7.

"A million dollars? Who do they think she killed?" Ian stood with Lexi in the hole-in-the-wall barber shop that also took care of bail bonds, check cashing, and sold cigarettes at outlet prices. "I'm gonna lose twenty percent doing it this way. Why can't I just put up the money on my own?" The whine of his own voice forced Ian to take a breath and stop.

"Tripp told you it's safer to go through a bondsman than paying it direct anyway." Lexi, in her heels and professional suit, leaned a hip into the front counter. "And, it's not like you don't have it, Ian. Geez. You and Tripp have been at this partnership long enough that he wouldn't ask you if it were more than a drop in the bucket."

She had a point. Didn't mean he had to like it. The man behind the counter continued filling out a legal-sized doc.u.ment by hand as if he hadn't heard a word. Ian thumped the front panel with a closed fist. "Tripp ought to be ponying up his own cash. Your cash, I must add." Ian raised an eyebrow, hoping to throw Lexi off course. "Or don't you trust him?"

Lexi gave Ian *the eye' back. "I'd have been fine with it. But doing so would be unethical for him since he's her attorney. Besides ... an overnight of research, to me, suggests you have your own interest in his client." She pinched his bicep.

"I never said that. In fact-" The stink-eye glare Ian gave her in return didn't even make her flinch. d.a.m.n woman. Even as he thought it, he huffed a breath. "You're setting me up, aren't you?"

"Why would I do that?" A twitch seized the side of Lexi's mouth.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h, you are! What else did you find in your little lookie-see of those bones and pictures?"

Lexi didn't budge.

"All of ya'll-oh, G.o.d." Ian slapped his forehead. "Michael was right. I really have been down here too long."

The clerk whistled. "You forgot occupation on this form."

Ian spun to him. "You believe this s.h.i.t? I'm all happy in New York, hanging out with my bro-" He wrote *Treasure Hunter' on the form and turned it back. "-and this one's-" Ian pointed to Lexi. "-husband calls me back with a lie that we had a gig, and it turns out ... it's a woman in jail-" Mental note to shut the f.u.c.k up, Ian. "-because they want to set me up with a criminal." And every time I bring this up, I sound like I'm trying to convince myself.

Clerk Bob shook his head back and forth in slow motion, shaking a finger in Lexi's direction.

"Worse, he cons me into the racket and makes me post her bail. That's just not right." You didn't shut up.

The man held up his fist.

Ian b.u.mped it. "See, Lexi? Dammit? It's not just me who thinks this is weird."

"Actually," the clerk started, "sounds to me like you're justifying it to yourself."

f.u.c.k. I knew that was going to bite me in the a.s.s. "You're a therapist now, too?"

The guy pointed to a sign on the wall. It said: All services have a price. Advice is free. If you take it, and it fails, it's not our fault. -Management.

Ian snorted a laugh.

"What he didn't tell you ..." Lexi angled her head toward the clerk. "... was that he met this girl almost six months ago while she was renovating my house, and then sorta kinda hooked up with her at my wedding and hasn't dated since that time, yet he's not known for being alone more than, oh, say one or two nights a week."

The man turned to Ian. Went back to Lexi. "Sorry, dude. She wins. That's the kind of girl s.h.i.t that trumps all the other stuff."

"I don't do love at first sight." Even as Ian said it, his heart pounded in his chest. He patted it. "Sorry, heartburn." The goofy grin on Lexi's face gave Ian pause. "Aw, h.e.l.l, no." Ian wagged a finger at Lexi. "It's not happenin'. I came ... to help ... a friend." Who isn't even that. "An acquaintance. Of your husband. Not mine. Acquaintance, that is. Not husband."

Lexi chuckled.

Ian would have run a hand through his hair if he had any. Or pulled it out. One of the two.

"Well," their bondsman said. "Give me that deposit, that deed on the New York apartment, and you'll be that much closer to on your way."

Ian handed both over, just as Tripp suggested he do.

"In the meantime," Lexi said, "I think I know a way you can stop this emotional roller coaster you're on." Her hand landed on Ian's shoulder.

"How?" He really did want to know.

"Oh, Ian." Lexi shook her head. "Just let nature take its course this time."

