The mere thought made the granola in his mouth turn to dust, and his palms sweat. He liked his life the way it was, thank you very much, and being a bachelor suited him just fine. After one failed marriage and a sixteen-year-old daughter whom he adored, he'd already done the domestic thing and wasn't in the market for a wife, family, or long-term commitment with any woman.

Yet there was no denying that his feelings for Liz were shifting and changing, in a way that transcended wanting only a temporary fling with her.

"If you're hungry, I can make you a sandwich."

Liz's husky voice yanked him from his thoughts, and he turned his head as she padded barefoot into the small kitchen, a soft smile greeting him. She was wearing a well-worn thermal tank top with matching drawstring pants. Her hair was damp and ruffled around her head, her face scrubbed clean, and her skin pink from her shower. He caught a whiff of her shampoo, and his stomach knotted. He ached to nuzzle her neck, to immerse himself in her sweet, fragrant scent. He wanted to lie down with her on her bed and fall asleep with her cuddled in his arms.

Oh, yeah, he definitely had it bad for her.

"I was just passing time with a snack." He ate the last of the granola bar and washed down the bite with the bottled water he'd filched from the refrigerator. "By the way, I think you have a few messages on your recorder."

Her gaze went to the small machine on the counter next to her phone unit. A digital number flashed, indicating she had two messages waiting for her to pick up.

"Oh, crap." She crossed the kitchen, shaking her head. "I can't believe I didn't check the recorder first thing when I walked in."

"I think you were a little distracted," he teased.

"That's no excuse." Self-condemnation laced her voice, and her eyes glimmered with unmistakable guilt. "What if it's Valerie?"

The vehemence in Liz's tone took Steve by surprise. He understood her desperation to locate her cousin, to be reassured that Valerie was okay. What he didn't understand was Liz's strong sense of responsibility for Valerie's disappearing act, when it was something she couldn't have prevented from happening.

Leaning a hip against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and opted for a practical approach. "If it's Valerie, then let's hope she tells you where she is, or at the very least lets you know that she's doing fine and is unharmed, and that'll be the end to your worries."

And this case, he thought. Would that then mean the end to them as well? Another startling realization, which came with an equally startling rise of emotion that made his chest tighten.

She turned away without replying and pressed the button on her recorder. The first call was a hang-up. The second one was Liz's aunt, leaving a message for Valerie, and Liz immediately stiffened when she heard Sally Clark's voice drifting through the speaker.

"Hi, Valerie, honey. It's Mom. I'm sure Liz gave you the message that I called earlier this week, but you've probably been busy. She told me that you were out of town for a few days with a friend, and I was hoping to get a hold of you just to see how you've been doing." Sally sighed, the sound rife with disappointment that she'd been unsuccessful in reaching her daughter. "Your father and I are heading down to San Diego for a four-day getaway, so I'll try and get in touch with you next week. We love you and miss you."

The line disconnected, the recorder beeped, and Liz hit the rewind button. With her hands braced on the counter, she hung her head, her shoulders slumped, and blew out a long stream of breath.

Judging by Sally Clark's message, Steve was fairly certain that Liz was keeping a pretty significant secret to herself. "You haven't told your aunt and uncle about Valerie, have you?"

"No." She lifted her gaze to his, the depths of her eyes brimming with a wealth of emotion, the most prominent of which was remorse. "I don't want to involve them unless I absolutely have to."

Not willing to let the discussion drop on such an intriguing note, he asked, "Why not?"

Her chin lifted. "Because my aunt and uncle have had enough disappointment to deal with in the past few years."

Retrieving a brass teakettle from the stove, she filled it with tap water from the sink. Her back was to him, her posture ramrod straight, giving him the distinct impression that she'd deliberately assumed that position to keep him from seeing and analyzing her expression. What she didn't realize, however, was that her tone, edged with self-recriminations, spoke volumes.

"Sounds personal," he said gently, trying to keep things light and easy so she didn't feel threatened by the conversation.

