“We’re handcuffed! There is no just you!”

He pushed her behind him, where she concentrated on breathing. Not easy. Only a moment ago she’d been breathless for an entirely different reason, and now with the adrenaline flying through her, she felt dizzy, light-headed and sick.

She heard another drawer open and then caught the glint of something-

A knife. He’d grabbed a knife.

Oh, God. Her hands were on his back, smooth and sleek and shirtless.

Defenseless.

Not defenseless, she reminded herself. He was trained; he knew what to do.

She hoped.

He moved, and without any choice she followed, thankful at least that they were on familiar territory for him because she couldn’t see a damn thing.

God, she was tired of the dark. After tonight she wanted never to be in the dark again.

“Careful,” he said, craning his neck to speak softly to her. “Stay behind me.”

Which she’d be glad to do, except that left him even more defenseless because he had one hand twisted behind his back, attached to her.

Oh, God.

He flattened them against a hard surface. Given the icy-cold steel that hit her bare shoulders, she realized it was the refrigerator. She bit back her gasp, and with her free hand attempted to right her tank top. But it was twisted around her and not cooperating-

“Stop.”

Yes, she understood he wanted her to stop fiddling around, but hell if she’d be chased around the house by a burglar while half-naked.

“Shh,” he added, as if she’d dare say a word, and he brought their joined hands to her belly, maybe as comfort, but more likely to hold her in place so she didn’t give them away.

She heard a light squeak and caught the vague outline of the double kitchen doors opening, which had her heart launching into her throat.

Ian’s hand tightened on her stomach. Definite warning.

But she wasn’t going anywhere, she was paralyzed in fear.

A shadow stepped into the kitchen, crouched low, holding something that looked like a-

Oh, God, a gun.

Then Ian stepped into the middle of the room-dragging her with him-and executed some amazing sort of roundhouse kick that sent the intruder flying. It would have sent her flying too, just from Ian’s momentum, but he grabbed her and they both fell to the floor.

Ian immediately rolled toward the intruder, but what exactly he did after that, Chloe couldn’t be sure, she couldn’t see, she was too busy trying to keep out of Ian’s way while attached at the wrist.

“Got him,” he said grimly.

She came up to her knees. She realized Ian was on his as well, at her side. “Who is he?” she whispered.

“No idea.” He was holding the guy down with his free hand. With his other he tried to reach into his pocket and instead came up against the cuffs. “Damn it. My cell phone. It’s in my pocket. Can you-”

She slid her fingers into his pocket. Only a few minutes ago she’d been in his pants for an entirely different reason.

“Call 9-1-1,” he said.

Sitting back on her heels she did just that, thinking of how just a short time ago her plans for this evening had been a few cookies and more work. Well, the evening had veered just about as far from her plans as it possibly could have.

CHLOE SAT IN A cold, hard metal chair at the police station sipping the water Ian had brought her before he’d gone to talk with a group of police officers.

Each of whom repeatedly kept glancing over at her.

Ian’s intruder had been ID’d from his driver’s license, but once the police had arrived and had shone their flashlights on them all, Chloe hadn’t needed to see the guy’s ID because she’d recognized him.

He was one of Steve and Al’s employees, and at the sight of him and the gun he might have used on them, she instantly realized two things. One, this case of Ian’s was apparently far more dangerous than she could have imagined. And two, given the clench in her heart every time she so much as looked at Ian, she’d fallen for him all over again.

Which actually brought her to a third problem-did he think she was connected to his case?

Was she…good God…a suspect?

She shivered wildly, and almost before she’d finished, he was there, wrapping his own zippered hoodie sweatshirt around her shoulders. “Almost done,” he promised in a low voice, giving her arms a quick squeeze.

She hugged herself tightly and didn’t look at him. Looking at him screwed with her head because she couldn’t seem to reconcile the man she’d played tonsil hockey with, with the FBI agent with secrets.

“Chloe?” he asked. “You okay?”

Taking a deep breath, she bit the bullet and asked, “Am I a suspect in something, Ian?”

“McCall,” one of the men called out, gesturing with his chin for Ian to join them.

She just looked at him, wanting, needing, an answer.

His eyes held regret. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t escape her that he was avoiding her question.

