Hotshot by Catherine Mann Page A

the farthest point from him.
    “Dogs usually don’t like motorcycles. A charging pooch can make maneuvering tricky.”
    “Then I guess my place is officially Vince-proofed to make up for Buster’s guard doggy deficiencies.”
    “Where did you find this bruiser?” he asked, not ready to leave her alone just yet. Instincts counted for everything in a job, and right now his instincts told him this woman needed more than a little gun and a lazy puppy.
    “Actually, he found me.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog bounded from the sofa toward her. “I went hiking with friends and stumbled across this guy abandoned with no collar. Are you ready to go now?”
    “What?” He looked up and found her eying the door pointedly. “I don’t even get a drink of water?”
    She scooped up her pet, stroking a springy thatch of bristle on top of Buster’s head. “Do you need a glass of water?”
    “Not really. Just wanted you to offer. So about those hiking friends, is there some guy in your life?” Some fella to whom he could pass over protection duty or at least split time with?
    “Noneya.”
    “None of my business, huh?” He scanned her cluttered apartment. “I don’t see cuddly couple pictures anywhere.”
    “They’re all in my boudoir on a ruffled table with heart candles.”
    “Scented?” Why was he goading her? She’d been through hell. Maybe that was it. He wanted to distract her. Yeah, he was gonna go with that. “I checked your bedroom, remember? Nice undies.”
    She set the dog down with an exasperated sigh. “What is wrong with you? We’ve seen dead bodies tonight. It’s”—she glanced at her wristwatch—“three twenty-seven in the morning, and I have to be at work in less than four hours. You never even liked me, so I know you’re not flirting.”
    “I flirt with everyone.” True enough. Women understood he was never in one place long enough for any kind of deep relationship.
    “And there your charm just lost what little shine it had.” She patted her mouth in a big, exaggerated yawn, one mimicked by Buster.
    “You’re right. I should get going.” He couldn’t stay here and pick fights with her until the threat left. He would be better served catching a couple hours’ shut eye so he didn’t fall asleep in the middle of the telecomm.
    “Yes, you should.” She crowded his space and urged him toward the door.
    He stopped dead in his tracks, forcing her to stop just short of bumping into him. There was one last detail he could take care of now. “You really should lighten up on your old man a bit.”
    “Uh”—she inched back a step—“what part of noneya do you not understand?”
    “I’ve never been good at keeping my big nose out of other people’s business.” God, he hoped she was as innocent as she appeared.
    “My dad and I don’t have business for anyone to get into.”
    “He cares.” Strange how the guy instilled so much loyalty in the teens he’d worked with but not an ounce of it carried over to his own daughter.
    She looked around the apartment. “I’m really feeling the love from Don right now. You can barely tolerate me, and yet you ’re here to make sure I’m okay.”
    “People have different ways of showing they care.”
    “With Don, it’s kinda like that tree falling in a forest thing. Does it really count if you never get to hear it? Or see it? And oh my God, I can’t believe I’m still talking to you. This is it.” She spun him around, hands planted on his back. “Reunion officially over.”
    Her touch seared.
    He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “No good-bye hug?”
    Her lips pursed tight. “Thank you for your help. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you in another seventeen years.”
    He fished his keys from his pocket. Seventeen years? 9 Think again.

FIVE
    Don watched his back.
    A CIA guy in FBI headquarters in D.C. couldn’t be too careful, after all. Rivalry between the agencies didn’t disappear, even with