LITMIR.BIZ

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turned to admire the skyscraper view.

      “Make yourself at home.”

      She glanced back over her shoulder. The room was empty. “Detective?”

      Where had he gone? Ally peered through an arched doorway. A massive mahogany table with twenty high-back chairs filled the room, a huge oil painting on one wall and a gilt-framed mirror on the other. The flower arrangement in the center probably cost the same as her monthly mortgage payment.

      She wandered back into the living room, taking in the plush furniture and museum- quality paintings. One in particular caught her eye. Swirls of frothing green and blue swept across the canvas, a vision of serenity with a seaside cottage perched on the edge of a sandy beach.

      A door closed somewhere, snapping her out of her trance. She investigated another hallway. Thick silence draped the dark passage and she couldn’t help a little shiver. Crossing her arms, she turned in a circle. She’d crawled through dank tunnels, huddled in creepy nooks with who knew what, rolled on a tar pitch roof and run around in the dirt barefoot. No freakin’ way was she sitting on any of the furniture in this place. Not until she’d had a long, hot shower. Gnawing on her lower lip, she made a beeline for a closed door near the entry.

      “Uhm…Greg?”

      A wide expanse of bronzed skin greeted her when the door swung open. A lucky bead of water traveled down over chiseled pecks, ducking in and out of washboard abs before vanishing into a tantalizing trail of dark golden hair. Hair that disappeared into the top of a low-slung towel. Make that a cold shower.

      Mouth dry, she forced her gaze away and tightened her arms around her ribcage. No touching. She focused on a cream porcelain lamp sitting on a deep mahogany side table. “That’s a lovely lamp. An antique?”

      His deep chuckle found a whole swarm of poor, defenseless nerve endings. “I wouldn’t know.”

      Of course he wouldn’t. He was clearly one of those men who spent every spare minute in the gym or some woman’s bed. More than likely he used books as paperweights.

      From the look of those bulging biceps, he could probably bench-press her.

      That doesn’t matter. She wanted more in a man than the number on his weight machine. Like an IQ in the triple digits, the desire for self-improvement and an appreciation of the arts.

      Her gaze returned like a homing pigeon. Marsing stood with a shoulder braced against the doorframe. Indulging her depraved senses, she soaked him in. His muscled calves, strong thighs, the irritating disturbance of a fluffy white towel and—oh, momma—his chest.

      More than his gorgeous, underwear-model-perfect physique, the strength and air of calm he exuded made his seem so…capable. The kind of guy you could depend on. A perfect place to rest your weary head, and other, uhm, body parts. Oh, man, she was out of control. Heart pounding, flushed and tingly, she bit her lip and met his eyes.

      He raised his eyebrows. “Shall I remove the towel for you?”

      “Would you?”

      She gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, heat flooding her cheeks. Marsing laughed. Ally spun away and lit out for the other side of the living room like she had a wild badger on her tail.

      Deep breath in, then out. She regained her equilibrium and managed to remember why she was there in the first place. Sadly, it had nothing to do with ogling a detective.

      “What’s going on?” Spread before her like an exquisite buffet of sensory delight, downtown had begun to light up as night fell outside the windows. “How did you know where I live? Why did you show up like that?”

      “We didn’t know about Freddy until about ten minutes after you left. The guy we arrested at the park shared that nugget en route to the precinct.” He paced the room, his fingers buried in his damp hair, all tense and tough and manly. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in all this. I don’t know why Smith was ordered to…” He cut himself off, glancing at her. “I will find out, though.”

      “How did you find me?”

      “Locator chip in the cruiser. They activated Smith’s and sent me his location. I got there as fast as I could, Ally. Smith has been with the department for ten years. He’s the last guy I would suspect of doing something like this.”

      Hating her ill-fated attraction to a man millions of miles out of her league, she turned away and shrugged with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “Are you planning on wandering around undressed all night?”

      His reflection in the glass looked down and grinned. “It’s comfortable.”

      “Go get dressed, for crying out loud.”

      Still grinning, he disappeared into the room behind him. Ally kept her feet firmly rooted to the floor. Overactive and underused hormones would only get her in trouble.

      Something buzzed. An intercom? The low rumble of Detective Marsing’s voice drifted from the bedroom. A minute later he emerged, dressed in black slacks and a white Oxford with black and baby-blue stripes. The elevator doors opened and a tall man stepped off, the silver badge glinting on his belt.

      “Lucas,” Marsing said.

      “Marsing.”

      Lucas focused on her. The urge to hide behind the floor-length drapes tugged at her, but she resisted. His ice-blue gaze traveled down then back up more slowly. On second thought, she’d go with hiding. As her fingers curled into the thick fabric of the curtains, Marsing turned and pinned her to the spot.

      “Ally, this is Lucas Jones, a detective with the neighboring precinct. We go way back; playmates from our academy days. Lucas, this is Ally.”

      To her undying relief, Lucas’ gaze flickered away from her. The sardonic twist of his lips must be what passed for a smile. “Only you, Marsing. Only you.”

      “Whatever. You scare the shit out of most people, but I know your mother. And all your sisters.”

      “Don’t talk about my sisters. Unless you want to get pounded again.” Lucas cracked his knuckles. “I still can’t believe you snuck off with little Beth-Anne. Necking with my sister. Gross, man.”

      “I was sixteen. You plan on bringing that up till we’re eighty?”

      “The trauma lives on.” Lucas clutched a hand over his heart. “Right here.”

      Greg chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. What’ve you got?”

      Lucas’ icy gaze focused on her again. This time, irritation helped her withstand the frigid attention and she lifted her chin. He turned away, dismissing her.

      “Not a lot, but word on the street isn’t good. The big guns want her taken care of. As of yesterday.”

      “What the hell for?”

      “No one knows and, if they do, they’re not saying. All we know for sure is she’s in one big pile of shit.” Expression grim, Lucas glanced at her.

      On one level, Ally understood detectives faced danger, murder and mayhem in general on a daily basis. Still, they could have acted as if they actually cared. For all the concern they showed, Marsing and Lucas could have been discussing the weather.

       “Kinda cloudy today, Joe.”

       “Yep, sure ’nough. Mighty hot for this early in the summer.”

       “Got that right. Wonder if it’ll rain?”

       “Nah. Should hold off for a while yet, Billy Bob.”

      She wasn’t sure why her imaginary voices were always Southern. Hysteria-tinged laughter bubbled.

      The elevator’s musical chime announced an arrival. The elevator doors opened and female chatter spilled out. Giggles punctuated every other comment.

      Oh,

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