Her scent made him savage with lust.

Her voice stroked him as surely as an erotic touch.

What was she hiding, damn it?

Disgust-at himself, at what he did with her, what she had him do-got Logan off the bed. The urge to go to her clamored in his head, matching the rhythm of his still galloping heartbeat.

But he resisted and instead went into the bathroom to take a long shower. He hoped it would help to clear his head.

It didn't.

If anything, the cool water against his still-sensitized body only left him more agitated. Not just because he'd let her use him, and not just because he enjoyed it so much.

Logan had to face the awful truth.

When he was with her, he forgot why he'd started all this in the first place. He forgot she was a link to an unsolved murder. He forgot that her brother could tie up loose ends and give him the means to prosecute the ones responsible for the death of his friend.

Pepper equaled Rowdy, and Rowdy equaled Morton Andrews.

But when he was with her, he thought only about pleasure. His, and hers.

Naked, chased by personal demons, Logan went into his bedroom to get clothes. The second he flipped on the light, he saw her panties on the floor.

Time seemed to stand still. For far too long he stood there staring at them.

Black. Lacy.

A skimpy little bit of nothing with a single tiny pink bow in the front.

Un-fucking-believable.

Like a sleepwalker, he picked them up, rubbing his thumb over the material, thinking of them on her, how she'd look, and what other surprises she kept from him.

From everyone.

To the world, Pepper Yates might be a plain-Jane wallflower bullied by her brother, but deep down- with him- she was as sensual as a woman could be.

Damn it all to hell, he was starting to like her.

Sitting on the side of the mattress, Logan tried to decide how to proceed.

He was in too deep to give up the progress he'd made undercover. If he blew it now, he might never get another opportunity. Lieutenant Peterson had given him a grace period to get things done. She had big ambitions for the department, so her patience on resolving this had a very definite time limit. His best bet would be to accelerate things- by utilizing his relationship with Pepper.

He couldn't be the only one leveled by their sexual chemistry. Pepper felt it, too. His hand crushed her panties as he thought of how she'd tightened around him, the rush of wetness, her broken, unrestrained groans while coming.

Yeah, they were in this together.

He'd play off that, use it against her instead of letting it trip him up. Then, when he finally closed the case, he'd find a way to make it up to her.

Should he go to her tonight?

He heard the rattling of pipes as her shower started.

No. Let her stew a little. Let her think about what they'd shared, because he knew damn good and well he'd be thinking about it.

Tomorrow he'd talk her into another "date." She'd learn to trust him, and then she'd confide information about Rowdy.

Logan finished dressing, stuffed the panties into his pocket, and headed out for his truck. He needed to burn off some energy. He needed Pepper.

But for tonight, he'd settle for a stiff drink.

ANNOYED, MORTON TAPPED a pen against the desk and considered his options now that he knew of Logan Riske, a detective bent on revenge. For what, Morton didn't know. Could be any number of things.

That made him laugh as he eyed his quarry. "So you knew there was a cop investigating me?" Morton waited for explanations, excuses and a rush of assurances to avoid punishment.

All he got was a shrug and palpable indifference.

"There are always cops investigating you." Direct eye contact never wavered.

"You own enough of the department that it's never a problem for you."

He wouldn't let it become a problem this time either, but that wasn't the point.

"Why does Riske want me?"

"It's assumed you had a friend of his murdered."

Since that didn't narrow it down at all, Morton demanded, "Who?"

"A city commissioner."

"Ah. The murder that Rowdy Yates supposedly witnessed." Sitting down, Morton tried to remember, but came up blank. "What was his name again?"

"Jack Carmin."

He snapped his fingers. "That's right.

Old Jack Carmin," he murmured. "He was a righteous prick."

"Honest, yes. There's no solid proof against you, but it's believed that you tried to corrupt him, and he refused."

There wasn't any proof because Rowdy Yates, the bastard, had fallen off the face of the earth. Not before talking to a reporter-who Morton had later dispatched to hell-but since then, nothing. "I remember thinking Yates had promise. He was a quick learner, strong as a bull and unimposing."

Nothing, not even a sound of acknowledgment.

"So," Morton said, watching the cop carefully. "Now Rowdy has turned up again?"

"Possibly. But it's not an issue."

"And if it becomes an issue?"

"I'll take care of him."

Truth rang in the words, so Morton nodded. "Perfect. I have a new venture in the works, and I don't need any distractions." When the cop still stood there, Morton flattened his expression.

"Was there anything else?"

"No."

"Then I'll see you for the next report."

He watched the cop leave, and damn if admiration didn't bloom-but then, he'd always had respect for cold, calculated ruthlessness.

THE NEXT MORNING, Pepper pushed

herself on the treadmill, running hard and fast until her thighs and shoulders burned and sweat covered her body. She could barely breathe-and still she felt needy.

For Logan.

So much had happened to her over the past two years. Awful things. Life- changing things. She should have been immune to hurt. She should have learned to live without dreams.

Until Logan, she'd been doing okay.

Now...now everything felt raw and new and as fresh as that first day when she'd been forced to accept that dreams made no difference, not to her.

She turned down the treadmill to an idle jog, letting her heartbeat slow, giving her body a chance to cool, to adjust.

Her efforts to exhaust herself with exercise, to leave her thoughts and her emotions empty, had failed.

They were anything but.

Memories of Logan, how he smiled, how he looked at her, how he tasted, filled every void of her mind. For her own sake, she had to make a clean break from him.

Rowdy was right-she took far too many risks.

No more playing with fire. No more playing with her sexy neighbor.

No more stealing bits of a normal life.

She'd just finished a quick, cool shower when a firm knock sounded on her door.

Logan.

Despite everything she'd just told herself, joy filled her. She wanted to put off the inevitable, but that'd be cowardly, and it'd leave her with lingering hope.

Dangerous.

She'd had the night and most of the morning to get herself together. It wasn't enough time.

"Be right there," she called out. The walls were so thin that she knew he heard her. After wrapping a towel around her head and hurriedly dressing in a depressing outfit fit for the homeless, she went to the door.

Logan stood there, patiently waiting on her, again wearing no more than shorts. Why did he have to keep doing that to her?

As his gaze moved over her, his smile slipped. "I took you from the shower?"

"What? Oh." She touched the towel on her head. She'd been so focused on his thighs, remembering the press of them against her backside, that she'd forgotten herself. "I was finished before you knocked."

His gaze probing, he reached out and stroked two fingertips over her cheekbone.

Yes, she remembered those fingers, as well. Liquid heat coursed through her, weakening her spine, her resolve.

He dropped his hand. "You look different without the ponytail."

No, no, she did not. She couldn't.

Alarmed, she took a step back, away from his disturbing proximity. "I need to go." She gestured at the bathroom. "I have to blow-dry it..."

He stepped in.

Oh, crap. "Logan..."

"We didn't get a chance to eat the barbecue last night."

Because she'd rushed him to bed as a distraction so that her brother could put a tracking device on his car.

Because she and Rowdy lived like criminals on the run.

Because they trusted no one, even neighbors with no apparent agenda other than a sexual relationship.

Sometimes, she almost hated herself.

"I know." She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shut the door behind him. "I'm not."

Heart slamming, Pepper tried to figure out what to do.