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  Since he’d never been here before, she watched him take in her decor, neutral and modern. He flicked a glance at the original abstract painting on her wall, another at the Dale Chihuly sculpture centered on the glass-and-cement table in the center of her office. Then he sank into one of the pair of black leather Eames chairs.

  She did a little checking out of her own. He’d had his hair cut recently, she noted. It was crisper around the edges and a little shorter than last time she’d seen him. A nice thick head of hair that would feel good beneath her fingers the next time she found herself in his arms.

  Oh, stop it.

  Before she could open her mouth, he said, “So what did I walk in on?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You and your gal out front were looking pretty tense when I walked in.”

  “It’s nothing. Now, did you—”

  “Seems you spend a lot of time delving into my head but have damn thick walls around your own psyche.”

  “It’s supposed to be that way. You’re the client.”

  “Max calls it a favor for a friend. I’m offering you the same favor.”

  “But we’re not friends,” she snapped without thinking.

  It was as though she’d played right into his hands. A slow smile began to form. “If I’m not your client, and we’re not friends, I wonder what we are.”

  The moment that followed was so loaded with sexual heat Serena was amazed her new suit didn’t melt right off her body, leaving nothing behind but a few blue threads clinging to her skin like slivers of heaven.

  Perhaps because she didn’t feel like dealing with their obvious sexual attraction, or maybe because she really needed somebody to talk to and he was the closest ear, she said, “If you really want to know, Lisa, who is the best assistant I’ve ever had, wants to become a junior partner. But I’ve never had a partner. I work alone. I can’t imagine having to train someone, to monitor their progress, to...”

  “Trust them?” he said softly.

  “I trust Lisa. I do,” she insisted when he lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “It’s just that I can’t imagine sharing clients and—”

  “Giving up total control?”

  “Maybe.” She sighed. “Probably.”

  “Do you have enough work to add another person?”

  “I’m swamped. I’m turning down work.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “As much as I trust anyone.”

  “Aha.”

  “Stop with the ahas. This is your session.”

  “But I made you think, didn’t I?”

  He was so pleased with himself she had to smile. “Yes. You did.”

  “She got the chops? Professionally?”

  Serena nodded. “She’s got an MA in psychology. She’s good with people. She reminds me of myself at her age. Without the baggage.”

  He flicked her a glance that suggested one day soon he was going to be asking about her baggage. She wondered what she’d do when that happened.

  “What happens if you don’t give her more responsibility?”

  She sighed. “I’ll lose her to somebody who will give her a better chance.”

  He leaned back, opened his hands palms up. “Something to think about.”

  “You’re right. Thanks. Now let’s turn to you.”

  “Okay. I had a good week. Even though they make me gag, I recite those affirmations about twenty times a day. Scored more goals in Tuesday’s game than I’ve scored in a single game all year.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “So I figure I’m cured and you look hungry. How about I take you out for dinner somewhere and we can pick up where we left off in the parking lot.”

  Oh, he was smooth. And seductive. And she wanted to walk away from the office and her problems and let him take her to dinner and then home to bed more than she wanted to admit. But she’d taken on the job of coaching him and she was determined to see it through.

  “Not so fast.” She leaned back. “You’ve never had a problem in regular play. It’s the play-off games where you have your issues. I don’t think you should celebrate too soon.”

  He seemed pretty unsurprised by her reaction and only rolled his eyes before saying, “I haven’t figured out the part about where I get the guilt from.”

  There was a moment’s silence. She said, “Tell me why you became a cop.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I always knew I was going to be a cop. Ever since I was a little kid. My dad was a cop, of course, and a good one. He was the hero in our house. Seemed natural to go the same route.”

  “Lots of people have parents they admire and they don’t go into the same line of work. Give me another reason.”

  She watched him thinking, casting back to earlier decisions he probably didn’t remember making. She gave him the time he needed. Finally, he said, “This is going to sound stupid.”

  “Good. We’re getting somewhere.”

  From the way he appeared a little sheepish she suspected he’d tapped into memories he’d nearly forgotten. “When I was in elementary school, I was walking home one day and there was a group of older kids. They were bullying some kid who was a bit of a misfit. You could tell he’d peed his pants and they were tormenting him.” He glanced up at her. “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Oh, I really do.”

  “It was stupid and reckless. I walked up to them and told them to knock it off. Me against probably five or six older guys.” He scratched his nose. “I was always big for my age, but they were bigger. And I was definitely outnumbered.”

  “What made you do it? What was the impulse?”

  He looked at her as though he weren’t really seeing her. He was looking back into his past.

  “It was the right thing to do,” he said finally. Simply.

  Urge to protect. A strong sense of justice. Not the worst reasons to become a law officer. “What happened?”

