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  “Ah, shit!” her attacker shouted while extending a hand to her. She took it and he pulled her up.

  When she was on her feet, she righted her cap and rubbed at her chin. “Stop your bitchin’, Arnie. Nothing’s broken and neither one of us is going to tell Zane, right?”

  He grumbled something in response.

  “Besides, it’s my fault for trying a new move on you.”

  Arnie moved over and took her chin carefully, tilting her head as he surveyed his damage. “That’s gonna bruise, babe.”

  “Makeup will cover it.”

  He shook his head at her and asked with disgust dripping, “Was that real enough for you? I don’t like you down in this area even if you do have moves now.”

  “I’ve trained in a contained environment long enough. You’re the one who constantly tells me it’s not the same when you’re in a true threat situation, and you’re right. I wanted a place that would put me on edge and test my skills and this showed me that I’m not as on top of it when I’m out of my element. I got distracted right before you attacked. And I let you surprise me. That’s bad.”

  “Yeah, that pisses me off, too,” he growled. “And I waited for you to be distracted, but didn’t expect it, not after the way you’ve been training. What the hell were you looking at, when you knew I would show up here?”

  “Zane taught me that if I felt someone watching, I should pay attention to it.”

  “Well, that was me watching you, and you were looking the wrong direction. And then you fell for it when I threw a screw into the other corner. Always watch your back. Always.” He let out a long breath, said, “Ready?” and attacked again.

  Josh holstered his weapon, watching as the two continued, with Arnie attacking and Trish fighting him off. She was sweaty in ten minutes, her shirt damp, dark hair clinging to her dirt-smudged face.

  But sexy as hell. What was it about a woman who could kick a man’s ass that turned Josh on? He didn’t know, but there it was. Good news? He wouldn’t have to fake his interest when the time came to get close to her.

  Josh stayed for the next hour while Trish and Arnie finished their training session. By the time they’d cleared out, Trish had managed to wash away any doubt Josh had about whether she could be a player in this case.

  Colbert had been right when he’d called her activities suspicious. Sweet, his ass.

  Trish Jackson was a woman who trained for danger.

  Chapter 6

  Trish tapped her foot against the sandy-beige tile of the atrium, forcing herself to remain calm while she waited on Lead Butt–the name bestowed on the archaic, creeping elevator by the people who worked in this building.

  The stalker had warned her against saying a word to Zane if she didn’t want to end up an only child, but she couldn’t avoid coming down here today. She’d tried.

  Standing here made her jumpier than walking into that warehouse where she’d met Arnie this morning.

  She looked around, trying to tune in to her instincts–use what Arnie called a person’s natural spidey sense–but no one strolling through the lobby paid her any attention. The stalker could be anyone. This had to be a quick visit.

  Besides, she had to finish arranging the new antiques in ReSolution so her shop would be ready for all the business she hoped the television show would drum up. Of course, that would only happen if she were chosen as one of two consultants for Treasured Past, a local program about antiques that focused on celebrity guests who were collectors. She’d made the last qualifying round and would receive instructions on her final challenge tonight at the banquet being held to promote the show. She’d just picked up the tickets for her and her guests.

  She had plenty to do over the next couple hours, which meant she had just enough time to walk in, hand Zane his ticket for tonight, and walk out. He rarely came to the task force office, but being a pilot, and owning his own charter business, he was even harder to catch anywhere else during the day.

  When it came to this crazy stalker, Trish would protect her brother, for once, after all the years he’d protected her. She didn’t need her brother to fight her fights any more, which was why she’d trained with Arnie for almost a year. Zane had told her his Air Force buddy was the best. She’d convinced Arnie to help her get competent fast, and to not tell Zane about the accelerated training schedule so she could surprise her brother with how well she was doing. Zane asked too many questions, like why she wanted to train so hard all of a sudden.

  The defense training had been an outlet for her energy when she’d first gone sober, but when she’d started getting the stalker notes she’d become even more determined.

