Watching Brooks bound around the yard, looking for another spot to mark, I wasn’t so sure, but I did come up with yet another insane idea, Plan C. Lucky for me, I was in the rural back roads of Pennsylvania where I could set it all in motion.

With that in mind, I trudged back up to the house and spent the rest of the day cooing over my brother’s baby girl, counting the minutes until morning.

Aly

Saturday was downright miserable since I went to visit my mom like I did every weekend. It broke my heart to see her so frail and gray, her hands twisted with arthritis. Although I knew those years of scrubbing floors couldn’t have given her arthritis, all that hard work surely didn’t help.

The worst part was that she had no clue who I was until about five minutes before I had to leave. Just as my mother’s memory kicked in and her face lit up at the sight of me, I needed to rush off to meet Barry for a cup of coffee so we could go over case notes. Which, of course, made me feel like the worst daughter in the world, knowing she thought I’d just gotten there and left, when I’d really been there for hours.

The group behind me jostled me a little as I shifted my bag strap on my shoulder while I waited for the bus. When my phone rang, I startled, then patted each of my pockets in search of the source of the intrusion.

A glance at the screen confirmed that the caller was exactly who I didn’t want to hear from, but I answered anyway.

At my whispered hello, Drew said, “Hey, Aly? How are you?”

What the heck was with this guy? We had a nice time, but that was it. Never mind that he didn’t make my pulse race and my heart beat at full speed like Jake.

“I’m well,” I said, trying to be polite. “Just getting ready to do some work.” If I sounded harried, I thought, maybe we could cut this conversation short.

“You public-service people bring work home on the weekends too?”

“Looks like we do bring it home with us. I guess working on the weekends isn’t all bad if it keeps you out of trouble.”

Shit. Why did I have to go there and call attention to my boring lifestyle? Pissed at myself, I stomped my foot and shoved my hair behind my ear.

“So, you want to grab some dinner?” he asked.

Clearly, he wasn’t taking the hint. “Oh, Drew. Thanks for asking, but I can’t.”

“You mean you don’t want to.”

His question was aggressive, coming out more as a statement, and put me on the defensive. I was starting to see why he was so successful in the courtroom. The man definitely wasn’t short on tenacity.

“It’s just a hectic time for me,” I started, then realized it was time to be blunt. “And I can’t really get involved with you right now. That’s it.”

All of a sudden, I was Little Miss Bold. Where did that come from?

Because I like a guy who spent Christmas in jail, and I would rather be with him. When he’s not bossing me around, anyway.

“That’s too bad, Al. It’s just dinner. Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled as I lodged the phone between my neck and shoulder, eager to hang up and confused about my own traitorous thoughts. “It’s not you. It’s bad timing, that’s all.”

“Can I try again another time?”

Tenacious. Ugh.

“Sure. I gotta go now, Drew. Talk soon?”

“Of course.”

After disconnecting the call, I moved my strained neck from side to side and looked down the street for my bus. Of course it started to pour down rain while I stood there, and despite putting up the little umbrella I always carried in my messenger bag, I still managed to get completely soaked.

I wiped the excess moisture off my sleeves when I finally sat down on the bus. Leaning my head on the window, I watched the city blur by, unable to stop myself from thinking of the other night with Jake, and how mad I’d been when I rushed out of the hotel.

Who did he think he was, trying to control where I lived? He didn’t know the first thing about my circumstances. Did he think this was going to get him laid? It most certainly wasn’t.

I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, not with this important case on my desk. I’d met with Cameron again the other day and he was still being evasive, but not as much so. Maybe it was being overly optimistic, but I had to believe I was close to cracking him open.

I’d tried leveling with him. “If you want me to defend you, I have to know what you know, what you’re hiding. So let’s start over.”

Cameron had paced the small room, his hands bound, shaking his head. “Just know I didn’t do anything. If I could post bail, I could show you.”

“That doesn’t help. You can go on some mission if you get out of here, but that’s only going to land you in more trouble. Plus, it’s not your job; it’s mine. Tell me what I need to know to help you,” I pleaded.

Without another word, he’d ended the meeting, banging on the door for the guard.

Still, I had hope that I was nearing the truth with Cameron, and Jake Wrigley was nothing more than a big, huge, amazingly hot distraction.

Except . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Certainly not when I was awake, and even when I was asleep, my dreams were fair game.

I’d spent the last two nights dreaming of the rugged man sliding inside me, holding his weight up on one forearm while his other hand traced mysterious patterns up and down my rib cage and over the side of my breast. He was buried deep within me, his body pressing against every inch of me, whispering sweet promises in my ear as he stroked me where I didn’t know I ever wanted to be touched. Each time, just as he delved deeper and mumbled, “Everything is going to change,” I’d woken on the verge of coming undone.

After having coffee with Barry that night, I went home and went to bed. Just before I fell asleep, I willed myself not to think of Jake Wrigley and his bossy ways.

It didn’t work. When my eyes popped open at six o’clock the next morning—on a Sunday, no less—I jumped out of bed furious with myself. I was so sexually frustrated and charged up, but there was no way I’d take care of the itch the usual way. Vibrator be damned—it was hardly a sufficient replacement.

So I spent most of the morning clomping around my apartment in a horrid mood, working out my frustrations by doing chores. At noon, my hair was up in a messy bun and I was still in my pajama pants and ragged sweatshirt, trying to decide what I should tackle next. I’d already taken out my frustration on the bathroom tile until it sparkled and shone like something out of a bathroom cleaner commercial, and I was currently working on the area rug with the vacuum cleaner.

There I was, standing there running the vacuum mindlessly over the same damn spot, drawing the same lines over and over again, when there was a loud knock on the door. It didn’t register it was someone for me and not the neighbor telling me to stop making noise until after a few more bangs, followed by a loud, “Aly!” from the other side.

I switched off the vacuum and stood still for a moment, unable to believe my ears until he roared again. “Aly! Open the fucking door! The walls are paper thin and I can hear you vacuuming!”

That was when I padded to the door and opened it a crack to find Jake standing on the other side with a tiny chocolate-colored fur ball in his hands.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

He pushed the door all the way open and strutted right into my apartment without a word. “Shut the door, Aly. It’s bad enough these walls are crap. The neighbors are going to hear enough.”

I couldn’t answer; I simply stared at him openmouthed. The only sounds in the room were little whimpers coming from the puppy.