“Chloe. I will, I promise.”

“I think I’ll just go home, and-”

“You can’t.”

Oh, yeah, he was definitely bad for her mental health. “Why not?”

He grimaced, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Because there are questions.”

“Theirs? Or yours?” She could see his colleagues waving him over, and she shut her eyes. “So. I am a suspect. Do you kiss all your suspects like you kissed me?”

“Chloe-”

“Just go. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get the hell out of here, go to bed and sleep off yet another bad Valentine’s Day.”

She didn’t open her eyes, and after a moment, felt him move away. She nodded to herself, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her heart.

IAN SET DOWN A MUG OF hot tea in front of Chloe. As peace treaties went, it was a poor one, but it was the best he could do.

Without looking at him, she pulled the mug closer to her, and as she did, his sweatshirt-too long for her by half-fell back from her wrist. It was rubbed raw, chafed by the damn handcuffs, and he stared at it, feeling sick. “Let me get the first aid kit-”

“I’m fine.” She said this curtly, and covered her wrist back up. “Just ask me whatever it is you think I know so I can go home.”

“I know you’re upset.”

“No.” But it came out in such a way that made it obvious she was upset and also that she considered him a first-class asshole.

He sighed, and pulling a chair over to hers, he straddled it, then steepled his fingers along the back, setting his chin on them. “Chloe.”

She blew on her tea. “Yes,” she said, a picture of supreme politeness.

“You are upset.”

“Okay, yes. I’m usually upset when lied to by someone I’ve trusted.”

“I haven’t lied.”

“Really?” She leveled her baby blues on him then, eyes that were huge and devastatingly beautiful. Not to mention filled with hurt. “You were actually ditched by a real date tonight?”

Okay, so he had lied. “My partner got sick.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Look, the truth is we think the antiquities place is really a front for a fencing business.”

“And you believe I’m involved exactly how?”

“It’s not that-”

“How, Ian?”

“You’ve done their accounting.”

Her eyes flashed her fury. “And you think I’ve played with the numbers?”

“Someone did-Whoa,” he said, his hand shooting out to snag her arm when she jerked to her feet. “I said someone, not you-”

“I’d like to go home now,” she said stiffly. “I want to change and get warm.”

“Soon-”

She drew up straight and pulled free of his touch. “Do you have any reason to hold me?”

“What? No, of course not-”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me…” And with her nose so high he was surprised she didn’t get a nosebleed, she walked to the door.

“Chloe, wait.”

She didn’t, of course. Wearing his sweatshirt, her arms wrapped around herself in quiet dignity, she walked out of the station, and most likely if she had her way, out of his life.

Damn it.

He couldn’t let her go, and that fact had nothing, nothing at all, to do with his case. First of all, she was innocent, he knew that in his gut, and he knew it by looking into her eyes, which were mirrors to her soul, a soul that had never purposely hurt or taken from another human being in her life.

Earlier, Danny had suggested he get himself reassigned, that he couldn’t be objective.

He’d vehemently disagreed.

Yes, he’d known her once, known her intimately, but that had been years ago and he should have been completely over her. After all, it’d been him who’d walked away that time, him who’d decided it was time to move on.

But that had been before he’d danced with her, touched her, kissed her. And now it turned out Danny was right. He couldn’t be objective because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe she’d done anything wrong.

And since he could do nothing else, he went after her.

8

IAN RAN OUTSIDE THE police station into the now clear night. The wind had chased away the clouds.

And, apparently, Chloe.

He raced through the lot, turning in a circle in the middle, stopping short at the sight of her at the far end, his gut clenching hard.

Her skirt soggy and clinging, his own sweatshirt covering her from fingertips to mid-thighs, her hair damp and hanging in her face, she looked like a wreck, an adorable, sexy wreck.

He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

“Great exit,” she was saying to herself. “But your car’s at Ian’s, you idiot. Of course, it’s at Ian’s, because this is Valentine’s Day.” Sighing, she tipped her head heavenward. “Karma? You listening? You suck.”

“Does karma ever talk back?” he asked, stepping close.

She didn’t jump, didn’t scream, just closed her eyes. “Perfect.” Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Do you believe in karma, Ian?”