  “I got into a fight. I got beat up a little. Would have ended a lot worse if Dylan and Max hadn’t come by.” He grinned at the memory. “Those guys didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Do you still feel like you’re fighting injustice?”

  “Working in policing, I often feel like I’m fighting big battles I can’t win. The bad guys have the money—they can afford resources we can’t. They kill witnesses. It’s a tough job. Getting tougher all the time.” He settled back into his seat. “But we do what we can. Catch enough bad guys that I can sleep at night.”

  “You make the world a safer place.”

  “One tiny corner of it. At least, I try.”

  “Do you think—”

  The text message alert went off on her smartphone, interrupting her.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I forgot to turn off my phone.” She was annoyed with herself and with Lisa. If her assistant hadn’t picked such a bad moment to have their little talk, Serena would never have been so unprofessional as to forget to turn off her cell.

  “No problem.”

  She reached for her phone to switch it off, but the words of the text were right there. She read the message and a garbled sound came out of her throat. Part scream, part moan.

  Adam crossed the room in a stride. “Serena, what is it?”

  He squatted in front of her. Took her wrists in his hands.

  She couldn’t seem to form words. She simply handed him the phone.

  You should wear blue more often. Makes a nice change from all that black. Your heart is pounding with fear right now. I’m so close to you. I can feel it.

  The text ended with a smiley-face emoticon.

  “What the...?” Adam squeezed her wrists gently where a pulse beat crazily. “Serena? Who sent this? What’s going on?”


  “I don’t know.” Her voice didn’t sound like hers. It sounded like the scared little girl she hadn’t been for a long time. “I don’t know.”

  “How long have you been getting these messages?”

  Adam had his cop face on, she noted. Hard eyes. Watchful expression. The hands gripping her wrists felt strong. Capable.

  “This is the first time he’s texted me. How did he get my number?”

  “I don’t know. You say this is the first time he’s texted you? So there have been other messages?”

  She nodded, trying to pull her thoughts together. “Yes. Some emails. I thought they were pranks. I get inappropriate emails through my website. It happens. But these were creepier. Threatening.” She shivered.

  “Did you keep them?”

  She nodded. “Not me. I won’t have that negative garbage in my space. Lisa kept them on the office computer.”

  “Good. Can you show me?”

  “Lisa—” She glanced at her watch. “Damn. Lisa’s gone for the day.”

  “We can get her back if we need to. See if you can find them for me.”

  “Yes. Of course. I’m being stupid. Sorry.”

  “You’re doing great,” he said soothingly. He rose and held out his hand. She clutched it, letting him pull her to her feet. Even now she wondered if there was a camera recording her. Microphones. How had some nutbar invaded her space like this? He knew what she was wearing? Today was the first day she’d worn that blue suit. She felt watched. She felt violated. Vulnerable.

  Why would someone want to scare her?

  The why was bad enough, but the part of her inner questions that really disturbed her was that there was also a who. A faceless, anonymous creep who wanted to scare her.

  Which brought her right back to why?

  7

  SHE LED ADAM out to the main office. Lisa had left the reception area immaculate, as she always did. Serena booted up the computer.

  It took her a couple of minutes of searching but she found the file Lisa had insisted on making containing the disturbing emails she’d received.

  “Here it is.” She clicked open the file. Adam leaned over her shoulder. She felt ridiculously reassured by his big strong capable presence.

  “This was the first one?” He clicked on the message amd frowned.

  “Yes. I’ve been getting one every few days. As you can see, they all basically say the same thing. I don’t even read them. If Lisa gets to them first, she puts them in the file so I don’t have to see them. If I get the message first, I forward it to her.”

  He read them all in order. Didn’t comment until he got to the end. “This is all of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you told the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s exactly what he wants me to do, act scared. I refuse to give some negative fearmonger the satisfaction.”

  “This guy could be a dangerous psychopath. He didn’t get any reaction from the emails. Now he’s upped the ante. Shown you he’s capable of getting closer to you. That he’s watching you. You need to go to the cops.”

  “Maybe the text and the emails are from different people,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They all talk about fear. And every one of them ends with the same emoticon.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, lifted it off the nape of her neck and let it drop again. “I won’t give in to fear.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Fear isn’t all bad. It can be a healthy response to a danger that’s very real.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Serena, you need to take this seriously.” He squeezed her shoulder, then said, “Let’s leave it for now. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “All right. Let me lock up.”

  He watched her routine, turning off the computers, then the lights. To lock her office she punched a code into an electronic panel.

  As they walked down the hallway to the elevators, she was embarrassingly glad to have Adam beside her. She didn’t want to be a victim, but right now she felt too vulnerable to be alone. How had her creepy email guy known what she was wearing?

