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But as she stumbled away from the door, she knew it wasn’t. Even from his backside, there was no mistaking that shock of straight black hair falling well below those broad shoulders. She had a special agent standing at her door, all right, but it wasn’t Reese Garrick.
It was his partner, TJ Vаsquez.
She recovered quickly, creeping back to the door to tiptoe up and peer out. It was him all right. He still hadn’t turned around, but there was no doubt in her mind. That sleek six-foot-plus muscular frame could only belong to one man. As usual, he was wearing snug black jeans and his matching black leather jacket. The one that smelled just like him.
Half a year and a door between them, and she could still smell that jacket. The most incredible mix of leather and spice, with a tease of fresh air. Of course, the clincher was the equally black helmet cuffed under his arm. The one that matched the satin paint on his motorcycle. According to TJ, not just any motorcycle. A 1949 Indian Arrow. A classic.
All she knew was the bike was as dark and sleek and dangerous as he was.
Any hope she’d held out that it wasn’t him crumbled as he turned to glance down the hallway. At least he wasn’t facing the door. Six months was a long time. She blessed each and every one of those months as she reacclimated herself to the sight of that dusky skin, proud nose and prominent cheekbones. She also doubly blessed the three inches of solid wood between them. It gave her something to hold on to. And then he turned.
In profile, Tomаs Juan Vаsquez was handsome.
Head on, he was downright devastating.
Even through the glass, the force of those deep-brown eyes and thick brooding brows punched her stomach straight through to her toes. She tried sucking in her breath one shallow gulp at a time, only to discover he’d knocked the air from her lungs, as well.
He stepped forward to rap on the door again, this time hard.
Damn. What the devil was she supposed to do?
If Reese didn’t know about the note, there was no way TJ could, either. So what was he doing here? And how had he gotten by the doorman? Peter had been known to turn away veteran cops, unless they had an official warrant—
Official?
Panic streaked through her as she zeroed in on the chilling explanation. But as TJ shifted the helmet to his left hand and raked his right through his hair, she realized the fear wasn’t irrational after all. It mutated to full-blown terror as she finally noticed the lines that had set in about his mouth, the tension threading through his gaze, as well as gripping his shoulders. It would take a direct blow to TJ’s heart to put that look there.
Jade. Reese.
The accident.
She grabbed the security chain and yanked it across the metal track, wrenching the door open as it popped free. “Oh, my God, how badly are they hurt?”
Chapter 2
TJ blessed his reflexes, catching Karin instinctively as she hurled her petite curves at him, firing questions faster than he was able to empty the magazine in his Glock. What was she talking about? Who was she talking about? Then he knew.
Reese. Jade.
The flight.
Madre de Dios, what had happened?
His helmet landed at his feet as panic swamped him. Lifting Karin by her arms, he scooped her back into the apartment, releasing her as he scanned the entertainment unit that spanned the wall opposite him—but if there was a television behind one of the whitewashed doors, it was off now. He spun back around, straining for the sound of late-breaking news on the radio.
Nada.
All he heard were the muted notes of a jazz instrumental.
Frustrated, he turned back to Karin, wrapping his hands around her arms as he pulled her close again. This time, he was not sure if he was steadying her or himself. “?Cari?o? What has happened? Was there something on the news?”
Karin stared up at him, obviously stunned, her huge blue eyes growing even larger. “You mean you haven’t heard anything? But I thought…” She shook her head. “Why else would you be…” She shook it again, then pulled away from him to rub her temples as she sighed. “TJ, what are you doing here?”
The panic fled as quickly as it had come.
Reese and Jade were fine.
He stared at Karin as she folded her arms across the shirt of her Navy uniform. The panic in her eyes had ebbed as well—only to be replaced by determination. She was waiting for an answer.
Unfortunately he did not have one to give.
Not at this moment, anyway. And not when it was all he could do to simply stand here in the middle of this room, with his arms dropped to his sides—with them not locked about her, squeezing her for all she was worth. For all he was worth.
Six months.
It had been six months since her ship had pulled away from that concrete pier. Six months since he had last feasted his gaze on this tiny golden fireball of perfection standing before him. Six months, six days and ten and a half hours, if he had been counting. Not that he had.
S?, so he had.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tipped the heart-shaped curve of her chin, clenching his fingers as she jerked away. He swallowed his hiss of disappointment before it could escape and firmly tucked his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from touching her again.
He had told himself he was not going to do it.
He was not supposed to touch her.
But then, he was not supposed to be standing this close to her, either. He was close enough to smell the whisper of vanilla that always clung to her. Close enough for those mesmerizing dimples to swallow him whole, the ones that were so deep, even her current frown failed to contain them. Close enough to trace the bottom curve of her full, pink lips.
No, he was definitely not supposed to be this close.
He had to move. Pronto.
Before he drowned in the blue ocean of her eyes—and told his good sense to go straight to hell. Or worse, ripped his fingers from his pockets and dug them into those golden curls.
Those short curls.
He stared hard. “You cut your hair.”
