She didn’t very much trust all the things she had thought at the moment.

“Well,” she edged out, “subjectively, he was a very very bad man. I mean, okay so it would have been better if he’d had a trial of his peers, b-but clearly …” She trailed off, unable to finish because they both knew she was making it up as she went along and there was no passion of conviction behind her words.

“There are things in this world, Marissa, that you have no comprehension of,” he said softly … dangerously … as he stepped toward her persistently, putting her into a steady back-stepping retreat.

“Clearly,” she said dryly. “It’s not every day a gal watches someone evaporate into thin air.”

“You know something, that pluck of yours is probably the reason why we’ve had a jones for you for just about as long as we can remember.”

“W-we?” she hitched out. Like the royal We? Or we as in … schizophrenic we? Great. Not only could he wield deadly power at a whim, he was also mentally unbalanced.

He hesitated for an instant but then he was stepping forward again, twigs snapping under the weight of his movements. It made her look down at his bare feet and wonder how it was that he wasn’t torn up by the underbrush. Of course that was perhaps a silly consideration under the circumstances. Obviously he was a god. Or maybe a demigod. From that powerful ability right down to that awe-striking physique … not to mention the total arrogance he was seething with. He simply couldn’t be anything less. He’d always been notably confident in the past, but the sensation she was feeling from him now could have bordered on hubris. He was a living, breathing Hercules. Prometheus born to give the gift of fire to mankind. To her. God, what fire would he stir in her? It couldn’t be much more than she had already entertained in her most secret fantasy life.

Oh Christ. She was out of her mind. She was worried about his mental stability? She was the one who had clearly jumped right into the deep end. Her life was in the utmost danger and yet she was still obsessing about … about things she had never had any right to obsess about. No matter what their relationship, even if he had never walked through her office door, she was the department shrink. Any officer who might end up crossing her professional path must be treated as a patient at all times. Treating the precinct like a possible dating pool was absolutely out of the question. Now it was even more so. He was a killer. A stone-cold killer. A powerful killer. He had wielded a power that no man should ever have at his fingertips. Humanity was far too flawed and far too infantile to have such power in this world.

“Now there you would be right,” he said quietly. “No ordinary man could do what I do and be considered anything but dangerous. But we … I … am no ordinary man.”

“Well excuse me if I spit out a big fat duh on that one,” she bit off, her ongoing panic beginning to make her a little surly. There was only so long a woman could tolerate being utterly scared to death. Given enough time, she was going to push past fear and move straight into bold foolhardiness … if she hadn’t already. “And who is this ‘we’ we’re talking about anyway? Because I must say it sounds a little crazy from the shrink perspective.”

“I thought shrink’s weren’t supposed to say their patients were crazy,” he said, amusement shaping his fine mouth into a broaching smile. It kind of pissed her off even more.

“Well I think I’m staring at a big fat exception to the rule,” she spat.

“No doubt. Are you going to let me explain?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“My my, Marissa, you do get plucky when you’re nervous. Your defense mechanism is showing.”

“You’re an ass,” she bit off. Then she realized she was insulting a very powerful ass and she swallowed audibly.

“And you are either very, very brave, or very, very foolhardy.”

“I’m teetering on a little bit of both,” she said with a weak, breathy sort of laugh.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. And in that tone of voice, with all that rich bass reaching out to cuddle her up in its unexpected tranquility, she felt herself craving the ability to believe him. The desire frustrated her to no end. She was a strong, independent, professional woman! She shouldn’t get all googly-eyed and mushy-hearted over the charming, handsome demigod who could smite her with a dirty look.

She swallowed noisily.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she said, thinking it would have sounded much stronger if she weren’t breathing so damn hard. Her blood was racing through her veins, just as her breath raced in and out of her lungs.

“Oh, but you do believe me,” he said, his tone even more coaxing, his hand lifting in a supplicating gesture. “If you didn’t, you would have run away from me long before now.”

“Well, as you’re always pointing out, I’m not exactly wearing the right shoes for a foot race.”

Jackson watched her tip a foot forward onto the ball of the black suede wedges she wore. They, like most of her shoe wardrobe, were no shorter than two inches in the heel, albeit not the four inches he was used to seeing her in. When she wore those shoes, she could look him dead in the eye. It was strangely erotic. She was not petite … not delicate. She was athletic and wickedly curvy, like a seductive Amazon woman, and he’d always had a weakness for women who could hold their own in a wrestling match with him.

And wrestling with Marissa was getting delightfully trickier with every passing moment. Jackson supposed he should be more concerned. After all, his secret was out … and to the worst possible witness he could have imagined. Instead, he felt as though his entire body was revitalized, even beyond the typical rush of adrenaline.

“Good point,” he said almost absently as he scanned the woods around them. Something was a little … off. He didn’t really know what it was, but it just was. Whether it was a cop’s gut instincts or the paranormal sense of the Bodywalker inside of him, his skin began to hum with the need to get them out of there.

Problem was, he was as na**d as the day he was born and the entire police department and a good portion of the town lay less than a mile away from them. Even now he could hear the distant disturbances in the trees and underbrush as clumsy men and women stomped all over the woods looking for a lost child.

