A little deflated by that reaction, Alice waited as he punched in a single speed- dial number. She was somewhat curious who he'd call right now, but more wary than anything else.

"Logan?" Reese stared at her while he spoke into the phone. "I've got a problem." His jaw ticked when he nodded. "Yes, Alice."

Frowning, Alice straightened in her seat. So, now she was a problem? She had rescued a woman. Why couldn't he see past everything else to what good had been done?

Reese held her gaze. "We need to bring her in for questioning." He nodded. "I know."

For questioning? To a police station?

Oh, but...

"Peterson should be there." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Rowdy, too. Yeah, he stepped in it while chasing after her. I can explain everything in more detail tomorrow. No, I won't." His attention all but pinned her in place. "She won't be out of my sight."

So...did that mean he'd be spending the night with her again? Given his current mood, he might want to sleep on the couch. She hoped not. She wanted him back in her bed.

She wanted him again-period.

"ONE LAST THING." Reese walked over

to her, put two fingers under her chin and lifted her face. "We have a vigilante running around."

Uh-oh. Alice tried to shake her head, to caution him against sharing that, but Reese held her chin.

"He carries a lot of clout, had cooperation from the law and apparently he's good enough to kill Alice's kidnapper without anyone knowing who he is."

Oh, no. Alice's heart sank. She couldn't let this happen, couldn't let someone else take the blame for what had occurred that day.

Her rescuer hadn't killed her kidnapper.

Alice had taken care of that herself.

THE ROCK-SOLID FIST struck him in the

gut, knocking him back into the wall where his head smacked hard. Stars danced behind his eyes, and his guts ached. He thought he might puke.

But Hickson took the punishing blow without fighting back. What other choice did he have?

"One girl dead, and now another on the loose." The icy gaze drilled into him, driven by disgust and rage. "I should fucking kill you."

Shaking his head, as much to clear it as to offer a denial, Hickson said, "That wasn't my fault."

"Not your fault? You let a woman best you? You let her shackle you to a wall?"

When Woody Simpson, the boss, got in these moods, there was no reasoning with him. But he had to try, anyway. "I didn't mean for Marcia to die. She flipped out after getting the tat, screaming bloody murder. I only hit her once to shut her up."

"You hit her hard enough for her to fall and crack her skull on the concrete."

"Well...yeah." It'd been plain dumb luck that she'd crumpled like that. In hindsight, he knew he should have just muffled her and waited until he had her in the motel, on the mattress, to smack her around.

Woody backhanded him this time, but with the brass knuckles in place, it hurt the same as a punch. He tasted blood.

Phelps and Lowry snickered, the bastards. They'd been riding his ass ever since they found him bound in the room. "That other bitch had a Taser, and she damn near killed me with it."

Woody laughed without humor. "Why didn't you disarm her first thing?"

"I didn't know she was like that! She looked like a mouse.

Like a schoolteacher or a librarian. Said she was lost and just needed to use my phone."

"You're a fucking idiot, Hickson. You know that, right?"

He rubbed his goatee and swallowed his pride. "Yeah, I know."

"I want you to find her."

"Cheryl, or...the bitch that jolted me?"

"Yes."

Hickson shook his head again, this time bewildered. "How am I supposed to do that? I don't know her name. She could be anyone."

"You said she helped Cheryl? That was all about doing a good deed for the twit?"

"Yeah." Hickson brightened as he remembered. "Yeah, she got riled up when Cheryl cried."

"So, go to Cheryl."

Hickson went blank.

Rolling his eyes, Woody strode to his desk. "Cheryl probably went running home to Mommy and Daddy. I have her address. Get her alone, and get her to talk. She probably knows the woman, or at least knows a way to get in touch with her again."

"If she doesn't?"

"Find out what you can." Woody handed over a slip of paper with an address on it. "Cheryl should at least know the make of her car, if nothing else. You better hope it's enough for me to extinguish this problem, and fast.

Because if it's not, if that woman causes me any more trouble, you'll be the one to pay."

Straightening away from the wall, Hickson accepted the address. He had a reprieve, and he wouldn't blow it.

"When I find her, what do you want me to do with her?"

Woody sat back in his desk chair and smiled. "Bring her to me."

REESE REMAINED IN an odd, antagonistic

mood. Alice thought it might be from worry, but she didn't know what to do about it.

She wasn't a woman who could ignore the pain of others. Never again.

While Reese spent an inordinate amount of time outside with Cash, she'd emailed her family, sending them her love and apologizing for being so distant. She told them she now realized her mistake withdrawing, and promised to visit very soon.

Every so often, she'd peeked out at Reese, but no one bothered him. He sat in the grass, tossing sticks for Cash, playing with the dog, even wrestling with him a little.

Seeing him like that put a lump in her throat and a smile on her face. He was such an amazing man, so caring, so decent-the antithesis of the monsters who had used Cheryl.

When he finally came in, she was ready for bed.

He went into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, then into the bedroom. Uncertain, Alice trailed after him, watched him take off a shirt, strip off his slacks. Wearing only those dark sexy boxers, he turned to her.

With iron will, she forced her attention to stay on his face. "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

His brow went up. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I mean here."

She gestured awkwardly at the bed. "In the bedroom, in bed with me, instead of the couch."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes." She nodded hard. "Very much."

On his way to the bed, he said, "I appreciate that you're always honest with me, Alice."

A gibe? Because, seriously, he knew she wasn't always, entirely honest.

Now, as midnight came and went, Alice knew she couldn't sleep. Not like this.

Not with Reese still irate.

His body remained tensed, his arms behind his head instead of around her.

Her awareness of him was so keen that she felt the lack of his affection like a douse of ice water.

So unfair.

At the foot of the bed, Cash snored, every so often running in his sleep. The dog jerked again, and Reese moved his foot against him, saying, "Shhh..."

Cash settled.

Alice glanced toward Reese, but in the darkness she couldn't see much more than his outline. It was torture, being with him like this, but with invisible barriers keeping them apart.

An accusation escaped her before she could think better of it. "If you didn't want to get busy, you shouldn't have stripped down."

A.

moment of stillness nearly smothered her, then slowly, oh, so slowly, Reese turned his head toward her. She prepared herself for his annoyance, more of his anger.

He said, "Get busy?"

"That's what Rowdy calls it."

She heard a sound-maybe of his teeth sawing together.

"Rowdy is very informative," she told him.

The bed dipped as Reese came up to an elbow. "I wish you'd stop talking about Rowdy."

But Rowdy had given her so much hope. He'd said all it would take was Reese seeing her naked, and he'd be ready and willing.

Instead, she saw him in nothing more than boxers, and she was the one who wanted to die of lust.

"He's been helpful." So helpful, in fact, maybe she should try out one of his suggestions.

Reese dropped flat in the bed again.

Enough already. Determination got Alice's feet to the floor in seconds. She found the lamp on the nightstand and turned it on.

Momentarily blinded, she shielded her eyes.