Her hands were halfway up her neck before she stiffened. She pulled them down and folded them across her chest as her chin kicked up. Not much. Perhaps a fraction of an inch.
It was enough.
It told him more than her silence. Even more than the ice now frosting her gaze. She had cut her curls to spite him.
Dios help him, he was pleased.
Her chin hitched another notch. “Like it?”
“I do not.”
But he did. It accentuated her eyes, made them appear larger, bluer.
Her maddening dimples deepened. “Too bad. I do.” With that, she twirled smoothly about, her white skirt revealing a most enticing length of calf as she slipped away. When she rounded the breakfast counter, he assumed she was simply putting her usual distance between them—until she reached the stove. The shrill whistle and steam shooting from the copper teapot finally pierced his stupor. As she flicked off the burner, he turned back to the apartment, this time really looking.
He had known this woman had money. After all, she drove a Jaguar. And there was the Cartier on her wrist. But not even that—nor even the chunk of gray marble some might call a sculpture in the lobby—could have prepared him for this.
And the fact that it was so very…white.
Everywhere.
From the gauze draped across the tops of the towering windows down to the carpet, the entire room was white. The leather couch was white, the pair of overstuffed chairs flanking it were white, the lamps were white. Even the wall unit, the dining-room table and the chairs beyond were some sort of colorless wood washed with…well, white.
Suddenly he was twenty-four again, reaching for the brass knocker on those enormous double doors. They yawned open. And then she was standing there, looking down her perfect nose at him. He could not help it—he glanced down at his jacket, then his T-shirt, jeans and boots, half-afraid his mere presence had rubbed off, leaving a great dark stain in the middle of this virgin room. Thankfully, he had not.
Yet.
He turned back to the kitchen, to Karin, and was once again confronted with white. This time, though, it was her.
She arched her brows. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”
He blinked.
She sighed. “What you’re doing here? I’ve figured out by now they weren’t involved in the accident.”
The accident? What— Ah, the freeway.
No wonder she had been frightened. He shook his head. “No, they were not. It came through on the scanner when it happened. I dropped Reese and Jade off an hour and a half ago by way of another route. From the way you threw yourself into my arms, I thought you had heard something about the plane.”
She flushed.
Not much.
Just the tips of her ears.
Most odd. He had always thought her so cool, so collected, so in control. But with her curls off her ears, he now knew she was not. Fascinating. He wondered if she knew. He caught the panic flitting through those deep-blue eyes as he stared, and knew.
She did.
She turned away quickly and headed back to the kitchen. This time he labeled her action for what it was.
Retreat.
He masked his smile as she turned back, the high counter once again firmly between them.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He shook his head. “I did not.”
“Well? Are you going to? Or did you just drop by for dinner, unannounced?”
“Would you dine with me if I had?”
“No.”
He glanced down at the counter, at the empty yogurt container with the spoon still inside, at the orange rind piled beside the remote control, and tsked. “You could use a good meal, no?”
She did not answer. Nor did she need to, for her narrow gaze spoke for her. She finally severed that frosty glare and scooped up the rind and carton before she turned her back on him to head for the trash compactor. He waited until she had opened the steel drawer and dumped them inside.
“You called Reese today.”
The drawer slammed shut.
She continued to stand with her back to him for a moment, then slowly turned around. “Yes, I did. I called Reese.”
He shrugged. “You got me.”
“I don’t want you.”
If she thought it took one of her neurosurgical colleagues to figure this out, she was mistaken. “This I know. But me you have. Why did you call?”
“You know, I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”
If it involved what he thought it did, it was very much his business. It was also his case. But there was no way he could tell her this. At least, not until he was certain.
He sighed. “Cari?o—”
She held up a hand. “You can stop right there, Agent Vаsquez. First of all, I told you months ago, my name is Karin, just Karin. Not carino—or however you keep pronouncing it. Second of all, my phone call had nothing to do with you or your agency. I just told you—I called to talk to Reese, not you. As you damn well know, Reese is married to my best friend. I needed to discuss something with him. Something personal. If your boss is so straitlaced you guys can’t even receive a brief personal call on the job, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Reese when they return.”
“Are you finished?”
Pink washed the tops of her ears. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, I am aware of the fact that you called to speak to Reese and not to me.” Painfully aware. “But you also left a message. A message that said…” He made a show of searching the pockets of his leather jacket for the yellow slip Joaqu?n had handed him before he had torn out of the office. “Here it is.” He did not need to read the words, but did so, anyway. “Dr. Karin Scott called. It’s business.”
“I know—personal business.” She raked her fingers through her curls. “How many times do we have to go through this?”
“Until you tell the truth.”
She stiffened. “Just where the hell do you get off showing up at my apartment, giving me the third degree about a personal call and accusing me—”
The rest of her words were severed as he rounded the counter and reached out to touch the tip of her ear. It was tinged with pink for the third time that night.
She swallowed.
Evidently he had made his point.
Several moments passed before she honored it. “Okay, I’ve been busted. What are you going to do about it? Cuff me and drag me down to the nearest station?”
Oh, he would like to.