The last thing he should be doing was wasting time toying with Marissa. But apparently he had zero self-control in the matter. Maybe it was because, in spite of all the damp pungent odors of the thick woods, he could smell her. Sweet and strong with an underlying streak of something undeniably sexual. It was how he had always imagined Marilyn Monroe must have smelled like. Living, breathing, oozing feminine lures. She was dazzlingly perfect, somehow having managed to keep herself from looking like she’d spent the past few hours tromping through the woods. It was one of the things that fascinated him really. How did she manage to look and smell so temptingly perfect all throughout the entire day? And night.

And day.

He looked up at the lightening sky around them.

“Listen to me Marissa. I have to get indoors, away from the touch of the sun before it breaks fully above the horizon line. If I’m caught in the sun it will paralyze me.”

Her guffaw burst out in two paths, half by mouth and the other through her nose as she started to turn visibly pink along her skin.

“If you tell me you’re a f**king vampire I’m going to find a very big stick, aim for your heart, and make you prove it.”

“There’s no such thing as vampires,” he said with a wry little laugh of his own. “But you’ve already born witness that there are more things in this world than the average human being is capable of understanding.”

“I’ve seen you in sunlight,” she scoffed at him.

“And yesterday was the very last day I could let myself go out in it. From this moment onward the touch of the sun is like poison to me.” He hesitated, and she leaned in toward him with unabashed curiosity. She knew there was something unexplainable about him, knew he was, indeed, different. Dangerously different. And still she leaned closer.

“Poison?” she echoed. “Like …” She narrowed her eyes on him suspiciously. “Like turning to a poof of ash?” She made a small explosive sound with her lips, her hands blossoming outward to illustrate a mushrooming blast.

“Nothing so dramatic,” he lied. As far as he was concerned falling into a deathlike coma unable to move a single inch probably had its own moments of drama. Especially to an inexperienced onlooker. “I’d be happy to explain it after we find some kind of shelter. And”—he indicated his na**d state—“I can’t exactly march out of here past the base of operations and not draw attention.”

She giggled at that, probably in an attempt to hide the scorching blush blooming over her cheekbones as she let his encompassing hand gesture invite her to yet another eyeful of all things Jackson, including that wickedly naughty tattoo just begging to be touched, stroked, inspected …

When he realized she was staring at him, openly contemplating him, it was all Jackson could do to keep himself from grinning. Or teasing. Either was bound to earn him a projectile shoe upside his head. He fiercely pushed away the awareness that threatened to crawl up inside him, along with a host of illicit thoughts.

Marissa nibbled nervously at the inside of her lower lip. She could just march off to safety, leaving him there vulnerable and butt-ass na**d and make him entirely someone else’s problem. If she had an ounce of brains in her head that was exactly what she ought to do. But …

“You can leave me if you like,” he offered her quietly. “This really shouldn’t even be your problem.”

Okay now that was creepy. How’d he know she was just contemplating that as a possible option for action?

“I can’t just leave you here,” she said, brushing flecks of bark off her skirt in a nervous gesture she didn’t usually allow herself to indulge in. Then she realized there was probably a whole hell of a lot of the stuff stuck in her hair. The man had wrecked half a forest after all.

Among other things.

She had to be in shock. It was the only explanation for her inappropriate, leapfrogging thoughts. And to be honest, this whole holding on to her sanity thing was beginning to wear a little thin.

Looking back she wasn’t sure what finally compelled her to run, but some stupid part of her PTSD brain thought it was a good idea and somehow thought she might be able to make it to some of the humans she could hear in the distance. As if they could actually help her.

She made it all of five feet before he was on her.

She lashed out wildly, connecting with something.

“Ow! Marissa!”

“Let go of me! Leave me alone!” she screamed at him.

“Marissa knock it off!”

She didn’t. She stomped down hard on his foot, for all the good that would do. And she couldn’t believe he’d just said “ow.” Those other two had beaten him, burned him and practically blown him up and he’d barely flinched. But one little elbow from little old her and she was supposed to believe she’d hurt him?

Not freaking likely.

Then in a sudden flight of movement her feet came up off the ground and she went hurtling forward. All of a sudden, there was a rock face in front of her and she screeched as they blasted right into it.

And through it.

A cave or cavern, hidden by all the overgrowth, barely big enough to walk around in.

But she didn’t have the opportunity to take even a single step. He launched her straight into the back of the little cave, smacking both their bodies up against the wall, with her front pressing into the cold stone and his front pressed hard and hot all along the back of her body.

Marissa gasped for every breath, the wall cold against her cheek and breasts. She watched his hand touch the stone near her face, just the tips of his fingers, drawing close to her while his other hand was on the other side of her, caging her in. And if the stone was cold, the looming strength of his body at her back was hot. He wasn’t touching her right then, but all she had to do was push away from the wall by just a pair of inches and she would find herself curved into his whipcord-strong body. It took everything she had to keep from doing exactly that. She forced herself, instead, to remember just how terrified she was of him. She was. Wasn’t she?

“Marissa,” he breathed just behind her ear. “Marissa, Marissa, Marissa.” He said it so slowly. Just her name. The first one reproving. The second exasperated. The third calm. And the fourth … suggestive. It was just her name, but it was so much more than that.

“You think you know me,” he said on a whisper. “You think I’m still the man who sat in your office struggling to deal with grief and loss. You still think I’m a patient. I’m wounded. I’m … human.”