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  Right. The same way she loved her comfy old blue sweats with the hole in the knee.

  Evan’s gaze probed hers. “Friends?”

  “Gee golly, I hope so,” drawled Brody.

  Mallory glanced up in surprise at the sound of his voice. He was smiling, but his eyes held a glint of steel.

  “Otherwise I’m going to have to beat the living daylights out of you, mister. Hands off.” This time the menace was unmistakable.

  Evan dropped her fingers as if they’d burned him and smiled at Brody like a man who was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. “I—uh c” For once, the silver-tongued anchorman was at a loss for words.

  Ignoring him, Brody slid into the booth and reached across the Formica table to trace the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. “Sorry I took so long, honey.”

  Damn, he was good. She glanced at Evan to see if he was buying it, but she couldn’t tell for sure. His face was frozen in the ingratiating-smile position. Either he didn’t know quite what to make of Brody Hunter or he was scared spitless. Maybe both.

  “Was your call bad news?”

  “The worst, dammit. I’ve got to run.” Cupping her jaw, Brody rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “Will you miss me?”

  Even though she knew the whole thing was part of an act put on for Evan’s benefit, she trembled in reaction. “Desperately.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” He smiled into her eyes, kissed the tip of his index finger, and pressed it against her mouth.

  Mallory sighed. Good? He was great.

  After one last lingering look, Brody stood, then turned to Evan, offering a hand. “Brody Hunter. Don’t believe I caught your name.”

  Evan blinked. “Corby. Evan Corby.”

  “Right. You’re the one who’s engaged to Mallory’s sister.”

  “And you’re Hunter, you say? Then that makes you Mallory’s c” He paused as if he weren’t quite sure how to fill in the blank. Boyfriend? Date? Lover?

  “Yeah.” Brody’s voice was husky. “Mallory’s. All Mallory’s.” He captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

  Mallory’s eyelids fluttered shut and she gave an involuntary shiver. Great? He was flat out incredible.

  Evan muttered something she didn’t quite catch, still preoccupied as she was with Brody’s amazing technique.

  “Mallory?” Brody’s voice was a raspy whisper, as intimate as a caress.

  She shivered again. “Hmm?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Mallory lifted her heavy eyelids to see Evan disappearing through the archway that led to the dining room.

  “Yes, and I’ve got to go too. But we still have things to discuss. What say we get together again tonight?”

  Was he asking her out on a real date? More important, did she want him to ask her out on a real date? She did. Unfortunately c “I can’t. I promised my mother I’d show up there for dinner. She’s having some of the relatives over.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “To honor the happy couple?”

  She nodded.

  “On the entertainment scale, I’d rank that right up there with an infomercial marathon.”

  She laughed. “It won’t be that bad. Aunt Chloe talks too much, but Uncle Toby’s fun. The only part I dread is dealing with the whispers and sympathetic looks. You’d swear Lindsey had stolen my last functioning kidney instead of my boyfriend.”

  “What if you brought a date? Would your relatives see you in a different light then?”

  “Oh, Brody, that would solve everything. But I can’t ask you to do it.”

  “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Think of it as a dry run for the wedding. What time should I pick you up?”

  “Seven?”

  “I’ll be there. And Mallory c?”

  She tipped her face up expectantly.

  He leaned down, shoved her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, and brushed her lips with his.

  The light pressure of his mouth barely qualified as a kiss, but it was enough to send her blood pressure soaring. Her heart raced. Heat enveloped her. Yet somehow, in the midst of all the physical turmoil, her confusion evaporated. She stared at Brody and saw the truth in a moment of crystal clarity.

  “You’re not gay.” The words emerged in a nearly inaudible whisper.

  Brody smiled and her poor, overworked heart skipped a beat. “No, I’m not. See you tonight.”

  Dumbfounded, she watched him saunter to the door. The man practically oozed testosterone; she wasn’t the only woman in the diner with her eyes glued to his backside. Why had she believed for one second that he was gay?

  Because of Kyle, she realized. And speak of the devil c

  Kyle strolled in just as Brody was leaving. They exchanged a few words and Kyle shot her a wary look.

  You should be leery, old buddy. While they shopped for the perfect dress this afternoon, she intended to chew him up one side and down the other.

  Brody rang Mallory’s doorbell at a quarter to eight. He’d been running a little behind all day.

  “You’re late,” she said in lieu of hello.

  “Sorry. Time got away from me.” He smiled.

  She didn’t smile back. She didn’t ask him in, either. She just stood there in the doorway, staring at him as if he were something that had oozed up out of the sewer. Doggone it, she wasn’t just irritated. She was mad. Nail-spitting, tooth-gnashing, foot-stomping, ass-chewing mad.

  On to Plan B. He pumped up the wattage on his grin. Times like this he could use a nice set of dimples.

  “For you,” he said, and presented her with an armful of red carnations. The way he figured it, she’d be less likely to deck him if her hands were full.

  She frowned. “Thanks. But if you think a few flowers are going to get you off the hook, then you’d better think again.”

  “I should have called.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “In a way I’m glad I didn’t, though, or I’d have missed this.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Missed what?”