  The possibilities made her nervous.

  She was a bit surprised when Adam didn’t walk her to her car and leave her. He said, “I have a better idea. I’m going to take you for dinner. You need to eat and I need to ask you some questions.”

  “No.” She knew she sounded panicky. “I don’t want to go out in public. Not right now.”

  “Okay. I’ll take you to my place. It’s completely safe. No one would think to look for you there.”

  His place. Safety. Also a chance to see how he lived, what was important to him. Because whatever else he was right now, he was her client and she still planned to help him face his demons.

  But...his place.

  He looked at her and suddenly grinned, as though reading her mind. “You’d be giving up control. Not easy for you to do.” His expression turned serious. “And you’d be trusting me.” He moved closer. “You can, you know.”

  “I don’t think you’re a psychotic texter, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  She nodded. A wave of fatigue struck her. She was tired. She’d been going nonstop for so long, days as packed as today, and the murky discomfort of those emails had always been at the back of her mind. Now the person sending them had stepped things up and she felt as though she needed a little break from it all. A chance to breathe and refocus, find her balance.

  Of course, Adam knocked her off balance in a completely different way. But she did trust him. And she really didn’t want to go home to her apartment and wonder if some kook had cameras trained on her or something.

  “Can you cook?” she asked.

  “Depends. If you like spaghetti, bacon and eggs, or steak on the barbecue, then yes, I can cook. I also do great takeout.”

  “All right.” She turned to him. “And thanks.”

  “We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone. Come on.”

  “But my car...”

  “I’ll bring you back for it. I don’t want you driving out in it until I know more.”

  Serena reminded herself that he was the cop. There was no point arguing with him about what he did best. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that the person sending her those threatening emails had taken a huge step today, letting her know he could see her. Assuming it was even a he. She knew nothing about this person and the feeling of helplessness was infuriating.

  Adam drove a nondescript sedan that didn’t quite scream cop but strongly suggested civil servant. As they drove, he kept the conversation light. Told her a fairly amusing story about his last hockey practice. She felt herself relax a little and was grateful to him for this small respite.

  When they reached his house, she was surprised and delighted to see an old-fashioned cottage on a large piece of property. The garden cried out for attention. She mentally painted in an assortment of flowers. Nothing too formal—it wouldn’t suit the cottage—but maybe a rosebush in that corner and some wildflowers in the meadow. She could see where a vegetable garden had once grown and it was easy to picture it bursting with fresh herbs and a crop of homegrown veggies. Five or six apple and cherry trees bravely hung on. She wondered idly if they could be saved.

  “What a great place,” she said.

  “Thanks. I bought it last year. It’s a work in progress.”

  The driveway was new and smooth as he pulled in and parked near the front entrance. Two steps led up to a freshly painted white porch with a purple clematis vine curling around the wooden pillars and overhang. If it were hers, she’d put window boxes under the multipaned windows on
either side of the porch.

  “Come on in,” he said, unlocking the blue front door, which was also freshly painted.

  “Thanks.”

  She stopped inside to look around.

  “Like I said, a work in progress.”

  “With so much potential.”

  She loved it immediately. The old-fashioned kitchen with its cheerfully painted yellow cupboards, the scarred wooden counters. The living area featured heavy-beamed ceilings painted white to match the walls. The floors gleamed with history. “I love the floor,” she said, bending to get a better view. “Original?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fir. I refinished them. It’s my most recent project.”

  She could see the scars and pits that decades of footsteps and items dropped and dragged had left there. She loved that he hadn’t replaced them with brand-new floors. Or torn out the kitchen to go with granite and stainless. He’d kept to the original idea of a cottage. Simple and functional. A river-rock fireplace in the main living room wall was already set; all that was left to do was light a match.

  She liked the efficiency of her own gas fireplace, which flickered to life whenever she pushed a switch on the wall, and she enjoyed her sleek granite and stainless kitchen, so efficient and modern. She knew how much more work a place like this would be, but it had a homey feeling that her own apartment somehow lacked.

  A short hallway off the living room must lead to bedrooms and a bathroom.

  His furniture was obviously chosen for comfort over style. Big oversize couch, a leather chair with an ottoman that faced a big-screen TV.

  “Sit down,” he said, ushering her into the living room.

  She sat on the couch, sinking back into the cushions, which seemed to hug her into themselves. He went to the fridge. “I’ve got beer or some wine.”

  “What kind of wine?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody gave it to me for my birthday.” He read the label. “It’s a chardonnay from California.”

  “That would be fine, thank you.”

  He brought her a glass of wine and himself a beer, then settled himself in the leather chair that was clearly his favorite spot.