  The only person truly surprised would be the stalker, when Trish came face to face with him and kicked his cowardly ass. Until that happened, she’d suffer the cold sweats at night and train until her muscles quit on her.

  But what did that maniac want?

  The stupid note Trish had found in her car last night had instructed her to sit very still for exactly seventy-two minutes and to push the rearview mirror away from her face.

  Sit. In the dark.

  Without making a sound and facing forward.

  Every second had been torture. She kept expecting someone to sit up in the back seat or walk up to the car and shoot her point blank or...she’d imagined a million things, all the while gripping the handle of the fighting knife in her pocket like it was her lifeline.

  When her seventy-two minutes ended, she’d folded over and fought off nausea, not caring if someone walked up and killed her.

  She’d have welcomed the relief at that point if not for needing to look after her brother–and her sister-in-law, now that the bastard had threatened Angel.

  The approaching elevator grunted and whined as it got closer.

  She glanced at her watch. Tackling five flights of steps was out of the question. Her strappy sandals were perfect with the mauve Jones New York suit from her friend Kellie’s consignment shop, but comfort and balance were not among the shoes’ attributes.

  True to its name, Lead Butt descended and hit bottom with a noticeable clunk. A frazzled young man complete with a wrinkled white shirt and lopsided tie waited in glum silence to her left.

  Trish gave him a critical once over.

  Not stalker material.

  And you would know this how? Trish glanced at him again.

  When the doors opened, he pushed a handcart filled haphazardly with boxes into the left half of the elevator and hit the tenth-floor button. Then he slipped between the cart and the left side elevator wall.

  She stepped in, punched the fifth floor button and moved over to the right rear corner. The young guy muttered to himself and tried to tidy up his half-ass stacked boxes. He appeared harmless. But then so had Colbert, the computer geek who had cozied up to Trish during a holiday party at Zane’s office.

  That scumbag had turned out to be a mole in the DEA group.

  News Trish had gotten in an email this morning from her sister-in-law, Angel.

  The elevator doors almost touched in the middle when a large, suntanned hand shoved between the moving sections, forcing them to bang back and forth twice. The steel panels groaned open.

  One succulent male specimen breezed inside, glanced at the two floors already selected and moved over to the wall on Trish’s left. So close she could smell his fresh shower.

  Sleek grooming, sun-tinted blonde hair and a strong chin. He got her vote for the next sexiest-man-of-the-year magazine award. Plenty of muscle under that button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up casually at the cuffs.

  Sunshine yellow suited him.

  She’d seen loads of men in south Florida who fit the criteria for gorgeous, but this one took Super Stud to the limit.

  And why was she ogling him when she’d sworn off men?

  I haven’t sworn off looking.

  No vapid eyes of a model on that one. Keen silver-blue eyes swept over to her, taking in her suit that seemed to surprise him.r />
  If they’d known each other in the past, that would make sense, because business suits were a far cry from what she’d worn in her Bohemian days of sandals and ankle-length cotton dresses. But they’d never met. She’d remember someone tall, tan and gorgeous who oozed testosterone.

  Dangerous loads of it.

  Her heart rate picked up and she couldn’t tell if it was a reaction to being trapped in this box with two men, or standing so close to one with serious bedroom eyes.

  She licked her lips and his gaze flicked to her mouth.

  Stupid move. She clamped her lips together and considered her escape routes.

  The doors clanged shut.

  The elevator began a slow ascent, grinding and squeaking in protest. Just past the second floor, the infernal car screeched and jerked to a halt hard enough to bounce her back against the wall.

  The wobbling stack of boxes shifted toward Trish.

  Everything happened so quickly she barely had time to cringe, expecting to be pummeled.

  A masculine forearm shot across her vision to her left side. His hand slapped against the wall behind her and his body leaned in beside hers, forming a human barrier against the tumbling cardboard mountain.