  “Your temper. You’re damned cute when you’re ticked off.”

  Her expression fluctuated between pleasure and irritation before finally leveling off somewhere around tolerance. She stepped back out of the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “You may as well come in.”

  He walked across the threshold, waving a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts like a white flag. “Just in case the flowers didn’t get me through the door,” he explained, and was rewarded by a reluctant chuckle.

  “You’re a—”

  “Man in a million?” he suggested.

  “Sure. If that’s a synonym for pain in the rear.” Mallory buried her face in the flowers, breathing deeply. “I guess you’re off the hook, though. Carnations are my favorites.”

  They’d been Jenna’s favorites too. “I thought they might be. You remind me of someone I used to know, someone who loved carnations.”

  “Someone you cared about?” Those eyes of hers saw too much.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about Jenna, so he laid the candy on Mallory’s trunk-slash-coffee table and forced a smile. “We’d better get going. I’d hate to make a bad first impression.”

  “Too late. When I called my mother fifteen minutes ago to tell her we’d been unavoidably detained, she muttered something about curdled hollandaise and rude, ungrateful guests. The woman is not a happy camper. Maybe you ought to save the flowers to pacify her.”

  “Got it covered. Hers are in the Jeep.”

  Mallory shot him a calculating look. “Sounds like you’ve had a lot of practice soothing ruffled feathers.”

  “Some,” he admitted. “Shall we go? I’d hate to miss dessert.”

  “Just let me take care of the flowers first. Even if they are just a guilt offering, they’re beautiful, Brody. Thank you.”

  She moved with a graceful economy of motion, arranging the carnations in a cut-glass vase, filling it with water, then
collecting her coat and purse.

  “Ready?” he asked, taking her arm.

  If he hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed her slight flinch. But she recovered quickly. The next instant a teasing smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been ready for ages.”

  He pressed one hand to his chest in mock pain. “I thought you said I was off the hook.”

  “That just means your transgression’s forgiven, not forgotten.” She flipped on the outside lights and locked the front door. Then they walked side by side toward his Jeep. He liked the feel of her next to him, soft and warm and feminine.

  “That’s odd.” She paused on the curb.

  “What is?” Brody hoped she wasn’t referring to the abnormally rapid cadence of his breathing. Touching her—even touching her through all those layers of clothing—triggered some pretty powerful responses.

  “There’s a light on at the Yanos’.” She gestured toward the house across the street.

  “It’s dark out, Mallory. People generally do turn on the lights at night.”

  She steered him across the pavement, avoiding a pothole half-full of water. “Not when they’re on vacation in Barbados.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “You realize it’s probably just someone who’s come in to feed the cats and water the plants?”

  “They don’t have any cats. And I’m the one they asked to water the plants. I’m the one with the spare key.” She dug it out of her bag.

  “This isn’t very smart,” Brody protested. “If it’s some other friend or relative, you’re going to feel like a fool, and if it’s a burglar, you’d be smarter to call the cops.”

  “Hey, Brody!”

  “What?”

  “You’re a cop. Consider yourself called.” With a nimble twist of her supple body, she slipped from his restraining grip and dashed across her neighbors’ lawn.

  Brody damned near tripped over the curb trying to catch up. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to a halt on the front step. “Look, this is no joke. If you suspect wrongdoing, let the professionals handle it. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

  She stared expressionlessly at his hand on her arm. Her body quivered almost imperceptibly, as if she fought a private battle there in the shadows.

  Brody couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he suspected it had little to do with the lights at her neighbors’ house. Depths. Oh, yes. The lady had depths.

  Suddenly Mallory cocked her head to one side. “Did you hear that? Someone’s moving around inside.”

  “I heard it,” he whispered. “And whoever’s inside is going to hear us if you don’t lower your voice.” He tightened his grip on her arm, half-afraid she’d use her key to sneak inside if he let her go.

  “What should we do?”

  “Not one damn thing without backup. Go call nine-one-one. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

  The lights went out, and he swore under his breath, pulling Mallory into the deeper shadows behind a bushy mugho pine.

  The door opened a cautious inch at a time, and a man emerged. A big man. A bulldozer of a man. Taller than Brody and a good eighty pounds heavier. He probed the shadows with a flashlight. “Nobody out here,” he called to someone in the house. “Must have been your imagination.” He retreated into the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Big boy, huh?” Brody whispered. “Could you see his face?”

  Mallory shook her head. “No, and I’m betting the Yanos never have, either. Should I call nine-one-one now?”

  He nodded. “Tell the dispatcher Detective Hunter’s on the scene requesting backup on a possible burglary attempt. Give the address and tell them no sirens.”

  “Got it.”

  Brody gave her hand a final squeeze of encouragement, and she slipped back across the street.

  As soon as she was gone, he realized his mistake. He should have asked that the backup come down the alley. Since his Jeep was the only vehicle parked along the street the entire length of the block, it stood to reason the burglars must have parked in the alley. So obviously, they wouldn’t be leaving by the front door.