Sure. Right. Okay. How?

a a a "Taylor Marsh!" one of the guards called out.

She slid from the bed and stood as her cell mates did the same, each taking her place in the box so the prison guards would be able to see them, in case any tried to bolt or attack or whatever they expected.

Keys jangled as the guard stuck one into the hole and turned. "Marsh. Come with me."

Taylor tensed.

Tanya clapped Taylor on the shoulder. "I hope this is it, and I never see you again. And if I don't, and you get to exact your revenge, do it Tanya style." Her eyes sparkled even as her hands stayed still-another rule as they stood with the door open. "Go out with a bang."

"Thanks, T." She held out her fist.

The guard stiffened, and a rifle aimed her way.

Tanya b.u.mped it and gave her a nod. "Good luck, girly-girl."

Taylor tugged at her coveralls. One foot then the other, Tay. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Hands out," one guard said while the rifle-holding guard repositioned her weapon.

Cuffs clicked around each of Taylor's wrists.

"To the first door." The guard motioned her forward.

She found Hough waiting for her in a small, white-walled room. "Miss Marsh! So good to see you, girl!" Taylor couldn't hold back the grin. "This is your day. Yours, yours, yours." Hough wagged a finger at Taylor. "Didn't I tell you?"

"What's going on?"

"In your case, nothing." She pulled her keys from her belt and clicked them into the cuffs as Taylor's heart fell to her stomach.

She rubbed at her wrists. "Am I being moved?"

"No, shug. We're settin' you free of our fine establishment here. I'm to discharge you into your bondsman's capable hands."

a a a Taylor's welcoming committee stood at the release desk while the first of two interior, electronically-operated doors buzzed.

Open. Wait. Close.

Open. Wait. Close.

The open s.p.a.ce of the lobby sent relaxing waves through her body. The freeze came when she made eye contact with Ian. Why did Tripp have to bring him?

Ian. When they'd talked throughout the renovation of Tripp's house, his voice brought warmth to her soul. When she finally met him at the wedding, she'd thought she might have a heart attack. When he'd shown up at her home, her body had reacted. Every time-different sensations-yet they'd barely talked, let alone spent any time getting to know each other. She didn't understand her own reaction to him.

With a firm resolve, she stepped forward, touching the top of her hair as if a pat-down would help.

Taylor shuffled her way closer to the trio. "Thank you for coming." Tripp gave her a nod, Lexi a pat on the shoulder. Ian said nothing, a clear scowl etching lines in his smooth skin. "No one told me why I didn't have to go to court." She tugged at the hem of her shirt, straightened her jeans. "Am I off-"

"Out, not off," Tripp said. "You'd already been in past the maximum forty-eight hours, the judge asked for a plea, I said *not guilty', he set a bond, and there you have it."

Taylor flitted her gaze between Tripp and Ian. "Bond?" she asked.

The two men turned to each other and back to her. "It's taken care of," Tripp said.

Oh, G.o.d, please don't have called my parents. If they had, they'd be standing here. No, not them ... Riley. A brief smile nudged her lips. Riley always took care of her.

"So ..." Tripp broke the silence. "You're a suspected murderer, Taylor, and, of course, the press knows. So, be prepared for a barrage when we step out."

She nodded.

"There will be no comments; no speaking at all."

She gave him one, final definitive head nod.

"Ian, Lexi and I are here to surround you and keep people from getting in your face. Nothing's been officially released to the news, so of course, they know everything. And quite a few have been parked outside your house now for days. So, we go through, get to the car and leave."

Taylor scanned the faces of the people with her. "Where are we going?"

Ian stuffed his hands in his pockets. Tripp's gaze leapt to the opposite side of the room. Lexi bit at her lip. Oh, G.o.d, please don't make me call my mother. Stop thinking like that. Just call Riley.

"Home is off limits until they finish their investigation." Tripp pulled keys from his pocket. "So, for now, unless you have a better place, you can stay with us."

"Thank you for the kindness." She may not have agreed with her mother often, but Taylor believed in true southern hospitality.

"All right then, let's go." Tripp aimed an arm toward the courthouse doors.