  The young guy shouted, “Shit!”

  When Trish realized she wouldn’t get pounded, she expelled a sigh of relief on a burst of air. Then she lifted her gaze to find Super Stud’s face barely inches from hers. His voice came out low and sexy as he looked deep into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She cut her eyes over at the stack of boxes piled against his arm and shoulder. “I should be asking you that.”

  “I’m fine. They don’t weigh much.”

  Based on the way the young man on the other side of the stack was struggling to pull the boxes off of Gorgeous, she questioned his definition of heavy.

  She took a deep breath.

  Big mistake. Her nose should be stuck in the opposite corner, far away from the exquisite scent simmering off of him. He smelled like every woman’s secret fantasy. The sultry aftershave had to cost more per ounce than her weekly grocery allotment.

  Against her better judgment, she angled her face up to the man who had her pinned against the wall.

  Bigger mistake.

  Those blue eyes twinkled down at her. “I’m Josh. And you are?”

  Not supposed to be standing this close to someone so hot. Not when men were allowed nowhere on her radar right now. As if to go on record as being in conflict with that decision, her nipples chose that moment to tighten.

  He smiled, killing off more brain cells in one second than she’d destroyed during her drinking days. He angled his head in question. “I’m only asking for a name.”

  Attractive, silver-tongued devils had been her downfall for years–at least part of her downfall. After one really stupid, alcohol-laced decision that almost got her killed, she’d stuck mental “Do Not Touch” Post-it notes on any sexy male.

  But she was no longer that woman who’d been led around by men, starving for approval and confusing lust with love. She’d raised herself from the ashes and stretched her phoenix wings, building a new life. Straightening her back, she lifted herself another inch, which brought her eye level with his chin when he lifted his head, giving her space.

  “I’m Patricia,” she told him. Boxes bumped and banged their way back onto the cart, reminding her that she owed Josh a thank you. “I appreciate you saving me from a box beating.”

  His gaze shifted with a different look, one that assessed her from head to toe with a glint of admiration. When he spoke, his voice was husky soft, just loud enough for her ears. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t allow a box, or anything else, to beat you. You may be beautiful and…tiny…but you’re no pushover. Are you?”

  “No, I’m not.” That this stranger saw what no one close to her had acknowledged struck a chord deep inside, one that she hadn’t realized, until now, that she’d wanted someone to notice.

  Silly thought. He knew nothing about her.

  His smile returned and blood surged through her body to every part except her brain. That had to be the reason she had yet to ask him to back up so they weren’t in so intimate a position.

  Or the reason she had the ridiculous urge to know what those lips would feel like on hers.

  Forget the Post-it notes.

  She needed a neon sign for this one.

  The elevator jerked into motion and Gorgeous moved back to the wall opposite the stack of boxes that were now back under control.

  The elevator doors creaked open at the fifth floor.

  When the doors opened, Gorgeous Josh held his hand out for her to exit first. Her heart rate kicked up when she realized he was following one step behind her.

  At the door to the central receiving area for the task force offices, he leaned over and opened the door.

  Oh, great. A task force agent.

  That was enough to kill any lingering hormonal overload. If there was one thing Trish wanted no part of, it was someone who worked with her brother. She’d been through a learning curve recently and no matter how much the year of training with Arnie had taught her how to think, how to assess, she’d failed miserably when she’d misjudged Colbert. She’d thought he was one of the good guys, and interested in her for the right reasons. That went to show she had a long way to go, in particular when it came to men.

  She walked into the empty room and turned to Josh, wanting to leave this on a friendly, but final note. “Thanks again for your help.” What now? Have a good day? Lame.

  “Trish? Is that you?”

  Thank goodness. Trish relaxed at the sound of Leanne Witherspoon’s voice and turned toward the office door that had been ajar, but now opened wide.

