LITMIR.BIZ

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against the wall, watching the indicator on the ancient elevator inch its way from one to three. For the thousandth time, she mentally rehearsed her speech.

       Hey, Gabe. Thanks for rescuing me in the park last week. Even though I really didn’t need rescuing. Can I ask you for one more teeny, tiny favor? Help find my brother who got separated from me in foster care when I was thirteen.

      Ugh. It didn’t sound any better in her head than it had in the living/bedroom of her tiny studio apartment. But she was running out of options.

      Devin groaned. She hated, hated, hated asking for help. Especially when she didn’t have anything to offer in return. Well, nothing a guy like Gabe would want, anyway.

      She ran through a few more variations of her speech but wasn’t any closer to knowing what she would say when the doors opened.

      “Can I help you?” A pretty, way-too-pert receptionist greeted Devin when she stepped off the elevator.

      “I’m here to see Gabe Nelson.”

      “Do you have an appointment?” She clicked a few buttons on her desktop computer. “I don’t see anything on his schedule until after lunch.”

      “Um, no. Not exactly.” Devin tugged self-consciously on her T-shirt. “I’m a friend of the family.”

      A scowl creased the receptionist’s forehead. “Let me see what I can do. Who should I tell him is here?”

      “Devin.”

      “Just Devin?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

      Devin hitched her bag up on her shoulder and crossed her arms. “He’ll know who it is.”

      The receptionist waved her over to a line of chairs against the wall, and Devin sat while the woman spoke in low tones into the telephone. A few minutes later, Gabe rounded the corner, the confused expression on his face not detracting one damned bit from his hotness. In a charcoal-gray suit, pale blue dress shirt and burgundy tie, his dark-framed glasses made him look like a grown up, uber-sexy Harry Potter.

      “Devin. What brings you here? Everything okay?”

      She stood and wiped her damp hands on her cargo pants. “Can we talk in private?” The last thing she needed was the entire office hearing her sob story. Bad enough she had to tell Gabe.

      “Sure.” He led her past the receptionist and down a narrow corridor to his office. It was Spartan but functional. Government-issue desk. Two guest chairs. Filing cabinets along the walls with an array of photos. She spotted Holly, Gabe’s parents, his younger sister, Noelle, and what she assumed was Ivy, his twin, a fashion photographer who was always off on some shoot or another. One big, smiling, happy family. Something she sure as hell never had.

      He crossed to a minifridge in the corner, opened it and held up a plastic bottle. “Want a water? Or I can have Stephanie get you some coffee?”

      “Water’s fine, thanks,” she croaked. Nerves were strange things. Moistening her palms. Drying her throat.

      He handed her the bottle, took one for himself and sat behind the desk, motioning for her to do the same in one of the guest chairs opposite him. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

      He cracked open his water bottle, tipped his head back and took a long chug. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she crossed her legs to control the tingling at her core.

      Fan-fucking-tastic. First chest hair. Now this. What would set her off next? His toenails?

      “I brought you something.” She dug into her handbag. Starting with a little bribe couldn’t hurt. “To say thanks. For the other night.”

      Gabe tilted his head and gave her a cocky smile.

      “The cab ride. Freak.” She plunked a Tupperware container onto the desk. “Arroz con pollo. It’s homemade.”

      “You cook?”

      She shrugged. “I didn’t say whose home.”

      He laughed, a low, smoky sound that made her insides flutter. “You came all the way downtown to bring me food?”

      “You looked a little peaked.” She twisted off the cap of her water bottle and sipped, the liquid soothing her throat but doing nothing for her overheated libido. “But if you don’t want it, I can take it back.”

      He slapped a palm on top of the container and slid it toward him. “My mother always told me it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

      Devin looked down at her lap and pretended to be fascinated with her fingernails, hoping it masked the stab of longing at the mention of his mother. All her mother had ever taught her was how to roll a joint and make a mean vodka martini. Like James Bond, shaken, not stirred. Oh, and that nothing—and no one—was forever.

      “So.” Gabe put the container in the fridge and sat back at his desk, resting his chin on his fist. “Here we are. In private. Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”

      She shifted to the edge of her seat and raised her head to meet his gaze. Damn, those storm-cloud eyes were distracting. All dark and distant and moody. She blinked twice to break the spell. “I need your...”

      The words stuck in her throat, and she started again. “I need your help to find my brother.”

       There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

      He sat silent and unmoving, the eyes behind his glasses unreadable, the only sound in the room the hum of the minifridge.

       No, it wasn’t so bad. It was worse.

      * * *

      HOLY SHIT.

      She had a brother? And, more importantly, she didn’t know where he was?

      He’d barely had time to process this information, much less respond, when the door burst open and a slick, blond head popped in.

      “Where’s the Rasmusson file?”

      Only Jack would enter his office without knocking. And only Jack would hone in on Devin like a heat-seeking missile, sidling into the other guest chair and pulling it closer to her.

      “I gave it to Stephanie.”

      So you can beat it. Now.

      “Well, hello, gorgeous.” Gabe’s skin prickled as Jack eyed Devin up and down, lingering a little too long on the tattoo peeking out from the V neck of her T-shirt. Was that a bird? Or a butterfly? Knowing her, it was probably something more provocative, like an arrow with the words “place tongue here.”

      “Gabe’s been holding out on me. I’m Jack Kentfield, the real brains of this operation.”

      Gabe kicked at the leg of his desk. So much for his psychic powers. Jack wasn’t going down without a fight. “Easy, Casanova. How do you know she’s not a victim? Or a witness?”

      Jack shrugged. “You always meet with them in the conference room.”

      “Devin Padilla.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m friends with Gabe’s sister Holly.”

      “Any friend of Holly is a friend of mine.” Jack brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, making Gabe’s skin crawl all over again.

      “Please. You’ve met my sister what, twice?”

      “Three times, but who’s counting?”

      “You, apparently.” Gabe clenched and unclenched his fists under the cover of his desk, fighting the urge to pop his colleague in the jaw. The only thing that stopped him was Devin, who was looking at Jack as if he was dog doo on the bottom of her boots. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to take Devin to lunch.”

      “You were?” She cast a sideways glance at him, her forehead wrinkled.

      “Fine, I can take a

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