The midday sunshine brought life to Taylor's senses as the microphones and camera flashes, the questions and people in front of them prevented a quick escape. "Taylor Marsh, is it true you were convicted of murder in Alabama?" "Did you kill your former boyfriend?" The voices rushed over one another with dozens of questions she couldn't decipher, and sent a throb to Taylor's temple. "How can a two-time felon be let out even on a one million dollar bond? Do you think the justice system has done its job?"

One million dollars? Riley doesn't have that kind of money.

The questions continued as Tripp and Ian pushed Taylor through the crowd toward a simple, black sedan. A series of large vans dotted the road behind it-their antennae spearing into the sky. Construction jackhammers broke into her thoughts and over the reporters crowding around them again. Their group moved slower than her pet turtle from fifth grade as they waded through the surge of people around them.

Ian pressed against Taylor's shoulder, pushing her toward the car, a coc.o.o.n of bodies around her.

What seemed like hours took only minutes, the crowd thinning as the foursome stuffed themselves in the car, shut the doors, and Tripp pulled away from the curb, jostling Taylor into Ian's shoulder for the second time.

He spun to her, his lips a mere centimeter away. Their gazes locked.

Heat spread to her cheeks, not in the form of embarra.s.sment, but in a desperate need to touch him. She forced her hands into her lap, twisted away and reminded herself that the brush of a shoulder did not translate to an invitation for a s.e.xual experience despite the tingling that shot straight to her core.

G.o.d, Taylor, you're desperate for a man you barely know and who obviously wants nothing to do with you and don't even have clean underwear on.

With a deliberate nudge, she pulled herself away and leaned into the cool, leather door on the other side of the car.

a a a Ian had touched Taylor only one other time-at Tripp and Lexi's wedding when Taylor had reached out during their conversation and brushed her hand along Ian's arm. Since then, he'd wanted her like no one else in the world. Yet, something had held him back.

The brief brush of her shoulder again brought all the feelings back-the desire, need to keep her safe, the need for no one else. All of it.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his fingers move up to his forehead and press against his skin. His thoughts roamed to the how, the why, the what-the-f.u.c.k of the entire situation, and why on earth he had an instantaneous desire to kiss her nearly made him to do just that.

She's a d.a.m.n convict, not a conquest.

Ian turned away, staring at the pa.s.sing scenery. All the while, his crotch twitched, his hands itched to touch her, and his brain went on high fantasy alert as he imagined taking her lips with his and how soft her tongue would be.

The more the ideas played out, the greater his need grew.

"Pull over, Tripp," Ian said.

"Huh?" Tripp met Ian's gaze through the rearview mirror.

"Just pull over. Now."

Tripp did, into the parking lot of a walk-up burger joint. "What's wron-"

Ian jumped out to the scents of grilled beef and greasy fries, in the midst of dozens of mingling college students. Shouts rang out from the kids as someone threw a football across the small, asphalt area. Ian strode along the sidewalk, cars outpacing him on his way forward and back.

"What the f.u.c.k," he repeatedly said.

When no *aha!' moments. .h.i.t him, he turned toward the car.

Taylor perched against the back, hair blowing in the wind, wrinkled clothes on a tight frame. A small grin built, the softness of it spreading beauty to her face.

Ian wanted to run a hand along her cheek, to touch, feel and savor the electricity that had coursed through. More than that even, he burned with a desire to lay his hands along the nape of her neck, rub the pad of his finger against the scar at the base of her skull and pull her in for a kiss.

Why would I think she has a scar there?

He blew out the urge to run and sauntered his way toward Taylor until he reached her toes. "No time like the present." He only had to tilt a few degrees to stare right down into her eyes. Despite the grit and torment sleeping in a jail must have caused, her face reflected a beauty that had been burned into his retinas long ago. Taylor's scent-a combination of earthiness, flowers and pure female-drugged him into a stupor worse than his binge at Rocky's.

He followed the motion of her lashes as she closed her lids, finding the small freckle he expected to show up at the edge, and again as she opened them. The simple act, involuntary, but so-her. A dip to her lips gave him a clear picture of what he wanted to savor-had desired for months-yet feared for reasons unknown.