  The blow-your-mind beautiful daughter of a Florida senator came strutting out in stiletto heels that took her close to six feet tall. Her black trousers were paired with a matching tailored jacket that covered ample D cups as sedately as one could with a figure like that. With honey-blonde hair and a bubbly personality, Leanne had a reputation for getting along with women as well as men.

  Trish had heard Zane praise Leanne’s intelligence and the way she managed an office full of men, taking no crap from any of them.

  Stepping into the hug Leanne offered, Trish said, “How’s it going, Sugar?”

  “Same old, same old.” When they broke the embrace, Leanne chided, “What’s taken you so long to visit again?”

  “I’ve been busier than a stump-tail cow in a fly shooing contest.” Acquiring her unique inventory, managing the everyday running of the business, getting the word out to her growing list of wealthy customers and watching for a stalker was time consuming.

  Leanne’s gaze moved past Trish. “Hello, Josh.”

  “Leanne.”

  “You here for a meeting?”

  “Just picking up a few things.” He turned to Trish and said, “Nice to meet you.”

  Saved from having to squash the interest she’d seen in his eyes, she should be relieved, but now that he was walking away she had a moment of disappointment. Which was ridiculous. And that would be why all men are off limits at this point. What was wrong with her today? She turned back to Leanne. “If my brother’s busy–”

  “Oh, no, he’s not. He said he was expecting you. I buzzed him when I heard you out here. Said he’d be right out, but I’m glad you’re here. Zane keeps bragging on you and your inventory. I’ve got to get down to your shop soon.”

  “You should do that. I’d love to show you some of my new consignments. One’s a seventeenth century armoire with spectacular detail.” Trish launched into a description of the cabinet.

  “That sounds just like what I want for my bedroom.”

  Which was why Trish had mentioned it. One of the things her customers loved was that she remembered their individual tastes and wish lists, and let them in on unique pieces that were perfect fits for their needs.

  Ironically, it was the single good result of growing up with
the dysfunctional need to please every person in the world. She’d gotten really good at listening–at paying attention to the details about people, and it had paid off in spades when she’d finally gotten her act together and shifted that need for approval into a client services skill. Zane had told Trish about Leanne’s recent move into a townhome she was furnishing with a mix of old and new. Trish had filed that away for the perfect moment.

  Leanne’s eyes sparkled again. “I can’t wait. I’m so excited for you tonight.”

  “Thanks. I’m nervous just thinking about it.” Trish’s brain buzzed with anticipation. She had the opportunity of a lifetime. She might be the underdog of the four finalists, but that meant she was the scrapper who would not give up the coveted bone easily.

  Leanne’s cell phone jangled. She answered, “Witherspoon,” listened a moment and said, “Sure, I’ll meet you at the front desk and pick it up.” Ending the call, she told Trish, “Be right back.”

  Leanne opened the door to the hall and voices rumbled, becoming more distinct as Leanne left and the door opened wider to the reception area. A man said, “We had to move the meeting to five. Mac’s coming in.”

  Trish recognized that voice as belonging to Ben Trenton, Zane’s best friend who worked in the research lab. He’d cut his hair micro-short since she’d seen him a few weeks ago, and wore black glasses that gave the thirty-four-year-old an air of authority she’d expect of someone older.

  An attractive, redheaded, fortyish woman Trish remembered from the holiday party, but couldn’t name, entered ahead of Ben. No taller than Trish, the redhead wore a tailored navy business suit on her plump body. Creamy skin the color of raw sugar and striking, dark-brown Cuban eyes suggested the brassy hair might not be natural. The woman had an air of intellectual arrogance that had grated on Trish the first time they’d met.

  Trish had wasted her time trying to engage...Rhonda–that was the woman’s name–in a conversation during the party after the woman had commented on her family’s aristocratic ancestry. Trish had taken that opportunity to ask about the type of family heirlooms passed down, thinking to make the conversation about Rhonda. But the woman had pretty much blown off Trish as though she’d only endured the conversation out of manners more than interest.