on the list is the meeting with my supervisor and probably his supervisor as well. Then it's time to juggle the media.

My day sucked and was filled with bullshit instead of catching a killer. I enter my home a little after nine at night. Exhaustion eats at my heels. I pull a beer from my fridge and remove the cap. I'm just about to put the bottle to my lips when someone knocks on the front door.

"What the hell?" I mutter and grab my gun from the kitchen counter and remove it from the holster.

I peer out through the peephole and see Shelby. Crap. Her text messages throughout the day grated on my nerves and made me semi-hard at the most inopportune times. The woman has no idea when to quit.

I'm on the toilet.

I'm in my back yard with Daisy.

I'm naked in the shower.

I'm driving to work.

And on and on they went. She's such a smartass.

I open the door and I'm greeted by her disgustingly bright smile. "I know you must be starving, and you shouldn't drink that beer on an empty stomach."

She ignites an appetite that has nothing to do with my stomach. My gaze travels from her green summery dress with bright flowers and a pale pink wispy scarf around her throat to the casserole dish in her hand. Daisy sits by her side, tongue lolling out, head cocked to the side. He's eyeing my leg with relish. I give him my best don't fuck with me look. "I'll take the food," I say. My stomach growls at the smell that floats into the house. "Daisy is not coming in," I add and move back. I can't take the dish with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other.

"Nonsense. He's well-behaved and you don't own a cat." Shelby walks over the threshold with Daisy heeling perfectly at her side. She looks around, and I can see by her expression that she finds my private space lacking. Her nose curls a bit.

"How the hell do you know I don't own a cat?" I ask as I down a healthy swig of beer.

"You're just not the pussy...cat kind," she replies, straight-faced.

I almost spit out my beer. She did not just say that. She's doing a poor job of holding back her grin, and I can only shake my head. I holster my gun and place it back on the counter. Shelby follows and rests the dish on the same counter. "I won't stay; this is all for you. If there are leftovers, you can eat them tomorrow. Any luck catching our guy?"

Our guy. Since when did a killer become our guy? Shit, it's been a bad fucking day and I'm about to do something I shouldn't. "Sit down while I eat and I'll fill you in. The mutt waits outside, though."

She laughs and ignores my order. "You're disappointed Daisy's not appreciating your leg. Heel, Daisy," she says with another laugh and walks the dog to my couch. "Down." He lies at her feet like a perfect gentleman.

Damn her. I'm too tired to fight and have absolutely no willpower at all when I remove the lid from the warm dish. It smells heavenly. "Sure you don't want any?" I ask tiredly, as I grab a fork and remove the first bite straight from the dish.

She shakes her head, watching me. I carry the casserole over to the couch along with my beer. "Sorry, shit," I say as I sit down and then quickly stand back up. "A drink-beer, water, soda?"

"I'm good. Eat. You must be starving and exhausted."

I sit and dig in. "Yes, I'm exhausted," I manage to get out after three bites. "This is delicious."

"My uncle Pat thinks so, too. Of course, hell will freeze over before I make it for him again."

"He should have recused himself at the hearing this morning," I grumble.

"I'm sure he will for the next one. He was dishing out payback. My father hates my work downtown. My uncle is a little more accepting about my lifestyle, but doesn't let on around my father. Dear old Dad makes my life difficult whenever he can. I really am sorry you're involved."

I continue eating without answering.

Shelby crosses her legs and bounces her foot. I can't take my eyes off her multi-colored toenails until she speaks, "If you want to pay them back, you could fuck me. That would do it."

I choke.

No oxygen enters my lungs.

I stand up and grab the beer from the coffee table, turning away while trying to gather air into my depleted chest. What the ever loving fuck?

"Hmm, not the response I was hoping for. Does Daisy do it for you?"