"It's very personal." She set the kettle on one of the burners, flicked on the gas flame, and turned to face him again. "My aunt and uncle have no idea that their daughter makes a living as a phone sex operator, and I'd like to spare them that bit of news if I can."

She spun back around and reached for a mug in the overhead cupboard, and her top skimmed upward, revealing a smooth expanse of soft skin he itched to stroke with his fingers, taste with his tongue. Better yet, he'd love to strip off her top and bury his face in those luscious breasts of hers and take her again, here in the kitchen.

He blocked those sensual thoughts from invading his body and mind and kept his focus on the discussion at hand. "Why do you feel the need to protect Valerie and hold yourself responsible for her actions?"

She frowned at him from over her shoulder as she ripped open a tea bag and dropped it into her mug. "I don't-"

"Yes, you do," he countered, cutting off her instantaneous denial. "For some reason, you're accepting part of the blame for Valerie running off with Rob, and I want to know why."

Her lips pursed in agitation, and her demeanor was defensive enough that he fully expected her to tell him to go to hell, that it was none of his business why she felt the way she did. But beyond her tough act, there was a hint of vulnerability in her gaze, a desperation that made his gut clench.

"Tell me, Liz," he cajoled, knowing he needed to hear what she had to say as much as she needed to get it out in the open.

She hesitated a few seconds before deciding to confide in him. "When my aunt and uncle moved to California almost a year ago, they asked if Valerie could move into my apartment with me so I could keep an eye on her. Considering this mess that she's in, I didn't do a very good job of that, now, did I?"

"Your cousin is twenty-four years old," he said reasonably. "She's legally an adult and plenty old enough to not need a keeper."

"What was I supposed to do, tell my aunt and uncle no, that I wouldn't let her live with me?" Her voice rose an octave in frustration and anger. "That I wouldn't keep an eye on her for them?"

"I'm sure Valerie would have found a place of her own if you told your aunt that you wanted your privacy."

The kettle whistled, and she picked up the wooden handle and poured a stream of hot water into her mug. A long sigh unraveled out of her. "Look, I don't expect you to understand my reasons…"

"I want to understand, Liz." And he meant it, in a way that went beyond needing to know details for the case. This discussion was personal, for the both of them. There was no fighting the wave of emotion cresting within him that made him a part of her frustration, her pain, so he didn't bother to try. "I want to know why you feel so responsible for your cousin, and why you seem to be shouldering the blame for her disappearance when it was her doing, not yours."

She braced her hip against the counter and wrapped her fingers around the ceramic mug in her hand. "I just don't want to disappoint my aunt and uncle. Again."

He hated the space separating them but didn't dare close the distance when he was certain his advance would be rejected. "Again?"

She shook her head sharply, sending damp strands of her hair swirling about her shoulders. "It's complicated, and this is a discussion that you and I don't need to have since it's not relevant to the case." Moving past him, she headed into the living room, sat in the recliner chair, and sipped her herbal tea.

God, she was stubborn, which made him all the more determined to breach those barriers she'd erected around herself. Ignoring her dismissive tone and action, he followed her into the adjoining room and took a seat on the sofa catercorner from her. "Maybe this discussion is very important to the case."

Skepticism radiated off her. "How so?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "You already told me that things have been strained between you and Valerie, and learning the reasons why would help me to get a better understanding of your relationship with your cousin."

She took another sip of her tea, her gaze narrowing on him over the rim. "And that would make a difference to the case, why?"

He catered to her reluctance gently, because he was coming to learn that this woman needed to be handled with special care when it came to emotional, familial issues. She was strong and diligent on the outside, and fragile and too susceptible on the inside, where she thought no one could see. But she'd given him plenty of glimpses, whether she realized it or not.

"By learning more about Valerie's personality, I can theorize a motivation for her actions." His explanation sounded logical, but his excuse was a deliberate ploy to get her to open up to him. To trust him with more than just her body.

Surprisingly, she did. "Valerie's actions are motivated by her need to get attention from whomever she can. And if it's her mother and father, all the better."