  The backyard was fenced. Brody eyed the seven-foot-high cedar obstacle in dismay. Damn, he hated fences. Ought to be a city ordinance against them. Every time he tackled one, he either tore his clothes to shreds or pulled a muscle in his back.

  Oh, well. Maybe this time would be an exception. He took a running start and vaulted over the top.

  So much for exceptions. Although his clothing and muscles survived intact for a change, he damn near gelded himself when he landed in a lilac bush.

  Grunting and swearing under his breath, he staggered to his feet. Dammit to hell and back, he hoped they hadn’t heard his crash landing inside the house. A hope, he soon realized, doomed to disappointment.

  The French doors onto the deck flew open and two dark-clad figures emerged at a run. One of them tripped over the barbecue grill, stifling a curse.

  Brody didn’t see any weapons on display, but since he wasn’t armed himself, confrontation didn’t seem like the wisest move. Not when the odds were two to one in their favor. Damn near three to one, considering the size of the guy who’d peeked out the front door earlier.

  The burglars took off across the yard at a fast clip. No time now to wait for backup.

  Hugging the shadows and nursing his damaged equipment, he followed the muffled noise of their retreat to the back gate. Moving at top limping speed, he stumbled into the alley just in time to see a vehicle running without lights turn right onto Park Boulevard.

  Damn. Double damn. Too dark to read the license plate. But as the bulky vehicle turned onto the lighted street, he realized it was a pickup, a late-model two-tone gray Ford with a matching canopy.

  “Let me get this straight, Hunter.” Regan Armstrong’s grin set his teeth on edge.

  She had cornered him at the coffee machine. Mallory was in the police station’s reception area, rereading the transcript of her statement.

  “You stumble onto a robbery in progress, our first real lead in the case, then instead of waiting for backup, you hop the fence, making enough noise in the process to alert the burglars. Then, while you’re standing around with your thumb up your butt, they make a clean escape. And you don’t even get the license number of the getaway vehicle. Smooth move, hotshot.”

  “What brings you downtown this time of night, Regan? You’re not on duty.”

  “Stopped by to check next week’s duty schedule.” She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “You wouldn’t be trying to change the subject, would you, Detective?”

  “Hell, no. I wouldn’t dream of it. What can I tell you?”

  She gave him a speculative look. “To start with, you might explain what were you doing in that part of town.”

  “Picking me up. We were on our way to dinner.” Mallory, having survived her brush with bureaucracy, had come looking for Brody. “And if you’ll excuse us, we’re late.”

  “Nice save,” said Brody as soon as they were safely out of earshot. “Thanks.”

  “That woman doesn’t seem to like you much.”

  “Officer Armstrong doesn’t like anybody much.”

  “But especially you.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “She’s got it in for me because I got her promotion. At least that’s her view of the situation. Personally, I don’t think the chief would have made her detective even if I hadn’t been in the picture.”

  “Why? Because she’s a woman?” Brody could practically see Mallory’s feminist hackles rise.

  “No, because she’s erratic and unpredictable. Officer Armstrong runs through partners the way a hay-fever sufferer runs through tissues, the way the Highlander runs through evil immortals, the way Liz Taylor runs through husbands, the way—”

  Mallory held up one hand like a traffic cop. “Enough already. I get it.” She stopped next to his Jeep. “What time is it, anyway? I’m starving.”

  �
��Five after ten.”

  “That late? No wonder Mother was so snippy on the phone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault this time.” She shrugged. “Who knew giving a statement would take that long?”

  She looked so depressed, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her close.

  Despite his earlier experiences with her abnormal responses, he wasn’t prepared for her reaction. Mallory didn’t flinch or jerk away this time. Instead, she went very still and stiff, as if she’d suddenly turned to stone. Or ice.

  He could feel her body close to his, smell the faint, citrusy fragrance of her perfume, hear her quick, gasping respirations. But her eyes were empty, as if her spirit had retreated to some secret inner sanctum. Fear prickled along the back of his neck. “Mallory? What’s wrong?”

  She blinked and her eyes came back into focus. “Nothing.” She stepped away from him, putting a careful distance between them. Her laughter sounded a false note. “I’m just tired. Please take me home.”

  “Why? What’s the problem? Did I do something to make you angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “You look angry.”

  “I told you. I’m tired.”

  “A minute ago you said you were hungry. How about we drop by Denny’s and grab something? They’re open all night.”

  “Sorry, Brody. I just don’t feel like it.”

  “We could get some takeout if you’d rather.”

  “No thanks.”

  Confused, he studied her. She wouldn’t even look at him. Kyle had said she had a problem relating to men. Obviously, she didn’t like being touched. Yet earlier, at the diner, she hadn’t shied away from him. Of course, that had been make-believe, part of their “act.” At Porky’s, she’d been concentrating on convincing her ex-boyfriend she wasn’t nursing a broken heart. And at Porky’s, he suddenly realized, she’d still been thinking of him as Kyle’s friend, a nice, nonthreatening homosexual. Now she knew the truth.

  “Mallory?” He pitched his voice low.

  “What?”

  “You know our little charade isn’t going to convince anyone if you go catatonic every time I touch you.”